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S amantha stirred in response to the careful tread of approaching footsteps.

Though she’d been tempted to leave the house after finishing her review of the names she’d been left with, she’d chosen to take a nap on the library sofa instead.

Adrian did have a point about her still needing to rest, and she would be wise to listen.

She cracked one eye open and smiled when she saw it was he.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I did not mean to wake you.”

“It’s quite all right. I was merely dozing a little.” She extended her hand and he took it, then lowered himself to the spot beside her feet. “How did it go?”

A painful look entered his eyes. “It’s possible Doctor Wentworth committed the crimes. Or at the very least facilitated them.”

She stared at him, her brain still slightly foggy with sleep. “That can’t be true. He’s one of London’s most respected physicians. You’ve always spoken highly of him and—”

“While I hope to be proven wrong, I may have misjudged him.” Adrian clenched his jaw briefly before admitting, “I found evidence in his desk drawer at the hospital. He made notes, Samantha. There’s no mistaking what he was hoping to accomplish.”

She pushed herself upright and pulled her legs to one side, granting Adrian more space. Her fingers clasped his. “Tell me about these notes.”

Adrian relayed how he had discovered them, what they revealed, and how he’d taken the information directly to Kendrick. “I wanted to come straight home afterward but the tension gripping me wouldn’t let up. So I stopped by Reed’s for a bit of sparring. Managed to give Wrengate a proper trouncing.”

“You fought Wrengate?” She wasn’t sure which information shocked her most. Wentworth potentially being a murderous scoundrel or this.

“He was there and I was more than happy to take him on.” He flexed his fingers and she noticed his red knuckles. When she moved to withdraw her hand from his though, he tightened his hold. “There’s no need for coddling, Samantha. I’m fine.”

“And Wrengate?”

“He’ll live.”

She flattened her lips and forced back the urge to roll her eyes. “There’s one more name that shows up on both of the lists you left with me.”

“Wentworth’s?”

“It’s actually Doctor Fellowes’s.”

Adrian stared at her for a long moment, as though fighting the will to let this information sink in. Eventually he shook his head. “The research on the tonic was found in Wentworth’s desk.”

Yet he himself had considered the possibility of Wentworth sharing this information with someone else.

“Yes, but the calling card you retrieved from Islington’s office did not bear Wentworth’s name. He wasn’t mentioned by the clerk you spoke with at Sparrow’s, which means his calling cards are printed on different card stock or use a different font, perhaps both.”

“What are you suggesting?” A foolish question he already knew the answer to.

She shrugged one shoulder, aware how difficult this would be for him to hear since it might involve him misjudging not only one man but two. “Maybe Wentworth had an accomplice. Either Melroy or Fellowes.”

“Or maybe the calling card has no connection at all. Maybe it just happened to be among the pieces of paper Islington disposed of in haste. That could be the case. It’s not unreasonable for him, as a physician, to have had the calling cards of numerous men who share his profession.

The rest might have perished in the fire.

We only happened upon this one and chose to turn it into a clue when it might have nothing to do with the case at all. ”

“We still need to look at Melroy and Fellowes. Anything less would be sloppy on our part. Especially with Wentworth being investigated too.” When Adrian said nothing to this she asked, “How did Kendrick respond to the information you gave him?”

“He was grateful. Told me he’d make sure to get the permission he needed to search Wentworth’s office, both at St. George’s and at his home. The man will also be brought in for questioning. If everything goes well, the extent of his involvement will be determined by this time tomorrow.”

“And until then?”

“I would suggest we wait and see what happens. It’s still too soon for you to be running around Town. Another day’s rest will benefit you.”

She knew better than to argue. “Someone should keep a watchful eye on Fellowes and Melroy. If either one played a part in this, Kendrick’s interest in Wentworth may cause them to panic, making them more prone to showing their hand.”

“I’ll send a note to Murdoch. If he’s got people at the hospital or in either of these men’s homes, they’ll keep us apprised of their response to this development.”

* * *

Peter Kendrick considered the man he’d brought in for questioning based on Croft’s recommendation.

