“To say Mrs. Karansky’s gone to buy herbs?” Pitt said incredulously. “He didn’t know you were coming, did he?”

Harper made a sound of deep disgust.

Another ten minutes ticked by.

“You are lying!” Harper exploded, getting to his feet and banging against the table. “You warned them and they’ve gone. I’ll charge you with aiding and abetting a fugitive. And if you’re not lucky, maybe with accessory to murder as well!”

Jenkins cleared his throat. “You can’t do that, sir; you got no proof.”

“I’ve got all the proof I’ll need,” Harper snapped, glaring at his junior malevolently. “And I’ll thank you not to interfere. Arrest him, like you’re told!”

Jenkins remained stubbornly where he was. “We got a warrant for Karansky, sir. We got nothing for Tom.”

“You’ve got my word, Jenkins! Unless you want to end up in a cell beside him, you’ll obey my order!”

Shaking his head, his lips pursed, Jenkins told Pitt he was under arrest, then, as Harper glared at him, he put the manacles on Pitt’s wrists. He very carefully took the pot off the range and fixed the lid firmly on it, in case Leah should return and find it spoiled.

“Thank you,” Pitt acknowledged the action.

Outside they were watched by a crowd of a dozen or so men and women, angry and frightened. They glared at the police with undisguised hatred, but they did not dare intervene. Pitt, Harper and Jenkins left Heneagle Street and walked the three quarters of a mile or so to the police station. None of them spoke. Harper had apparently accepted that at least for the time being Isaac had eluded him, and it infuriated him.

They passed sullen men and women in the streets, and more newspapers with pictures that were plainly of Isaac. There were rumors that the sugar factories were closing.

In the police station, Pitt was put into a cell and left.

It was over two hours later that Jenkins came back, smiling broadly. “Sugar factories in’t gonna close down arter all,” he said, standing just inside the cell door. “Lord Randolph Churchill an’ some o’ ’is friends ’as put up the money ter keep ’em all goin’. In’t that a turn up?”

Pitt felt a surge of amazement and relief. It had to be Vespasia!

“An’ you’d better go ’ome, an’ all,” Jenkins added, his smile turning into a positive grin. “In case the Karanskys come back.”

Pitt stood up. “Aren’t they wanted anymore?” He could scarcely believe it.

“Oh yeah! But ’oo knows where they is? Could be on the ’igh seas by now.”

“And Inspector Harper is prepared to let me go?” Pitt did not yet move forward. He could imagine Harper’s fury, and his vengeance against Pitt. It would be the Inner Circle’s great satisfaction if Pitt spent a few years in prison for aiding the escape of the sugar factory murderer.

“No, ’e in’t prepared.” Jenkins oozed pleasure. “ ’E in’t got no choice, ’cos word came down from the top as yer ter be treated right an’ let go. Yer got friends someplace real ’igh. Which is as well fer you.”

“Thank you,” Pitt said absently, profoundly puzzled as he walked out into freedom and received his few belongings back from the desk sergeant. Vespasia again? Hardly… or she would have protected him in the first place. Narraway? No, he had neither the knowledge nor the power.

The Masons… the other side of the Whitechapel conspiracies. Suddenly freedom had a dual sweet and bitter taste.

He would go back to Heneagle Street and eat Leah’s dinner, then, when he could do it unobserved, go to see Saul, see about raising all the money they could for Isaac and Leah, all the help.

Charlotte was still determined to find the papers both she and Juno were certain Martin Fetters had hidden somewhere. They had exhausted all the places they knew of beyond the house and were back in the library staring around the shelves, searching for further ideas. Charlotte was grimly aware that a few feet away from where she stood, Martin Fetters had been killed by a man he had trusted and believed a friend. Her imagination of that terrible moment hung like a chill in the air. She thought of the instant he saw his own death in Adinett’s eyes, and knew what was going to happen, then the swift pain and the oblivion. Surely, Juno must be even more aware of it than she.

Each night Charlotte slept alone in her room, conscious of the empty space in the bed beside her, worrying about Pitt, frightened for him. Juno slept not only alone but knowing what had happened just a few rooms away from her, and that the worst she could possibly dread was already the truth.

“They must be here,” Juno said desperately. “They do exist; Martin didn’t know to destroy them, and Adinett didn’t have time. He left and he wasn’t carrying anything with him, because I saw him go myself. And when he came back again that was when we found Martin… I suppose he could have taken something then…” She trailed off.

“When did he have time to look?” Charlotte reasoned. “If Martin had them out, then Adinett must have put them away again, and then got them out when he returned. You said he didn’t have a case of any sort, just a stick. How did he carry loose papers, or do you suppose it was all written as entries in one book?”

Juno was staring around the walls. “I don’t know. I don’t really know what we’re looking for, or how much, except from what we know-there were lots more plans. They intended to do something positive. They were not just dreamers, meeting to talk over ideas. And if you mean to achieve something, you need to have very precise actions in mind.”

“Then surely as a royalist bent on preventing their plans from being acted upon, Adinett would have wanted to destroy them?” Charlotte said thoughtfully. She gazed around at the book-lined shelves. “I wonder where he looked?”

“Nothing seems out of place,” Juno replied. “Except the three books that were on the floor, of course. But we always assumed they were there to make it look as if Martin pulled them off when he fell from the ladder.”

“I imagine the police would have searched pretty thoroughly anyway.” Charlotte felt hope slip away again. “If there’d been anything on the shelves behind the books, it would have been found pretty easily.”

“We could always take all the books down,” Juno suggested. “We haven’t anything better to do. Well, I haven’t anyway.”

“Neither have I,” Charlotte agreed quickly, turning around one way then the other to gaze at the shelves. “It wouldn’t be behind books he took out regularly,” she said aloud. “Otherwise it would be seen too easily. Someone would observe it by chance. Do any of the maids take out the books to clean or dust?”

“I don’t know.” Juno shook her head. “I shouldn’t think so, but I suppose they could. You are right. It would be somewhere that no one would pull out. That is if it is behind books at all.”

Charlotte felt disappointment fill her again. “I suppose it isn’t a very good place. And inside a book would make it fat enough it would be noticed immediately. We’re not looking for one or two sheets of paper, I don’t think.”

“What about…” Juno looked up at the top shelves, where there were large reference volumes.

“Yes? What?” Charlotte said quickly.

Juno pushed her hair back off her brow in a gesture of weariness.

“What about really inside a book… one hollowed out and replaced? I know it sounds like terrible vandalism, but it might be as safe as it could be. Who else is going to look inside some of those?” Juno gestured up at the top shelf towards the window where there was a row of obscure memoirs of eighteenth-century politicians and half a dozen volumes of statistics on export and shipping.

Charlotte went over to the steps and wheeled them around. Then, holding the pole firmly in one hand, and picking up her skirt in the other, she climbed up. “Careful!” Juno warned, stepping forward, her voice harsh.