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“Nothing bad. He’s a friend. I think.”

The old man shrugged. “The others called him Johnny.”

Solomon’s heart twinged with disappointment. “Do you know where Johnny is now?”

“No idea. Went off with the rest of ’em, his bag on his shoulder.”

“I don’t suppose you know where I can find Captain Tybalt?”

The fact that Solomon knew the captain’s name seemed to reassure the watchman, who told him an address not too far away to walk.

Solomon thanked him and set off. The first hope of certainty had gone, but this chance discovery was as close as all his deliberate and painstaking inquiries had come in ten years. He would not give it up lightly.

The captain’s house was a modest affair, chosen for convenience to the river rather than comfort, Solomon suspected.

A knock brought the man to the door. He was not young, perhaps in his forties.

Nor was he tall or particularly imposing in appearance, but his unquiet face bore all the hallmarks of a restless spirit, the kind of man who was only truly happy at sea.

Solomon had encountered many such men during his life.

“Captain Tybalt? My name is Solomon Grey.” He presented his personal business card, and the man’s eyes widened as if he recognized it.

Solomon didn’t think Tybalt had ever worked for him—he knew most of his sea captains—but perhaps he had heard of him and hoped for another ship.

“I’m looking for one of your crew,” he said quickly, to avoid false hope. “A man called Johnny something?”

“Johnny?” Tybalt repeated. “What’s he done?”

“Do you expect him to be in trouble?”

“Lord, no. Seemed a decent fellow, willing and able and never gave me any trouble. But I don’t know him well—picked him up at Madagascar when one of our own took ill, and he stayed on. Said he’d never been to England before, let alone to London.”

“Then where did he go when he left the ship?” Solomon asked.

“I don’t know. A couple of the crew, Jackson and Squibbs, took him along with them.”

“Can you tell me where their lodgings are?”

“No, but I suspect you’ll find them in the Crown and Anchor.”

The Crown and Anchor was not a house Solomon had ever frequented. Nor would he have advised anyone else to risk it, whatever their station in life, especially not someone who had never been in London before. He’d be lucky to get in and out with only his pockets picked.

Also, it was getting dark, and he had to take Constance to the opera. Still, he couldn’t leave the matter until he had laid eyes on this Johnny. So he extracted the names of the crew members who had been with him when last seen, thanked the captain, and walked on toward the notorious alehouse.

He was so deep in thought and in so much of a hurry that he almost missed her, even though she stepped out of a doorway on his left, almost bumping into him. She was vaguely familiar, so he touched his hat somewhat mechanically before he realized she was twittering his name.

“Mr. Grey! What a surprise to see you in this neck of the woods, as it were.”

It was Miss Audrey Lloyd, his client’s maiden sister, all flustered untidiness and kind eyes. “Miss Lloyd. I have to say the same. May I escort you somewhere?”

“Oh no, there is a hackney stand close by. I am quite used to the neighborhood, you know. Charity… Though I would appreciate it if you didn’t tell my brother precisely where you met me. He worries so…”

Solomon was not entirely surprised if she frequented areas like these in the dark. Although he really wanted to be elsewhere, he felt obliged to offer his arm and slow his steps.

“So kind,” she murmured. “Are you here in search of my brother’s lost treasure?”

No. My own . “Something like that.” In spite of the search crowding the forefront of his mind, curiosity pierced its way in. He regarded her thoughtfully. “You are a very independently minded lady, are you not? Considering your brother’s—ah…caring nature.”

“Oh well, a spinster lady has to go her own way if she is not to vanish into the woodwork,” she said in a vague kind of way. “I do so enjoy my charities, and one likes to feel useful.”

“I’m sure you are and have been extremely useful to your brother’s family.”

“Oh no. The children are dear, but they always had nannies, you know, when they were very young. And Christine is the most ferocious housekeeper, leaving me nothing to do but eat my head off.”

She reminded Solomon of a tiny, starving bird in winter. He could not imagine her eating her head off anywhere at any time.

“Have you not your own conveyance, Mr. Grey?” she asked anxiously.

“Why no, I traveled by hackney also. I shall take the one after you.”

“You are welcome to share mine,” she offered with the timidity of one used to being refused in all things.

“I have one more errand first.”

“Of course you do. Please don’t let me keep you.”

He saw her into a hackney, doffed his hat, and set off back the way he had come.

The Crown and Anchor was dark, smoky, and crowded, which at least meant he was not quite as noticeable as he would otherwise have been in his smart coat and hat.

Having stumbled into the bar counter by accident, he ordered a pint of ale, and when it came, rather than actually drink the foul-looking brew, he asked the tapster if he knew the two crew members from the Queen of the Sea , Jackson and Squibbs, by name.

“No,” said the tapster without even thinking about it, and went to serve someone less inquisitive.

Solomon picked up his mug and turned to face the room through the fug of tobacco smoke. By accident, his eyes met those of the man next to him.

