Rubbing my knees, I swung around to see what was in my path. A body lay on the ground with its arms and legs sprawled. The moonlight was bright enough that I could make out Mick Snelling’s features and the odd angle his head lay from his body.

I glanced around. No package. No blueprints. His attacker had beaten me to it. I was about to run back in and go upstairs to get Blackford when the door opened. Baron von Steubfeld blocked my path. His furious expression was nearly as intimidating as the pistol he aimed at me. A pistol I couldn’t fail to see glittering in the moonlight.

I stared at the gun rather than his face as I said, “Baron von Steubfeld.” I kept my shaking knees from carrying me back a step. There was no way I’d show fear to the top German spy in England, even if he planned to kill me. If? The pistol left me in no doubt as to his intensions.

“You killed him.”

“No, I—” Surprise jerked my gaze up to look at the baron’s face. “You think I killed him?”

“What have you done with the blueprints?” His voice ground out the unmistakable note of threat.

“Nothing. I found things just as you see them.”

“Do you want the money I would pay him? Because I assure you, there are other ways of making you tell me where the drawings are.” The moonlight showed the cruel smile beneath his mustache.

“She doesn’t have them.”

I made out the solid shadow of the Duke of Blackford behind him. The duke reached out his hand in front of von Steubfeld’s face. The German grimaced and gave him his pistol. “How can you be sure? She might have killed him and taken the plans for herself.”

“I am certain.” The duke must have pocketed the gun, because it was no longer in his hand when he stepped around the baron and knelt by Snelling. “He’s had his neck broken.”

“Professionally done?” the baron asked.

“Yes.”

“Then I apologize, Mrs. Monthalf. You are not a professional killer.”

I pressed my lips together to hide my smile. This was not the time to admit I was a professional, but one who lacked knowledge of breaking necks. “Sumner?” I asked Blackford.

“Possibly, but he would have waited here guarding the ship plans until help arrived. And he’s in London.” The duke rose. “What about your valet?”

A deep sigh rumbled through von Steubfeld’s chest. “Not him. I told him I would handle the transaction, after he botched the transfer last night.”

“Why wouldn’t Snelling deal with your valet?” Blackford had probably learned more from Sumner last night than he’d told me.

“He’d always dealt directly with me before. I suppose he didn’t trust an unknown intermediary.”

“Snelling had already been visited by Sir Henry Stanford with an offer for the blueprints. Perhaps he thought your valet worked for someone other than you,” I suggested.

“Perhaps,” the baron agreed. “And it cost Snelling his life. Meanwhile, my valet waits in my room to carry the drawings into the village. By morning he would have been well on his way to London to catch a boat across the North Sea.”

“After the first handoff, during the ball, failed. Our people were the ones who blocked the first attempt, Baron.” I was ready to give credit to the work the Archivist Society had done.

“You are to be congratulated, Miss Fenchurch.”

I looked at the baron in surprise. “You were the one who sent the notes?”

“Yes. One of my agents is a porter. Very handy when I want to find out what is being moved around London. He was puzzled by the number of sea trunks moved from a dressmaker’s to a house in Mayfair. I had you followed from the house to your bookshop. A few discreet questions gave me your name. When I began to ask around, I learned about your connection to the Archivist Society.” The baron gave me a considering look. “No one else figured out your true mission or your identity. You are to be congratulated.”

I nodded to him graciously. I wasn’t ready to finish playing the well-brought-up lady. “Those notes. Would you have killed me?”

“If I couldn’t find a better solution.”

I shivered.

“I think it’s time to wake our host and have him call the police,” Blackford said, an edge to his voice.

“Does my interest in this man need to be made public?” the baron asked.

“Not if you give me your word as a gentleman that you don’t know where the drawings are currently, don’t have them in your possession, and won’t try to retrieve them.” The duke stared at the baron.

The baron held his gaze. “I neither have them nor know where they are. If they should fall in my lap, I will of course attempt to send them to Germany. That is how the game is played.”

“It’s not a game. A man is dead,” I said.

“Unfortunately, Snelling is the only man who could have testified to Gattenger’s innocence in his wife’s death,” the duke told me.

“Surely all this will be enough to free him from prison.” I sounded slightly desperate to my own ears.

“All what, Georgina? We have a dead man miles from the Gattenger home with no apparent connection to either the husband or the wife. No, finding the drawings on Snelling might have been sufficient. The testimony of a live Snelling certainly would have helped. Finding a dead man without the plans does nothing to prove Gattenger didn’t kill his wife or commit treason.” The duke prowled the area around the body, no doubt looking for the blueprints.

The baron leaned against the door frame, watching him.

“Do you have any other operatives in the area, von Steubfeld?”

“No.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.” His grumble told me he now saw that as a mistake.

“How do we know he didn’t kill Snelling instead of paying him, then hide the blueprints and come back here to move the body, only to find I arrived first?” I asked the duke.

“Snelling was a skilled thief. I needed him alive. And I’ve never minded paying him his fee,” the baron said. “I will take an oath as a gentleman to that effect.”

“Your word is sufficient,” the duke said.

Baron von Steubfeld gave a sharp military bow in reply.

“He’s telling you the truth,” the duke added. “I showed the drawing Gattenger did of Snelling to some friends at Whitehall, who showed it to a witness in another case where the baron was suspected. He’s used Snelling before.”

“And so you are indirectly responsible for Clara Gattenger’s death,” I pointed out. “You sent Snelling to her house to steal from them and he killed her.”

The baron crossed his arms over his chest. “I am not responsible for Snelling’s foolish mistake. And I have diplomatic immunity as a member of the German embassy staff.”

I glared at him, knowing he was right. There would be no charges filed against him, and nothing that would clear Gattenger’s name. Clara’s killer, Snelling, was dead. But who killed him? And where were the blueprints? This was going to be a very long night.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I rubbed my gloves along my chilled arms. “Do you want me to tell Lord and Lady Harwin they have a dead body in their garden?”

“Yes. Von Steubfeld and I will wait here for reinforcements.” Blackford smiled. “That will assure both of us of our mutual honesty.”

I went back in through the door I’d exited, knowing whoever had killed Snelling couldn’t have come this way. I’d have seen him. And he’d have to be a hulking brute to snap a man’s neck. At least the criminals I knew with that talent were.

Hurrying up the stairs, I hesitated for a moment, trying to remember what door I’d seen Lord Harwin enter. Mercifully, one of the footmen appeared from down the hall. “Are you coming from Sir Henry’s room?”