He was passing the end of Dock Street, heading for Tower Hill. His eye darted down the street toward the Fisherman's Rest. Who had recognized him there as Jud's gentleman mark? Someone in that fetid hole had reported his negotiations to O'Flannery. The man he'd sent into Dorset had been angry when he'd refused to pay for failure and therefore to compensate him for the time and trouble he'd taken. The man had cursed him and threatened him with vengeance. But Neil had dismissed it as so much bluster.

A hackney was drawn up outside the Fisherman's Rest. A most unusual sight. He watched as a cloaked figure jumped lightly to the cobbles. A woman. Curiosity for a minute made him forget his throbbing jaw and the foul condition of his raiment. The woman was saying something to the jarvey, her head tilted as she looked up at the box. The hood of her cloak fell back, revealing blue-black hair.

Now, what in the name of all that was good was the Countess of Stoneridge doing at the Fisherman's Rest? Alone!

If Sylvester paid another visit, it wouldn't be surprising. He'd learned nothing from the first visit, and he was bound to try again. Not that he'd discover anything. Neil was never going to cross that threshold again, and no one could put a name to him, or even an accurate description.

But what was his wife doing here, alone? Looking for information for her husband? It was extraordinary. And he couldn't believe that Stoneridge had countenanced it. He'd made no attempt to hide his annoyance when she'd appeared before. And no reasonable man could blame him. Wives didn't follow their husbands to such places. And they most certainly didn't go to them alone.

An idea glimmered as he started his horses again. Lady Stoneridge might well be worth cultivating seriously. Supposing she could provide the route to her husband? She was obviously unconventional and indiscreet. How else would one characterize her presence at the Fisherman's Rest? Insanely impulsive? Recklessly courageous? Such a person could surely be led up the paths of fatal indiscretion with the right carrot. If he could find the right carrot.

He suddenly understood that he didn't have to remove Gilbraith, merely neutralize him. Blackmail was the way to end his own calvary at Jud's hands. If he was certain that Gilbraith would never open his mouth about Vimiera, even if he knew the truth, he could afford to tell Jud what he could do with his threat of exposure. Well, perhaps not that. The thought of such an encounter flooded him with a nauseating terror. But his visits to the Black Dog could cease without explanation.

He would disappear from London for a while in case Jud decided to pursue him, but he was fairly certain the ex-sergeant would quickly turn his attention to other pigeons worth plucking. And if Jud decided to go to Horseguards and tell his version of events at Vimiera, it would be considered no more than the ramblings of a disaffected old soldier with a grudge against his commander… so long as Gilbraith wasn't able to confirm the story with his own recollection of the truth.

He wiped blood from his split lip with the back of his gloved hand as he encouraged his horses to a smart trot. His panic was over. The cultivation and manipulation of an attractive but naive and clearly reckless young woman was a much pleasanter prospect than arranging accidents at the hands of hired dockside killers. And blackmail was a much cleaner tool than murder.

Theo, happily unaware of the witness of her arrival at the Fisherman's Rest, pushed open the door and stepped into the dim, reeking taproom. It was almost deserted at this time of day, although an old man sat nodding by the fire, puffing a clay pipe. A slatternly young woman, a baby at her breast, leaned against the counter.

"Twopence of gin, Long Meg."

"I'll see the color of yer money first," Long Meg rasped from somewhere in the darkness behind the counter.

" 'Ow about a bit o' credit?" the young woman whined. "Gin puts the babby to sleep."

Long Meg reared up out of the darkness, as big and crimson-faced as Theo remembered her, when she'd come after Tom Brig with a rolling pin.

"I told yer last time, no more -" She stopped, staring at Theo. "Well, well," she said slowly. "What 'ave we got 'ere, then? You want somethin', young miss?"

"I'd like to ask you some questions," Theo said, smiling in a friendly fashion as she picked her way through the sodden sawdust.

"An jest who would be askin' 'em?" the woman demanded, her eyes narrowed, mighty arms akimbo.

"My name's Pamela," Theo said, having prepared for this.

"You was in 'ere t'other night," Long Meg said suspiciously. "Wi' that gentleman cove. Jest what's the likes o' you got to do wi' the likes o' me?"

"I wanted to ask you about one of your customers."

Long Meg threw back her head and laughed, but it was not a pleasant sound. "We don't answer no questions around 'ere, missie. Me customers mind their own business an' I mind mine. We don't want no snoops around 'ere." She lifted the flap of the counter and came into the room. She seemed even larger in this small dim space than she had the other night, and Theo felt the first stirrings of alarm.

"I'm not snooping," she said, although it seemed as accurate a term as any for what she was doing. "I'll pay for any information -"

"Oh, will you, now?" The woman stepped closer until she was towering over Theo. "An' jest what've you got in that dainty little reticule, then?" She made a grab for Theo's reticule. Theo danced backward, snatching her arm away. Long Meg lunged forward, and Theo swung her reticule at her head as she brought one leg up and aimed a kick at the mountainous belly.

Long Meg roared, and two men suddenly appeared from the back regions. The slatternly young woman with the baby still leaned against the counter; her eyes, dulled with gin, followed the scene, and she moved aside in desultory fashion as the two men barged through the opening in the counter.

Theo knew she didn't stand a chance against three of them. Why hadn't she thought to bring a pistol? Why hadn't the possibility of robbery occurred to her? She jumped backward, hurling a bench between herself and the purposeful advance of her assailants. If she could get out into the street, she could make a dash for the hackney.

But the men were flanking her now, their eyes fixed on her as they moved sideways, and Long Meg kept on coming, a vicious expression on her face. Theo's kick had hurt her, but not enough to slow her down, only enough to enrage her.

Desperately, Theo grabbed up an ale pot on the table and threw it into the face of the man approaching on her left. The other one lunged at her, catching her arm. She jerked her arm upward, twisting her body and catching him on her hip, breaking his hold. But she knew she couldn't keep this up.

Then suddenly a shot exploded through the dark room.

"Get away from her."

"Edward." Theo turned in dazed relief. He stood in the doorway, a flintlock pistol in his one hand.

"Hurry," he said, and she realized that he couldn't reload and that it wouldn't take more than a second for her attackers to recover from their surprise and understand both that and the fact that her rescuer had only one arm.

She took the three paces to the door at a run as Edward stepped backward into the street. Long Meg and her two assistants rushed after them, and Theo spun and kicked the door closed in their faces.

"Run!" She grabbed Edward's arm and then stared wildly down the empty street. The hackney carriage had disappeared.

Edward swore as he struggled one-handed to reload his pistol. His own hackney had disappeared as completely as Theo's, and he guessed that the sound of the pistol shot had driven both jarveys away to a less volatile neighborhood.

The door of the Fisherman's Rest crashed open, and the two men leaped into the street, Long Meg on their heels.