“Over there,” the man said amiably, nodding toward the table in the corner, “which I give you for free, though I’d thank you for a pint.”

Solomon almost gave the man his own, but instead set a coin in front of him. “Have two,” he said, and took his mug across to the corner.

In fact, there were three men at the table, and one of them had his back to Solomon. His heart began to beat faster. He sat down on the bench, not so close that anyone could put a hand in his pocket, and set his mug on the table shared by the trio.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “is it true you’re part of the Queen of the Sea crew that brought treasure back to these shores?”

One of them grinned. “So we did, but if you imagine it’s made us rich, think again!”

“Wouldn’t be drinking here if we was rich,” said the man whose face he hadn’t previously seen—a weather-beaten face, but not the one he sought.

The disappointment was like a blow. He had to remind himself that of course it was never going to be that easy.

“Which makes us wonder,” said the third man, “why you are drinking here?”

“I am looking for someone and Captain Tybalt couldn’t help me. He said you fellows might know where Johnny is lodging.”

“Johnny? Too cold for him in these parts. Got aboard another ship, didn’t he?”

*

The disappointment was so crushing that he arrived back at the Silver and Grey offices with no clear recollection of the journey. He was only there to close the shutters and make sure the fires were safe, but he was running out of time for the opera.

He lit the wall light in the hall and the lamp on his desk, then moved around, completing his mundane tasks.

He always kept a few items of clothing at the office, so he splashed some water about his person and changed into a clean shirt and evening dress, abandoning his overcoat, which stank unbearably of tobacco, filth, and old, old grief.

Then, although he knew he was already going to be late, he sat down at his desk and drew out the photograph.

Unmagnified, there was nothing to make the African sailor stand out.

He could have been anyone. Only hope had made him into Solomon’s lost brother.

He should have known that. Both Lloyd and his son had spent time on the same ship as this man.

He had helped pull up his treasure. Would they not have seen Solomon’s likeness to him as soon as they met if this Johnny had been David, his twin? Yet neither Lloyd had reacted to him.

He had wasted half his afternoon on a wild goose chase.

Still, he had done the right thing. There was no point in having agents around the world looking out for David if he failed to follow up on tracks and traces that came his own way.

He would have liked to have met this man.

There was even that small, lingering chance that he was David.

Which was why he had given this address to the sailors to pass on to him, should they run into him again.

He had lived all his adult life alone. It had never been impossible. And now there was Constance, his totally unexpected joy… For whom he was going to be late.

He touched the face in the photograph, then swept it into the drawer below and left the office.

*

Miss Audrey Lloyd sat on her bed, rummaging through her bag in search of her missing key. She brought out three mittens, a few coins, a screwed-up piece of paper, several handkerchiefs—all used—and a piece of pastry that made her wrinkle her nose in distaste.

Hastily, she wrapped the disgusting fragment of pie in the paper and threw it in her wastepaper basket before she swept the handkerchiefs into the laundry.

Then she sat back on the bed, and had just drawn out the missing key with some triumph when abruptly her bedchamber opened and Christine walked in.

It was all Audrey could do to force a vague, silly smile to her lips. She had thought she would be free of all visits tonight—she usually was, to be fair—for the entire family apart from herself and Rachel were going to the opera.

Christine was in all her finery, looking both beautiful and regal.

“How lovely you are,” Audrey said admiringly.

Although Christine liked to be complimented—even by her sister-in-law—she would not be distracted.

To Audrey’s dismay, she closed the door softly behind her. “What key is that?” she demanded in a hard voice that was entirely free of fear.

“Oh, just the back way into the church. I think. To be honest, I have been trying to remember myself…”

“Don’t lie to me, Audrey! Please tell me you are not still going to that—that…” Words seemed to fail her, and she broke off and just glared. “You promised me. And you must keep that promise now Barnabas is home.”

“Did I promise? I’m afraid I shall continue going to the church. The vicar does such good in the community…”

Christine regarded her with dislike. “Give me it.” Audrey gave it up without a fuss, and Christine hastily hid it in her own reticule. “You’re putting me in a horrible position, Audrey. Don’t you care? Have you forgotten I know everything?”

Of course she didn’t, which was amusing in its way. Audrey tried a placating smile, but Christine was too rattled to respond, not least because Barnabas could be heard from the hall downstairs calling for his wife to hurry or they would miss the beginning.

“You are a silly old maid, Audrey,” Christine snapped. “And it’s well past time you realized it.”

She swept from the room, leaving Audrey gazing after her. Once, such words had hurt her, not for their truth but for the spite with which they were spoken. Christine had never wanted her here, which Audrey could well understand.

She blinked as Christine left, even called, “Enjoy the music,” after her.

When the carriage had gone, she’d go and find Rachel and they could play some game or just chatter a bit. Rachel was a sweet child.

As for her purloined key, it didn’t matter. She had another. Somewhere.