An eddy of wind blew a fine mist in their faces. Lovejoy removed his spectacles and wiped them with his handkerchief before carefully fitting them back on his face. `His information does fit the facts as we know them.'
`Only if one were unacquainted with Philippe Arceneaux.'
When Lovejoy remained silent, the Viscount said, `What was the basis of Arceneaux's quarrel with Miss Tennyson supposed to have been?'
`Lefevre did not know. But there are some recent developments that may shed light on the subject. Earlier today, four paroled French officers were captured attempting to escape to France. One of the men retaken, a hussar captain named Pelletier, was reputedly one of Arceneaux's intimates.'
Devlin frowned. `Is this Pelletier a big bear of a man with blond lovelocks and a long mustache?'
`That sounds like him, yes. Do you know him?'
`I've seen him. When did the escaping men leave London?'
`Sometime before dawn this morning, we believe. They were found hidden in the back of a calico printer's cart that had been fitted out with benches on the inside. The speculation is that there were originally to have been six men involved in the escape attempt, with Arceneaux being one of the missing men, and the other being the French officer you killed when he attacked you in Covent Garden the other night. There appears to have been some sort of falling out amongst the conspirators, which is doubtless why Arceneaux was killed for fear that he meant to betray them.'
`Does this hussar captain, Pelletier, confirm that?'
`All of the fugitives taken up are refusing to speak to anyone about anything. One of the constables attempting to retake the men was shot and killed, which means they'll all now hang for murder.' Lovejoy shook his head. `Shocking, is it not? For officers to go back on their sworn word... It displays such an utter want of all the feelings and instincts of a gentleman.'
Lovejoy expected Devlin, as a former military man himself, to be particularly harsh in his condemnation of any officer who so dishonored himself. The Viscount was silent for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he stared out at the rain. But when he finally spoke, his voice was oddly tight. `I suppose they were homesick and despaired of ever seeing France again. Sometimes it does seem as if this war will never end.'
`I suppose so, but...'
Devlin turned toward him suddenly, an arrested expression on his face. `Did you say a calico printer's cart?'
Lovejoy blinked. `Yes. Although I fear we may never determine precisely which calico printer is involved if indeed one is. You find that significant for some reason, my lord?'
`It just may be.'
Jamie Knox was supervising the loading of a dray in the rain-washed courtyard of Calvert's Brewery in Upper Thames Street when Sebastian came to stand under the arch. Propping one shoulder against the rough bricks, he crossed his arms at his chest and watched the tavern owner at work.
The air was heavy with the yeasty smell of fermenting hops, the tang of wet stone and brick, the odor of fish rising off the nearby rain-churned river. Knox threw him one swift glance but continued barking orders to the men lashing barrels to his wagon's high bed. He conferred for a moment with his driver. Then he walked over to stand in front of Sebastian, rainwater running down his cheeks, his yellow eyes hooded.
`You're obviously here for a reason; what is it, then?'
Sebastian stared into the lean, fine-boned face that was so much like his own. `I know why you killed Philippe Arceneaux.'
Knox let out a bark of laughter. `That's rich. So tell me, then; what reason would I have for killing this young French... ah, lieutenant, was he not?'
`He was.' Sebastian stood back as a cart piled with sacks of hops and drawn by a bay shire horse turned in under the arch, steam rising from the animal's wet hide, hooves clattering over the cobbles. `I noticed there's a calico printer's shop across the lane from your tavern.'
`So there is. But there must be several dozen or more calico printers scattered across London. So if you're thinking there's any connection between the calico printer's cart I hear those four escaping French officers were taken up in and my tavern, then let me tell you right now, you re fair and far out.'
`I might have believed you if I hadn't discovered that Philippe Arceneaux was present at that little set-to you had with Miss Tennyson last Thursday at the York Steps. I'm thinking there's a reason you left that detail out, and this is it.'
Knox stood with his hands on his slim hips, his cheeks slightly hollowed, a faint smile dancing around his mouth as if he were amused.
Sebastian said, `You see, I'm thinking there were originally supposed to be six Frenchmen in that cart, with Arceneaux being one of them. Only, somehow the woman he loved - that would be Miss Tennyson, by the way - found out he was planning to escape and begged him to stay. So he backed out.'
`An interesting theory, to be sure. Although I fail to see what the hell any of this has to do with me.'
Sebastian watched the team of heavy dapple grays hitched to Kno' s beer wagon lean into their collars. `I m told that six hundred and ninety-two paroled French officers have escaped or attempted to escape from England in the past three years. That's an extraordinary number of men. Is that how you pay for the French wine and brandy you smuggle in? With escaped prisoners of war?'
The rain drummed around them, pounding on the puddles in the courtyard and sluicing off the brewery's high roof. Knox stared back at him, silent, watchful.
Sebastian said, `It's a clever, lucrative rig you re running, but it's also dangerous. Did Gabrielle Tennyson discover what you were doing? Is that why you were quarreling with her by the York Steps last Thursday? Because there's some men who might consider that kind of threat a good motive for murder, if they thought a woman was going to give their game away. Did Arceneaux accuse you of killing her, I wonder? Did you decide to kill him before he could cause you any trouble?'
A cold, dangerous light glittered in the depths of the rifleman's eyes. `And the two lads? Am I to have killed them too, just for the sport of it?'
`In my experience there's a certain kind of man who can turn decidedly lethal when he's feeling cornered. Maybe you saw an opportunity to strike against her and you didn't let the fact that the boys were there, too, stop you.'
`And what was I doing out at that moat with Miss Tennyson and the two brats? Mmm? You tell me that. You think she drove out there with me? Her in love with Arceneaux and thinking me a smuggler and all-around degenerate character?'
It was the one inescapable flaw in Sebastian's theory, and he'd known it when he decided to approach the rifleman.
`I don't know why she went out there with you. Maybe you followed her. Maybe she wasn't even killed at the moat. Maybe that's why the two lads bodies have never been found, because you killed and buried them someplace else.'
The tight smile was back around Knox's lips. `Someplace such as St. Helen's churchyard, perhaps? Now, there's a clever place to hide a couple of bodies, don't you think? In a graveyard full of moldering corpses?'
`Perhaps, said Sebastian. Then again, it's always possible you didn't kill Miss Tennyson at all - that someone else killed her for a different reason entirely. But Arceneaux would have no way of knowing that, would he? Something he said to me the other day suggested he was afraid he might be responsible for what had happened to her. So maybe he accused you of killing her, even when you hadn't. Maybe he threatened to expose you once his friends escaped. The timing of his death is curious, wouldn't you agree?'
All trace of amusement had drained from the rifleman's face, leaving it hard and tight. `I've killed many men in my day; what soldier hasn't? But I've never killed a woman or a child, and I've never murdered a man in cold blood.'
The two men stared at each other. The rain poured around them, loud in Sebastian's ears. He settled his hat lower on his forehead. `If I find out you shot Philippe Arceneaux, I'll see you hang for it.'
Brother or no brother, he thought. But he didn't say it.
