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Adrian’s heart kicked into a faster rhythm. He had a sense of where this was going. “Does Mr. Booker have markings on his wrists that match Miss Griffin’s?”

“More or less,” Murdoch said. “But the best part of all is that even though Mr. Booker was operated on, he survived the ordeal.”

And would now be able to talk about it.

* * *

Like his companions, the surgeon wore a Venetian carnival mask and a black woolen cloak. Nearly a month had passed since the small group’s last meeting, and clearly each of them was eager to speak of their progress.

As one of the key participants in the study they had agreed to conduct, he would provide the key information that proved the study’s success or failure. The others couldn’t make necessary adjustments without it.

The surgeon waited until those present had taken a seat before saying, “We’re getting closer to achieving our goal and bringing about the kind of change that will not only make history, but which is sure to propel the medical field forward.

The last patient I treated did not die before I could start operating.

Instead, he retained a level of unconsciousness that allowed me to work on him without issue for nearly half an hour. ”

Murmurs of approval followed this statement. It was a clear indication of how important everyone else believed this to be.

“How far did you get?” one person asked.

The surgeon swiveled his head toward the physician who’d spoken. “After removing Mr. Booker’s appendix, I was in the process of stitching him up when he woke.”

“Is he…still alive?”

“Of course not.” The surgeon would not be so reckless as to let his carefully guarded research become public knowledge before he was ready.

Or give the authorities reason to come asking questions until he was certain the deaths he’d caused wouldn’t lead back to him.

“He’d seen my face and knew my location.

I could not risk him sharing his experience with anyone. ”

“You did well.” The physician remarked.

“Not well enough though.”

Irritated by the critical tone, the surgeon turned toward the individual who leaned forward as though in judgement. “What do you mean?”

“Mr. Booker was recently brought to St. George’s. Turns out he’s not as dead as you would have us believe.”

The surgeon stared at the other masked figure. “That can’t be. I checked his pulse. I—”

“—made a mistake,” the accuser stated.

A terrible one that put at risk everything they’d worked toward for the past two years. “We’ll need to fix this,” the surgeon muttered. “If information about our conduct gets out, there’s likely to be an investigation.”

Which meant not only a halt to everything but the possibility of arrests. A trial. Perhaps even executions considering what they had done to achieve their goal.

“It’s possible one is already underway.” The physician’s voice was slightly shaky this time. “Chief Constable Kendrick stopped by my place of business this morning. He was asking about Miss Griffin.”

Silence turned the chamber into an eerie, tomb-like place. It dragged on for several seconds before the surgeon’s accuser said, “You should have sent word instead of choosing to come here. What if someone had the good sense to follow you?”

“I’m confident Kendrick believes I never met with Miss Griffin at all.

However, I’ve taken all necessary precautions as stated in our agreement.

There’s nothing linking me to you – nothing damning to find – should Kendrick or anyone else return for a closer look.

I took my records and ran. They’ll probably think I’ve left London by now. ”

“I still don’t like it,” the surgeon’s accuser said.

“Neither do I,” said the physician. “Which is why I want to suggest a respite from our efforts.”

“No,” said the surgeon. “It would be foolish of us to stop when we’re this close to success. Especially when the problem pertaining to Mr. Booker is easily managed. I’ll see to it myself since this is my mess to clean up.”

“And if you’re caught?” the physician asked.

The surgeon glared at him while taking a calming breath. “I assure you that won’t happen, but if it does, I’ll keep in mind the threat you would pose to my family.”

No one present had been allowed to join without offering some way to ensure they would never give up the other members. Consequently, the surgeon would take the fall before risking the lives of those nearest and dearest.

“This isn’t the only problem we face,” said the surgeon, albeit with some reluctance. “The duke has come to see me. He’s growing impatient and demands results.”

A pause before the physician said, “I thought we agreed he should not be included in this.”

“We needed him to acquire supplies,” said the surgeon, “without which none of this would be possible.”

“Explain to him that the answer he seeks takes time,” said the accuser. “Testing is required.”

“He is aware of this but—”

“Then we’re in agreement?” the accuser asked. “We proceed according to plan by perfecting the tincture we set out to make. If time allows, we’ll work on creating the serum we promised the duke.”

When no one else said a word, the accuser spoke the group’s motto, allowing each word to resound through the chamber. “Medicina progredi debet .”

Medicine must be advanced .