Doctor Wentworth was three and sixty years of age and a full head shorter than he.

His white hair matched his eyebrows, which sat above a pair of inquisitive eyes.

A wide nose offered support for the wire-rimmed spectacles he wore and a pair of heavy cheeks marked by splotches of pink bracketed his pursed lips.

All in all, he looked like a studious man who was prone to analyzing the world around him. He’d also been remarkably polite toward Peter and his Runners. Had made no protest when he’d been asked to accompany them to Bow Street.

He’d merely asked, “Why?”

When Kendrick told him he needed his help in an ongoing investigation, Wentworth had simply nodded and said, “Let’s go.”

Not exactly the sort of response one would expect from a ruthless killer, Peter mused.

Then again, Benjamin Lawrence had kept his monstrous ways carefully tucked away beneath a similarly amicable facade.

He’d even played the victim and managed to fool the entire world into thinking he’d lost the use of his legs in a riding accident.

To maintain such a ruse could not have been simple. It showed how far some people were willing to go in order to hide the heinous crimes they committed. Perhaps Wentworth reasoned that by cooperating, he’d avoid suspicion.

Peter pondered this as he led Wentworth into his office and invited him to sit. Jackson and Lewis, who followed them inside, remained near the door. A precaution in case Wentworth tried anything.

The surgeon didn’t yet know what Peter had found in his desk drawer after instructing the Runners to escort him to an awaiting carriage.

With the law at his back, supported by a permit signed by Chief Magistrate Hastings, Peter had conducted a thorough search that concluded with the discovery of the notebook Croft had mentioned.

A brief look through it had indeed suggested Wentworth might be up to something illicit. Especially when viewed together with the rest of the evidence that had been gathered thus far. Specifically the herbs found in the victims’s stomachs.

In all likelihood, the conversation that was about to take place would lead to Wentworth’s arrest. Until then, however, Peter preferred to let the man think there was no need to worry – that he would soon be heading back to work.

In his opinion, Wentworth was more likely to talk and let something slip if he wasn’t aware of the case being built against him.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Peter asked as he went to claim his own seat. “Or tea?”

“No thank you. I’d rather get on with our discussion so I can return to my patients.

A twelve-year-old boy was brought in last night.

Ruptured appendix. I assisted with the operation and while I’m confident he’ll make a full recovery without issue, I did assure his parents I’d check on him periodically. ”

Yet another indication this man was not the ruthless villain Peter hunted.

Again, however, the consideration he showed toward his patient could be part of the mask he wore.

After all, he’d offered the information himself without Peter requesting it.

Perhaps as a means by which to establish a positive image?

Only time would tell.

“I understand,” Peter said, deliberately choosing a non-committal response.

He pulled his silver cheroot case from his jacket pocket and was about to light a perfectly rolled length of tobacco when Miss Hastings swept into the room, flushed and slightly out of breath. Her skirts swished around her ankles as she pushed her way past Jackson and Lewis.

Peter stood with a weary sigh, acutely aware of where this would lead.

Perceptive as she was, Miss Hastings had realized progress might be about to occur with regard to the murder investigation and no doubt meant to be part of it.

Not that he minded her listening in. She’d proven her usefulness more than once since joining his team.

But her open aversion to the one pleasure Peter allowed himself was starting to grate.

“Miss Hastings,” Peter said, “This is Doctor Wentworth. Doctor Wentworth, Miss Hastings here is a recent recruit. She’s assisting me on a number of cases.”

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Miss Hastings lowered herself to the last remaining seat and adjusted her spectacles.

The expectant look on her face encouraged Peter to get on with the interview.

He dropped his unlit cheroot back in its case, folded his arms over his chest, then turned his full attention to Wentworth.

“We’ve asked you to come in today and talk to us because we’ve reason to believe there’s a murderer within the medical community.

It could be a physician who’s trying to prove himself in some twisted way, though I’m more inclined to believe it’s a surgeon. ”

“What?” Dismay and horror pulled at Wentworth’s features.