“Agreed, of course, my lord.”

“It is this. I believe that you were the last person to see him alive. The evidence I have thus far indicates that. But I want you to know that I do not believe you are in any way responsible for his death.”

“Thank you, my lord,” she said, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes.

Lord Darcy took her hand. “Come, my dear, this is a poor time to cry. Come now, no more tears.”

She smiled in spite of her tears. “You’re very kind, my lord.”

“Oh, no, my dear Tia, I’m not kind at all. I am cruel and vicious and I have ulterior motives.”

She laughed. “Most men do.”

“I didn’t mean it quite that way,” said Lord Darcy dryly. “What I intended to convey was that I do have another question to ask.”

She brushed tears from her eyes with one hand, and gave him her impish smile. “No ulterior motives, then. That’s a shame.” Then she became serious again. “What is the question?”

“Why did Master Ewen decide to kill you?” Lord Darcy was quite certain that he knew the answer, but he did not want to disclose to the girl how he knew it.

This time her smile had the same cold, vengeful quality that he had seen the night before. “Because I learned the truth,” she said. “Yesterday evening I was approached by a friend of my uncle’s — a Goodman Colin MacDavid — a Manxman whom I remembered from when I was a very little girl. Goodman Colin told me the truth.

“My Uncle Neapeler escaped from the trap that I told you of. Goodman Colin helped him escape, and my uncle has been working with him on the Isle of Man ever since. He is safe. But he has been in hiding all this time, because he is afraid the Poles will kill him. He thought I was dead — until he saw my name in the London Courier, in the list of those attending the Convention; then he sent Goodman Colin straight away to find me.

“But Goodman Colin also explained that when my uncle escaped he left behind evidence indicating that he had been killed. He did this to protect me. All the time Master Ewen was using my uncle’s life as a weapon against me, he and the Polish Secret Police actually thought he was dead. Do you wonder that I was furious when I finally found out the truth?”

“Of course not,” said Lord Darcy. “That was yesterday evening.”

“Yes,” she said. “Then I got a note from Master Ewen telling me to meet him in a pub called the Hound and Hare. Do you know of it?”

“I know where it is,” said Lord Darcy. “Go on.”

“I suppose I lost my temper again,” she said. “I suppose I said the wrong things, just as I did with Sir James.” Her eyes hardened. “But I’m not sorry for what I said to Master Ewen! I told him what I thought of him, I told him I would report everything to the Imperial authorities, I told him I wanted to see him hanged, I—” She stopped suddenly and gave Lord Darcy a puzzled frown. “I’m not quite sure what happened after that. He raised his hand,” she said slowly, “and traced a symbol in the air, and… and after that I remember nothing, that is… nothing until this morning, when I woke up here and saw Father Patrique.”

She reached out suddenly and grasped Lord Darcy’s right hand in both of her own. “I know I have done wrong, my lord. Will I… will I have to appear before His Majesty’s Court of High Justice?”

Lord Darcy smiled and stood up. “I rather think that you will, my dear — you will be our most important witness against Master Ewen MacAlister. I think I can assure you that you will not appear before the Court in any other capacity.”

The girl was still holding Lord Darcy’s hand. With a sudden movement she brought it to her lips, kissed it and then let it go.

“Thank you, my lord,” she said.

“It is I who must thank you,” said Lord Darcy with a bow. “If I may do you any further service, Damoselle, you have but to ask.”

He went out the door of the Gardenia Suite expecting to see two men waiting for him in the hall. Instead, there were three. Father Patrique and Sir Thomas looked at him as he closed the door behind him.

“How is she?” asked Father Patrique.

“Quite well, I think.” Then he glanced at the third man, a uniformed Sergeant-at-Arms.

“Sergeant Peter has news for you,” Father Patrique said, “but I would not allow him to interrupt. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see my patient.” The door closed behind him as he went into the Gardenia Suite.

Lord Darcy smiled at Sir Thomas. “All is well, my friend. Neither of you has anything to fear.”

Then he looked back at the Sergeant-at-Arms. “You have information for me, Sergeant?”

“Yes, my lord. Lord Bontriomphe said it was most important. We have found Goodman Paul Nichols.”

“Oh, indeed?” said Lord Darcy. “Where did you find him? Has he anything to say for himself?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Sergeant Peter. “He was found in a lumber room at the hotel. And he was dead, my lord. Quite dead.”

CHAPTER 19

Lord Darcy strode across the lobby of the Royal Steward Hotel, closely followed by the Sergeant-at-Arms. He went down the hallway, past the offices, toward the rear door. Sergeant Peter had already told him where the room in question was, but the information proved unnecessary, since there were two Armsmen on guard before it. It led off to the left from the narrow hallway, about halfway between the temporary headquarters office and the rear door. The room was a workshop, set up for furniture repair. There were worktables and tools around the walls, and several pieces of half-finished furniture scattered about. Toward the rear of the room was an open door, beyond which Lord Darcy could see only darkness.

Near the door stood Lord Bontriomphe and Master Sean O Lochlainn. They both looked around as Lord Darcy walked across the room toward them.

“Hullo, Darcy,” said Lord Bontriomphe. “We’ve got another one.” He gestured past the open door which, Lord Darcy now saw, opened into a small closet filled with odds and ends of wood and pieces of broken furniture. Beyond the door, just inside the closet, lay a man’s body.

It was not a pleasant sight. The face was blackened and the tongue protruded. Around the throat, set deep into the flesh, was a knotted cord.

Lord Darcy looked at Lord Bontriomphe. “What happened?”

Lord Bontriomphe did not take his eyes off the corpse. “I think I shall go out and beat my head against a wall. I’ve been looking for this man ever since yesterday afternoon. I’ve combed London for him. I’ve asked every employee in this hotel every question I could think of.” Then he looked up at Lord Darcy. “I had finally arrived at what I thought was the ridiculous conclusion that Goodman Paul Nichols had never left the hotel.” He gave Lord Darcy a rather lopsided smile. “And then, half an hour ago, one of the hotel’s employees, a joiner and carpenter whose job it is to keep the hotel’s furniture in repair, came in here and opened that door.” He gestured toward the closet. “He needed a piece of wood. He found — that. He came running out into the hall in a screaming fit. Fortunately I was in the office. Master Sean had just shown up, so we came back to take a look.”

“He has definitely been identified as Paul Nichols?” Lord Darcy asked.

“Oh, yes, no question of that.”

Lord Darcy looked at Master Sean. “There is no rest for the weary, eh, Master Sean? What do you find?”

Master Sean sighed. “Well, I won’t know for sure until after the chirurgeon has performed the autopsy, but it’s my opinion the man’s been dead for at least forty-eight hours. There’s a bruise on his right temple — hard to see because of the coagulation of the blood in the face, but it’s there all right — which indicates that he was knocked unconscious before he was killed. Someone hit him on the side of the head, and then took that bit of upholsterer’s cord and tightened it around his throat to strangle him.”