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“Whoever he is, it would seem he has at least one accomplice.” There was still a chance the villain was either Preordian or Islington, perhaps even both.

For now, however, Peter chose to relay the theory he’d put together with Miss Hastings’s help.

“Physicians linked to the victims have since gone missing. It’s my belief they curated these people on behalf of the killer. ”

“But that’s diabolical,” Wentworth muttered, his eyes still wide with shock.

“It would mean that you’re not just looking for one villain but several, which I refuse to believe.

I mean, it’s one thing for insanity to manifest in a singular person, but it’s unlikely for it to do so in several others at the same time.

Especially within the same profession. And for them to collaborate with each other seems even more implausible. ”

Peter had considered this himself. Miss Hastings had also pointed it out.

Neither could find an explanation capable of providing a link or a motive.

Wanting to catch Wentworth off guard he said, “I was hoping you would have some idea of whom we ought to focus our investigation on. Have any of your colleagues mentioned an interest in developing a complete anesthesia?”

Wentworth’s gaze sharpened. He straightened in his seat. “Why do you ask?”

“Because of the evidence we’ve gathered thus far.” Peter deliberately chose to drag out his delivery of information while keeping a trained eye on Wentworth. The Physician no longer looked as relaxed as when he’d arrived. “According to Doctor Fellowes, the coroner who—”

“I know who he is,” Wentworth said, his voice tight.

“Of course. He’s a colleague of yours.” Peter allowed himself a moment to clear his throat, to casually retrieve a piece of paper from one of the files he kept in his desk drawer.

He glanced at it even though he already knew every word it contained, having penned them himself.

“According to him, traces of wolfsbane, cannabis, and various herbs were found in each of the victim’s stomachs.

“Along with laudanum. When I questioned him about it, he suggested this combination might have been used as a means by which to render these people unconscious. Is this an opinion you would agree with?”

“What you describe is a toxic combination.” Wentworth extended his hand while frowning. “May I see that?”

“Certainly.” Peter handed him the paper and gave him as much time as he needed to scan the notes it contained. Meanwhile, he paid careful attention to Wentworth’s expression, which seemed to switch from interest to anger and possibly disbelief.

“I’ve no idea what these findings prove.” He handed the page back to Peter.

“Are you certain of that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Peter withdrew Wentworth’s notebook from his pocket and held it up for him to see.

“The notes made in here mention most of the things the victims consumed, along with attempts made to reproduce an ancient Chinese method of rendering patients unconscious while they undergo operations. According to your own entries, your experiments have killed several animals already.”

“Which is why I would never dare give the tincture to humans. It’s too dangerous.”

“So you admit you’ve been researching this?”

“What point is there in denying it when you’re sitting there with the proof in your hand?” Wentworth scowled with displeasure.

“Where did you conduct your experiments on Miss Griffin and Mr. Booker?”

Anger flared in Wentworth’s eyes. “I already told you. I would never administer that concoction to humans.”

Peter wasn’t sure he believed him and was about to press for more answers when Miss Hastings asked, “Then why experiment with it at all?”

Wentworth turned to her and blinked as though he’d forgotten her presence. “I beg your pardon?”

“If you never meant for your findings to aid you in your work, why put in the effort?” She stared at him as though he were a puzzle she meant to solve. “I mean, I assume you wanted the tincture to be a success and that making it so was your ultimate goal. So why not push for it to be applied?”

“Because the likelihood of being able to do so during my lifetime is equal to nil. I’m three and sixty years old.

It would take years for me to find the perfect balance between the ingredients.

” Regret tugged at the lines creasing his brow.

“All I can hope for at this point is to leave the research for someone else to continue.”

Peter absorbed every word and the way in which it was conveyed.

Wentworth sounded sincere but that could be an act.

Nevertheless, one of his comments stood out among the rest. “Concerning your point about leaving your research to someone else, have you considered a possible candidate whom you would trust with what I presume to be your life’s work? ”

Wentworth slumped against his chair with a sigh and waved his hand dismissively. “Melroy would be my only choice.”

“Have you discussed your research with him or anyone else?” Peter asked.

