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T oby was working on a particularly thorny German translation when Will announced that Mr. Warner was at the door. “Show him in,” Toby said. He gathered his papers up, glad to have a diversion.

“How goes the defense?” Toby asked, after Will had taken Silas’s coast.

“Not well. You saw the Times this morning?”

Toby nodded. “Magnus and I wondered how that would affect your plans.”

“It has knocked one leg out from under Ezra’s defense,” Silas said. He explained how Pemberton’s strategy was changing. “I was hoping I could speak with Magnus about the guest list.”

“He has gone out to dinner at his club,” Toby said. “But I’m sure Will and I can do just as well.”

He summoned Will, and by putting their heads together, the three of them were able to establish a rough chronology of who had arrived at the salon and when. “When you are ready, I’m sure Magnus will accompany you or Pemberton to interview the guests who might be most willing to testify,” Toby said when they were finished.

“Thank you. I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have your support.”

“What do you do next?”

“Now I must head to the Tabard Inn to see if anyone there can verify seeing Ezra with me that night.”

“That will be tricky,” Toby said. “Many of the patrons of the Tabard won’t want to be identified as connected with the place. And the proprietors could also be nervous if the character of their establishment were to become public knowledge.”

“I have to try.”

“Well, I have no plans for dinner. Why don’t I accompany you? We’ll drink and we’ll dine and we’ll see what kind of information we can discover.”

Toby knew he should be distraught over Ezra’s plight, but he couldn’t help feeling excited about the opportunity to do some sleuthing. He and Magnus had originally been introduced, and joined forces, to investigate a potential situation with international consequences, and though they had seen some excitement since then, the duties of translation were tedious.

He called for his coat and Silas’s, and told Will he would be dining out. Then they walked into the cold, fetid air. There was no hint of a breeze, and the smell of chamber pots, privies and horse dung grasped their lungs and would not let go.

“I cannot walk in this air,” Toby said. “Let us catch a carriage.”

They finally flagged one down on Duke of York Street and gave the driver the intersection nearest the Tabard Inn, in case he should recognize it and refuse to take them there.

“It will all work out,” Toby said when they were encased in the relative warmth of the carriage. “Pemberton is one of the best barristers in London. I have heard him argue at a soirée a few times, and he is most convincing.”

“I hope so. It seems awful to consider Ezra might be sent to prison for a crime I know he could not have committed.”

“You hold him in your heart, don’t you?” Toby asked.

Silas sighed. “At first, I thought of him merely as an enjoyable bedfellow. I reveled in his strength, you know. And it was so surprising that a very masculine man such as he would be interested in someone more fey, like myself.”

“Our brains cannot overrule our hearts,” Toby said. “When I was first introduced to Magnus, we regarded each other with disdain. I thought him a foolish fop, and he viewed me through the lens of class, as a mere servant.”

“Yet you overcame those difficulties?”

“We did.” Toby smiled. “Going to bed together certainly helped. And when we argue, which we do, Magnus has only to kiss me, or palm my cock, and my disposition changes.”

“I have not argued much with Ezra,” Silas said. “We have not been together long enough to have exposed our differences. But from the start he has felt different from other men. I am enthralled by his body, of course, but when we talk, it is as if we have known each other for years. And every new detail I learn about him deepens my affection.”

The carriage arrived, and they disembarked and Toby paid the fare, over Silas’s mild objection. “I could ask Pemberton,” Silas said.

“And who do you think pays Pemberton’s bills?”

Silas came to a sudden realization, based on the accounts he had begun to manage. “The client.”

“Indeed. In this case, that would be Mr. Curiel. I am pleased that the cost of carriage fare is well within my budget, and even though your amour has money now, he may have need of it later.”

Toby led the way to the Tabard Inn. He was grateful for his situation, and the ability to make small generous gestures. The truth was that he lived largely on the income from Magnus’s investments, though his own work in translating and tutoring gave him pocket money. Without Magnus, he might still be back in Cambridge, struggling to teach unresponsive students about the subjunctive clauses of French.

Jolly Olly appeared surprised to see them. He wiped his hands on his stained white apron, cocked his head for a moment, then asked, “A table for how many?”

“Two, please,” Toby said. “And yes, we are not with our regular partners. Just a lads’ night out.”

Jolly Olly smiled and led them to a table along one wall, where they ordered ale and eel pie. When Olly had a moment of quiet, Toby motioned him over.

“Do you know the boxer Ezra Curiel?” he asked the man.

“I have been here a few times with him,” Silas added.

Thus reassured he was not violating a man’s privacy, Olly agreed. “Yes, he is quite the figure of a man.”

“Do you recall the last time he and I were here together?” Silas asked.

The man thought for a moment. “It was the night Francis knocked a line of piecrusts into the fire,” he said. “Do you recall all the smoke?”

Silas was delighted at the memory. “I do indeed,” he said, with a smile.

“Are you aware that Mr. Curiel has been charged with murder?” Toby asked.

“A terrible thing,” Olly said.

Silas nodded. “And the thing is, the murder happened at the very time he and I were dining here.”

“Really?”

“Indeed.” He paused, marshalling his words. “I am the clerk for Barrister Richard Pemberton, who has undertaken Ezra’s defense. It may be necessary in court to establish that he and I were here at that time. Would you be willing to appear before the court and make a statement to that effect?”

“I don’t know,” Olly said.

“Oy, fat man!” the barmaid called. “Orders up!”

“I have to go,” Olly said, and he hurried away.

“Can he be made to appear?” Toby asked Silas.

“I believe so. But it may take Pemberton’s skill to convince him, and guarantee that no undue attention will be paid to him or his establishment.”

Toby smiled. “Or to the barmaid, who at this very moment has slapped Jolly Olly’s buttocks.”

“In a gesture I am sure is one of affection,” Silas said. “Some men are known to enjoy such paddling.”

Toby laughed. “I attended a public school, so I am aware of that tradition,” he said. “Though for myself I find the resulting redness and discomfort outweighs any momentary pleasure.”

“There are creams for that,” Silas said. “And the application of those can be as enjoyable as the flat of a hand smacked against tender skin.”

“I’ll leave that to you and Ezra,” Toby said.

“Oh, no, Ezra is much too concerned about the effect of his strength to apply a hand to anyone in the name of pleasure. I speak solely of past experience.”

They talked and laughed through another round of ale, and as they ate their pies. By the time they left, Silas was sure that Jolly Olly could be persuaded to testify, even if his palm had to be greased by Pemberton—or eventually Ezra.