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“W ell,” Constance said, as the carriage rolled through the gracious Mayfair streets, “he could hardly contain his delight at Lloyd’s misfortune.”

“Did it seem unalloyed delight to you?” Solomon asked, for in truth he was having difficulty concentrating.

He owed Constance and their client his best efforts, and under normal circumstances he was good at locking away matters that had no bearing on the task in hand.

But this—this was no normal circumstance.

In fact, the hugeness of his discovery overwhelmed him.

He needed to be pursuing it instead of fulfilling lesser obligations.

Only the knowledge that a couple of hours could make no difference, and that his time was already promised to the case, kept him in the carriage.

Constance was considering his words. “He might have been a little ashamed of his instinctive reaction.”

“Or guilty?”

“He is very single-minded,” she allowed.

“And it’s interesting that he actually went to the docks and saw the treasure chest being unloaded.

But I can’t imagine his creeping about the Lloyds’ house in the dead of night.

Even less, dealing with the criminal underworld to arrange the burglary.

Perhaps we should have spoken to his wife as well. ”

“She clearly has no interest in his collection. It’s all banished to the one room, along with Terrance himself.”

She sighed. “We did not learn anything new, did we?”

“I think we learned not to rule him out of this crime. The how may not be immediately obvious, but the why goes very deep.”

“Perhaps the Graftons will prove more useful.”

She lapsed into silence, which left his mind too much space to veer off course. He held it to the case almost desperately, going over Terrance’s responses and expressions, speculating on how he might have done it.

Constance was gazing out of the window. She might have been thinking as he was. Or she might have been waiting. She was nothing if not perceptive, and she would have noticed his reaction to the photograph. He didn’t have the words to explain just yet. Soon, he would find them, one way or the other.

In the meantime, there were Mr. and Mrs. Grafton.

Judging by the number of carriages waiting outside the Grafton house, its mistress at least was at home. This was, after all, one of the prime hours for morning calls. Solomon again asked at the door for Mr. Grafton, hoping that the man might well welcome a respite from tea and feminine chatter.

“We don’t need to disturb Mrs. Grafton when she is entertaining,” he added.

The footman took him at his word and ushered them into a small reception where, in due course, Mr. Grafton himself joined them, the Silver and Grey card in his hand.

“Sir. Madam.” He bowed so minimally that he might as well not have bothered. “I confess I am at a loss as to the reasons for your visit. I don’t believe we are acquainted, and Inquiries gives me no clues except ones I dislike.”

“Forgive our intrusion, Mr. Grafton,” Constance said with a winning smile. “It must seem unforgivable on our part. But the truth is, we come on behalf of a friend of yours, Mr. Barnabas Lloyd.”

“Mr. Lloyd is perfectly capable of speaking to me without intermediaries. In fact, I believe we are dining with them this week.”

“It is not a social call, sir, but a matter of business. Mr. Lloyd has engaged us to uncover the truth of his missing treasure.”

Grafton’s eyes widened in what seemed to be genuine astonishment. “Missing treasure? I thought he had brought it home—against all the odds at White’s, I might add.”

“Oh, he did. His house seems to have been burgled that very night. We were wondering if you—a fellow collector, we understand—might have come across anything like these items in sale rooms of any kind, or even heard a whisper of their availability?”

Grafton took the list from her, his eyebrows rising spectacularly. “Quite a haul. No, the only whisper I heard was that Lloyd himself would sell most of it, and that came from his wife.”

“When did she tell you that?” Solomon asked.

“Oh, last month, I think, when they dined with us.”

“I believe you and your family also dined with Mrs. Lloyd recently.”

Grafton stared. “We are old friends.”

“Yes, I know, that’s why we wanted to ask your opinion of his security measures in his house.”

“You mean the strong room? Knew he had one. Never saw it. Never told me how it worked or what made it so damned strong. I suppose it was like those in a bank or a solicitor’s office.”

“Have you seen any of the Lloyd family since the return of Mr. Lloyd and his son?”

“I have not. Keep missing Lloyd at the clubs.”

“May I ask how you knew he was home?”

“My wife told me. She had been due to meet with Mrs. Lloyd that afternoon, and Christine sent a note putting it off because the ship was expected and Lloyd had apparently found what he was looking for. Good for him, I said, though someone should invest it for him this time rather than letting him spend it on other damned expedition to Timbuktu or wherever.”

“Is your wife also interested in art and antiquities?” Constance asked.

