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“Then Miss Lloyd lied to us… That sweet, vague lady who lives for her charities. And now she has disappeared.”

“Interesting, isn’t it? Also interesting is that there was an open valise on the bed, with clothing and personal items strewn about the bed and the floor.”

“As though he had packed his valise to leave,” Constance said, “and someone else emptied it out, searching for something. For the treasure?”

“If so, they may have found it. Although I doubt from the descriptions and the photographs that he would have been able to pack it all into that valise, even without the clothes.”

“Then what the devil has he done with it? Who would have killed him? His accomplice on the ship? Tybalt? He lied to us, after all, about Samuels’s address.”

Solomon smiled grimly. “A lot of people have been lying to us.”

They both thought about that for a few moments, then Constance said uneasily, “What if whoever shot Clarke has harmed Audrey too?”

“I can’t think why,” Solomon said, although the idea had occurred to him too. “The connection is inexplicable.”

Constance sighed. “Everything in this case seems to be. Did you learn anything about her disappearance? When did anyone last see her? What has she taken with her?”

“She took most of her clothes, apparently, and some personal items. I don’t know any other details yet.”

Constance’s eyes widened. “You haven’t been to the Lloyds’ house yet?”

“No, I came straight after you.”

“Well, off you go now.”

His lips twitched at her imperiousness. “When the doctor has seen you.”

“By then, Sydney might have filled his ears with poison against us,” she said urgently.

“Oh, I think that moment has passed, don’t you?

He was never going to tell his parents, or he would have to admit where and how he found out.

Whatever Lloyd’s own habits, he is not the kind of man to turn a blind eye to his offspring’s.

And confession might also end completely Ben Devine’s chances with Jemimah.

Sydney might retain some sibling loyalty, or regard for his friendship with Ben. ”

She looked doubtful, then thoughtful. Finally, she said, “I don’t like this, Solomon. That my other profession is a liability to Silver and Grey. Any prospective client who walks through our doors could know me.”

“Well, we are not hiding,” Solomon pointed out. “It is our names on the door and on our cards. Investigation is not normally regarded as a particularly respectable profession. I don’t see that clients would care.”

She regarded him fixedly, not without fascination. “Seriously?”

He smiled. “Seriously. I have a plan.” There came the sounds of people crossing the outer room, so he released her hand and stood up. “Which I shall tell you about later.”

Sarah, who had led him with his beloved burden to Constance’s bedroom, came in again with a brisk young man with a medical bag.

“And you are?” the doctor said, his voice wintry.

“Grey. Mrs. Silver’s betrothed.”

That appeared to take the wind out of the doctor’s protective sails, for he merely grunted and turned immediately to his patient. “It’s stopped bleeding and looks clean enough, but it had better be stitched. First, though, look at my finger—follow it with your eyes.”

He proceeded to ask a lot of other odd questions, while he turned her face to the light and peered into her eyes, lifting the lids to see more.

“Concussion can be a nasty thing. You must rest for at least twenty-four hours—and I mean bed rest, Mrs. Silver. I also want someone to be with you during all of that time. If you notice any change,” he flung at Solomon and Sarah, “send for me at once. Now, I’m afraid this is going to hurt…”

*

It was after midday before Solomon finally left Constance and walked round to the Lloyds’ house.

He could still feel her suffering as if it were his own, even though she had been brave and stoic.

The doctor had given her a mild draft, he said, to ease the pain, and when she finally slept, Solomon reluctantly left her in the care of her devoted handmaidens—a maid and a prostitute and a girl called Libby whom she was teaching to read.

Arriving at the Lloyds’ residence, he was shown immediately into the master’s study.

“I sent for you hours ago!” Lloyd said, springing from his chair at his desk. “Is something more urgent than the disappearance of my poor, gentle sister? Does my employ mean nothing to you?”

“It means a great deal, sir. In fact, I was detained by an assault on my partner, Mrs. Silver, while she was about your inquiries.”

“Eh?” Lloyd frowned and sat back down, waving irritably to the chair on the near side of the desk. “What happened? Is she well? Who did it?”

“She was struck on the head,” Solomon said, seating himself. “In the house of one Mr. Joshua Clarke, whom I believe you know.”

“Clarke? It’s a common enough name, but I can’t think of him offhand. What makes you think I know him?”

“He was the ship’s carpenter aboard the Queen of the Sea .”