“No. It’s not ready to be shared yet.”

Peter wondered if it ever would be. Indeed, it was starting to look more and more like the sort of personal project Wentworth wished to perfect on his own.

A point that was cause for consideration.

Maybe Wentworth was the surgeon they sought.

Preordian and Islington could have sent patients to him without knowing what would happen to them.

They might simply have run when Peter began asking questions, because they feared he’d accuse them of being involved in the disappearance and subsequent deaths of patients whose last known locations were at their practices.

The theory wasn’t too ridiculous.

“Is there anything else you wish to share with us regarding this matter?” Peter asked. When Wentworth shook his head, Peter said, “Then it falls upon me to place you under arrest for your involvement in the deaths of Miss Polly Griffin and Mr. Francis Booker.”

“But that’s preposterous,” Wentworth exclaimed. He leaned forward in his chair as though preparing to stand. Jackson and Lewis stepped forward, their firm hands on his shoulders keeping him seated for now. A wild look entered Wentworth’s gaze. “I had nothing to do with that.”

“A stance I intend to investigate thoroughly. You have my word.”

“I’m a physician,” Wentworth complained. “My job is to heal people, not harm them.”

“And yet there is no denying the damning evidence your own notes provide. Since you’ve made it clear you never shared them with anyone, there’s no one else for me to consider but you.

” A thought did occur to Peter at that exact moment – a point he’d ignored.

He raised his chin. “What is the chance you’re not the only surgeon exploring ways in which to sedate patients properly during surgery?

That someone else may be trying to replicate this long-lost method using the same exact ingredients as you? ”

“Sedation is an extremely popular subject within the medical community,” Wentworth said.

“I’m sure I’m not the only one trying to find a solution.

Whoever does so first will be remembered.

Their discovery will make history and have a lasting effect on the surgical practice as a whole.

It will determine not only the extent of an operation’s invasiveness but how long it can last. This will allow surgeons to help patients with complications that cannot yet be treated. ”

“So what you’re essentially saying is that someone else could be trying to duplicate this ancient technique.”

Wentworth pressed his lips together. “It’s possible but highly unlikely. My research is based on translations of obscure texts, and while I suppose others may be aware of their existence, the rarity of it makes it improbable.”

“You leave me no choice then.” Peter nodded toward Jackson and Lewis. “Please escort Wentworth to one of our cells.”

“I’m not a criminal,” Wentworth repeated, shaking the Runners’ hands off as he stood. “You’ve got the wrong man, Constable.”

Peter got up as well. “If you give me the name of your solicitor I’ll be sure to contact him on your behalf.”

Wentworth sighed. “Mr. Douglas Greene. You’ll find him at Number 6 Milford Lane.”

Jackson took hold of Wentworth’s arm and steered him toward the door. Wentworth muttered something incoherent before preceding both him and Lewis into the hallway. Peter watched them go, all the while pondering whether or not he had indeed caught the killer.

“It’s a wonder he didn’t agree with you more readily,” Miss Hastings said, her voice soft and pensive.

Peter turned, his gaze catching hers. “What?”

“When you asked if someone else might be working on his idea, Wentworth could have provided you with another name. Someone else for you to look into and take attention away from him.”

She made an excellent point and… Lord help him, he could not ignore the sharp look in her eyes or the way it seemed to pin him in place.

Heat shot through Peter’s chest. His mouth went dry and he briefly wondered what it might feel like to hold her in his arms. An insane thought that was just as swiftly banished.

He nodded and started back toward his seat. Though Miss Hastings was clever, she also got on his nerves. Plus, she was the daughter of his superior. And a colleague. Allowing himself to have inappropriate feelings toward her would be a colossal mistake.

In all likelihood, the fact he’d even consider her in an amorous way was proof he’d gone too long without a woman. Perhaps he ought to make time to visit his favorite brothel. If only to get the idea of embracing Miss Hastings out of his head.

He sat and met her expectant gaze, immediately sensing he must have missed something. “What is it?”

She pursed her lips and rolled her eyes in a way that snapped at his nerves. “I was pointing out the issue regarding the bodies.”