“Of course,” Grafton replied frostily.

Solomon and Constance departed only a few minutes later.

“I’d say his wife knows Mrs. Lloyd well enough to have spent time in her bedchamber,” Constance said, walking up to the waiting carriage.

“Doing what?” Solomon asked, bewildered.

“Talking, trying on gowns and hairstyles—women’s things. I think we need to speak further to Mrs. Lloyd.”

“Possibly.” Solomon handed her into the carriage before following and sitting beside her as usual.

Even with all the turbulence in his mind, her nearness was oddly calming.

Like an anchor in a world that might be about to change forever.

He shifted restively as the horses walked on.

“Even if Mrs. Grafton managed to borrow and copy the strong room keys, I still don’t see how either of them could have broken into the house. ”

“I admit he doesn’t seem the type to know or employ a tame burglar, but one never knows. So where do we find this Fenwick character?”

“He has rooms down toward Westminster.”

They alighted at the address provided by Juliet. Solomon had just raised his hand to the knocker when the door flew open and a man barged out with such energy that Solomon had to step back to avoid him.

“Beg your pardon,” said the man, reaching back to slam the door.

“We beg yours,” Constance said, stepping forward so that the man was temporarily dazzled. He was perhaps Solomon’s own age, or a few years older, thin featured, and with a definite sparkle in his shrewd eyes. “We wish to go inside in search of one Mr. Fenwick.”

“Do you indeed? And who might you be?”

“I am Mrs. Silver. This is Mr. Grey.”

“Never heard of you,” the man said cheerfully.

“ You are Mr. Fenwick?” Solomon asked.

He clearly was, although he seemed reluctant to admit it in so many words. “And what is your business with Mr. Fenwick? Can’t let just anyone in, you know. Even a lady as beautiful as you, madam.”

“We come on behalf of Mr. Barnabas Lloyd,” Solomon said. “His son, Sydney, gave us your name as a collector of art and antiquities.”

“Did he now? Well, I’m Fenwick, and whatever I know about such subjects, I know nothing about any Lloyds.” He slammed the door firmly behind him. “Except the insurance people. What are you looking for?”

“Information,” Constance said.

“I don’t deal in that,” Fenwick said, almost regretfully. “And since I don’t know your principles, I can’t see that we have any business together. Good day!” He lifted his hat politely enough, but then strode straight past Constance, forcing her to step aside to avoid him.

“Well,” she said, gazing after him, “he’s the most suspicious character we’ve encountered. Do you believe him that he doesn’t know the Lloyds?”

“I think he’s the sort of man who denies everything as a matter of course. I’m more interested in how Sydney knows him.”

“Perhaps he doesn’t. Perhaps he was just throwing you off his own or someone else’s scent. Either way, it’s suspicious.”

Solomon tended to agree.

“Back to the Lloyds’ house?” Constance suggested, turning once more toward the carriage.

But Solomon’s impatience had reached its limits. “No. The afternoon wears on.” He handed her inside. “Go home and enjoy an hour or two of peace. I think you deserve it.”

“Then so do you.”

“I’m too restless. I’ll make a quick call on the locksmith and Lloyd’s solicitor on my way home, and call for you as agreed to attend the opera.

” He kissed the hand he still held, then stepped back and closed the door on her puzzled face.

He didn’t want to see the hurt there, so he turned away quickly to give the coachman his order and strode off down the street.

*

Solomon had many contacts at the London docks, and it did not take him long to locate Lloyd’s ship, Queen of the Sea .

In contrast with the hive of activity on other ships, the Queen looked lifeless.

Its gangway was pulled up and it rocked lethargically, too high in the water to have much weight aboard.

Solomon cupped his hands around his mouth to funnel his voice and shouted. “Ahoy! Queen of the Sea !”

After a few such attempts, an old watchman tottered out from below and came to the rail to speak to him. From his gait and his weathered face, he had been a seaman all his life.

“Crew’s all paid off and gone home,” the old man told him.

“Apart from you?”

“No, sir, I don’t go to sea no more. Just paid to mind it till it goes into dry dock.”

“Do you know the crew, then? The owner? Mr. Lloyd?”

“Know the captain. And one or two of the boys been around for years.”

“Did you know any Africans on the crew?”

The old man scratched his head. “Don’t know him, but I saw one bloke might have been African.” The deep blue eyes scanned Solomon’s face. “But then, so might you.”

“What was his name?”

“We wasn’t introduced. What do you want him for?”