“Was he?” Lloyd’s eyebrows flew up. “You suspect him of the theft of my treasure?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, have him arrested, man! I’ll go straight to the police station myself!” As if suddenly remembering the matter of his sister, he coughed. “Audrey would want the man caught and the treasure returned. If only nothing ill has happened to her. You haven’t told me how Mrs. Silver is.”

“She needed stitches to her head and the doctor is still concerned for her. Wounds of that nature are dangerous.”

“Terrible business. We’ll charge Clarke with that too.”

“I’m afraid we won’t,” Solomon said. “Clarke is dead.”

Lloyd blinked rapidly. “Dead? How?”

“Shot through the heart, by the look of it. The police surgeon will no doubt discover more details.”

“Good Lord,” Lloyd said faintly. “What on earth does this mean?”

“For you? That our chief suspect in the treasure theft has died without explaining how it was achieved, or what he did with the treasure. Perhaps the police will find it when they search the place for clues.”

“The police?” he said quickly. “The police are involved?”

“Of course. A man was murdered. Mrs. Silver could easily have been.”

“I just thought you would handle the matter, but I suppose… Do you think this Clarke might have attacked Mrs. Silver? And then someone else shot him for the treasure?”

“It’s possible. He might have had an accomplice aboard the ship who got greedy. How well do you know Captain Tybalt?”

“Known him for years. Good fellow. Never let me down.”

“So you said. He must be expensive to hire.”

Lloyd shrugged. “Not too bad. I’d rather have a man I can trust.”

“Then you trust Tybalt not to have stolen the treasure?”

“Of course! He’s a gentleman. Sort of.”

“What of the rest of the crew?”

“They’re Tybalt’s business. I had nothing to do with them.”

“Nothing?” Solomon said, raising his eyebrows. “Sir, you spent weeks—months—amongst those people. You must have noticed something about them. Their names, their friendships, their fitness.”

“Not really. Though we had to leave one fellow at Madagascar. Left him aboard another ship with a doctor on board.”

“Think about it,” Solomon urged. “You must have heard the captain giving orders from time to time, the men complaining or cracking jokes, talking to each other. Names must have been used.”

“I suppose so. Some of them had funny names. Like Squibbs.”

“And the men who carried your baggage, including the chest, off the ship in London?”

“Johnny,” he said after a moment or two. “And Squibbs. And Samuels, who tied up the chest. Not sure he carried anything, but he might have.”

“Did you trust them?”

“Certainly, while I was watching them!”

“You left your bags below for these men to bring up on deck, while you and your son and the captain were up there, waving to your family, even entertaining them, I believe.”

“You think the chests were swapped during that time? I don’t see how, but I suppose you must be right. How does Clarke come into it, then?”

“Were there not people called Clarke among the tenants of your estate?”

“Possibly,” he said, mystified. “Never had much to do with the estates. Got a steward in who knows the land. Not my forte.”

“Your sister was the one who knew the tenants?”

Lloyd sighed. “Charity, always charity with Audrey. She did a great deal of it here in London, too. My fear is, Grey, that some charity case has turned against her, robbed her, hurt her in some way…”

“It seems unlikely,” Solomon said dryly. “She took most of her things with her, did she not? What else did she have to run away from?”

Lloyd drew himself up. “Nothing in this house.”

Solomon switched tack. “When did you last see your sister?”

“At dinner. She’s always at dinner.”

“You did not see her after that? Did you not join the ladies in the drawing room?”

“Yes…” He frowned. “Come to think of it, I’m not sure Audrey was there then. We must ask the other ladies.”

“And the servants, if you don’t mind. And your son and your younger daughter, too.”

Lloyd shifted restlessly. “I suppose we need her to be found.”

Which was an odd way of putting it. But then, Lloyd regarded everything from the angle of how it affected him. He did seem genuinely put out about his sister’s disappearance, and he had certainly sent Sydney to fetch him as soon as he knew.

“How did you learn that Miss Lloyd was missing and not just gone out about her charitable missions?” Solomon asked.

“Jemimah told me. She’d gone up to see her aunt—with Rachel, I think—and thought the room seemed too tidy. The bed was not slept in and the maids had not yet made it up.”

“Does Miss Lloyd have a personal maid?” Solomon asked.

“Oh no. She has access to my wife’s woman, of course, whenever she needs her.”

“Then I’ll begin with Garrick,” Solomon said, rising to his feet.

“What would the butler know about it?” Lloyd demanded, clearly frustrated that Solomon was not out tearing London apart in a frenzy to find his sister.

“Oh, butlers know most things,” Solomon said, and went out.