breeches. One was chewing on a length of straw; the other, a younger man, held himself stiffly to one side.
Tom was nowhere in sight.
Sebastian became aware of the echo of his footfalls in the silent street, the steady beat of his own heart, the icy chill that coursed through him. There was no doubt in his mind that Tom would never abandon the chestnuts. Not willingly.
Slipping his hand into the pocket of his driving coat, Sebastian walked up to the man with the straw dangling out of the corner of his mouth. Of medium height and build, he had dark hair and a beard-grizzled face split by a provocative smirk.
“The groom who was with the curricle,” Sebastian demanded, his voice tight. “A lad in a black and yellow striped waistcoat; where is he?”
The man cast a glance at his companion, then used his tongue to shift the straw from one side of his mouth to the other. “Nipped off to the gin shop up the lane there,” he said, nodding toward the top of the hill.
“A gin shop?”
“Ye heard me.”
Reaching out, Sebastian closed his fist around the front of the man’s coat with his left hand as he whipped the pistol from his pocket. Drawing back the first hammer with an audible click, he shoved the barrel into the man’s face. “I’ll ask one more time. And you’d best give me an honest answer because I won’t ask a third time.
Out of the corner of his eye, Sebastian saw the other man shift his weight. A length of iron bar dropped out of his sleeve and into his hand. He took a step forward, the bar raised to strike.
Without losing his grip on the first man’s coat, Sebastian pivoted, leveled the pistol over his outstretched arm, and fired.
The shot hit the ruffian at the base of his throat, the force of the blast slamming him back against the wall behind him. He slid down the wall slowly, his body crumpling sideways as he hit the earth.
“Jackson!” shouted the first man.
“Your friend was stupid,” hissed Sebastian. Tightening his grasp on the man’s coat, he pushed the ruffian back against the rough brick wall and shoved the hot muzzle of the gun up under the man’s chin. “Let’s hope you’re smarter.”
The smell of sizzling flesh filled the air and the man yelped, his eyes going wide.
“I want to know two things,” said Sebastian, pulling back the second hammer. “Where is my tiger, and who sent you?”
The man licked his lips, his eyes darting toward the darkened entrance of the storehouse. “He’s in there! He’s not hurt. I swear it!”
“You’d best hope for your own sake that he is not.” His finger on the trigger, one hand still fisted in the man’s coat, Sebastian hauled him toward the open doorway. “You first.”
Yanking him up short, Sebastian paused in the entrance to give his eyes time to adjust to the gloom. A vast cavernous space with a brick floor, the storeroom was filled with piles of crates and barrels and one small wriggling boy lying just to the right of the entrance.
It was Tom, his hands and feet bound, his mouth pried apart by a gag, his eyes open and alert. Sebastian felt a rush of relief, followed by a renewed upsurge of rage.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Sebastian told the hireling, dragging him over to the wide-eyed tiger. “You’re going to kneel right here”—he shoved the man to his knees—“and you’re going to hold yourself very, very still. Do anything stupid and you’re dead. Understand?”
The man nodded, his jaw set hard.
Hunkering down beside Tom, Sebastian transferred the gun to his left hand. Keeping the barrel trained on the man, he eased the knife from his boot. Quickly but carefully, he sawed through the ropes binding the lad’s wrists. He was setting to work on the bindings at the boy’s ankles when Tom yanked the gag from his mouth and yelled,
Pivoting, Sebastian fired the remaining barrel of his pistol into the man’s chest.
Within the confines of the warehouse, the report was deafening, the air filling with the stench of burnt powder. The man flopped backward, twitched once, then lay still.
“Gor,” said Tom on an exhalation of breath.
Sebastian went to rest his fingers against the man’s neck.
“Is he dead?” whispered Tom, struggling to sit up.
Rather than answer, Sebastian went to help the boy to his feet. Then he held him by the shoulders a moment longer than was strictly necessary, his gaze on the lad’s pale, freckled face. “Are you all right?”
“Aye, gov’nor. They just roughed me up a bit. It was you they was lookin’ to kill.”
“They knew my name?” Sebastian caught the tiger’s cap up off the brick floor and handed it to him.
“Aye. Who ye reckon set them on ye?” asked Tom, using the cap to whack the dust off his coat and breeches as he followed Sebastian out into the shadow-filled street.
“I’m not sure. But after we talk to the local magistrate, I think Mr. Jasper Cox has some explaining to do.”
It was some hours later when he came upon Jasper Cox in the Cockpit Royal on Birdcage Walk, on the south side of St. James’s Park.
The air in the small, theaterlike building was thick with the smell of dust and sweaty men and blood. Pushing through the outer ring of rougher men standing tightly packed around the curving walls, Sebastian found Cox sitting in the first tier of benches.
“Personally, I favor the black-gray,” said Sebastian, squeezing in between Cox and a man in a drab coat who obligingly shifted over to make room for him. “How about you?”
Cox nodded to the bird being taken out of its bag by a whipthin, sharp-nosed cocker. “My money’s on the red pyle. Look at that size and girth.”
Sebastian watched the setters move toward the stage in the center of the pit. Above them blazed a huge chandelier, its myriad flames adding to the heat of the close-packed room. “There’s no doubt his spurs are long and sharp,” said Sebastian.
Cox turned his head to give Sebastian a long, considering look. “I hear you think Alexander Ross’s death was a murder.”
“It was murder,” said Sebastian, his gaze still on the stage below. “I assume by now that you’ve also heard of the death of one of your agents, an American by the name of Ezekiel Kincaid.”
“I have. But I’ll be damned if I see what the devil one has to do with the other.”
“They both died on the same night. Did you know?”
“No, I did not. Yet what is that to the point?”
“You don’t find it ... suggestive?”
“Of what? Men die in London all the time.”
“True.” Sebastian watched the two birds ogle each other. “How well did you know Mr. Kincaid?”
Cox frowned. “Not well. He may have been in my employ, but I’d met him only a few times.”
“I understand he had just arrived from America.”
“That’s right.”
“In fact, his ship docked the very morning he died.”
“Had it? I’m afraid I don’t recall. It may seem significant to you, but my company deals with many such transactions on a daily basis. My personal involvement is minimal.”
“That’s unfortunate, because I was hoping you could enlighten me on something. You see, as I understand it,
