'I believe it would interest him greatly,' I answered. Pomeroy, a tall, solid, bluff man, once my sergeant and now one of the famed Bow Street Runners, liked nothing better than an obvious piece of evidence. He would arrest Sutcliff with glee.
Denis' face was as hard as marble. I could feel his anger at Sutcliff, and I reasoned that Sutcliff would be lucky to be arrested by Pomeroy. Pomeroy would make sure that Sutcliff was punished by the full force of the law, but Denis' retribution would be far more frightening. I remembered the coachman who had displeased Denis in the affair of Hanover Square. He'd dispatched that man without turning a hair, and he had not been as angry then as he was now.
Grenville fingered the stem of his glass. As though understanding the tension in the room, he went on with his questions. 'What I do not understand is why? Sutcliff and the others were making a nice little fortune on their canal scheme. Why kill Middleton and Fletcher and end all that?'
'Because,' I said, 'Middleton was preparing to report everything to James Denis.'
'Indeed,' Denis answered, the word tight.
Grenville nodded. 'I believe I see.'
'Denis' servant told us that Middleton was growing weary of living in the country,' I said. 'He was a city man, for all his love of horses. And working for Rutledge is trying, as I came to know. Perhaps Middleton wanted out, perhaps he was ready to tell Denis about it, perhaps preparing to turn over the scheme to him.'
'And so Sutcliff killed Middleton,' Grenville said slowly.
'And Fletcher knew he did,' I went on. 'He must have known, perhaps threatened to reveal all. So, Sutcliff was forced to kill Fletcher, as well.'
'Poor man,' Grenville said feelingly.
'Fletcher must have been excellent at drawing people into the swindle. Who could resist hardworking, friendly Fletcher? If Fletcher had thought I had money, he likely would have tried to persuade me to invest. If he had not been distressed by Middleton's murder by the time you appeared, I imagine he would have begun persuading you, as well. I liked poor Fletcher, but he certainly fleeced quite a few people.'
Grenville frowned. 'But why on earth did Sutcliff burn Fletcher's books? To frighten him? It seems to have made Fletcher terribly angry instead. Remember how he thrashed Sutcliff that day?'
Sir Montague leaned forward, listening avidly. Jeanne listened, but she kept her eyes on the carpet, her posture neutral, as though she had no interest in the rest of the story.
'Sutcliff burned the books because he knew that Fletcher kept the contracts hidden in them. He went to Fletcher's rooms, stole the books, set them alight, and chucked them into the quad. Rutledge assumed it was just another prank-Sutcliff knew he would. But Sutcliff's motive was twofold, to destroy the incriminating papers, and to warn Fletcher to keep quiet about Middleton.'
'But he missed a book.'
'Yes, the one Fletcher kept hidden in his robe. Sutcliff must have been looking for that on the night he killed Fletcher. Perhaps Fletcher surprised him, or perhaps they quarreled, or perhaps he'd intercepted my note to you telling you to ask Fletcher about canals and knew the game was up. Sutcliff told Jeanne to get ready to depart with the money for France, then he returned to the school and went to Fletcher. After he killed Fletcher, he looked for the book, could not find it, knew the household would be stirring soon, and fled back to the Head Master's house. But he ran into you in the quad returning from Hungerford. Panicked, he stabbed you as he ran past you and into the house.'
Grenville scowled. 'The little bugger. He ruined my suit.'
'Hang your suit,' I said evenly. 'You are lucky you aren't dead. Sutcliff is a murderer, and I do not intend to let him get away with it.'
'Nor do I,' Denis said coolly.
'He'll be arrested,' Sir Montague said. 'We'll pin it to him, a murderer and a blackmailer, too. Madame Lanier, you may have to give evidence in court, but if we find the blood-covered suit, it will help a great deal.'
'I will show you where it is,' Jeanne said, raising her head. 'But Captain Lacey told me- '
'I know what the good captain told you,' Sir Montague said. 'Yes, madam, if you help us, I will help you. I have given my word.'
He clicked his glass to the table and heaved himself to his feet. 'Thank you, Mr. Denis, for your hospitality. I will send for Pomeroy, and we will depart for Berkshire. Madame, if you will remain here until I return from Bow Street?'
Sir Montague, for all his bulk, could move swiftly and decisively. I also believed that he wanted his hands on Sutcliff and the evidence in case Denis, in his anger, decided to act on his own.
Denis, too, rose and bowed coldly. 'I will provide your transportation, Sir Montague. Captain, will you remain behind? I wish to speak with you.'
As if responding to a cue, his servants came forward, removed the port glasses, and opened the doors. Our gathering was at an end.
Sir Montague stumped out of the room, a smile on his face. The servants helped Grenville from his chair. He moved slowly to the door, his form upright, his face white with pain. Matthias and Bartholomew hovered near him, but he walked out of the room without assistance.
Only Jeanne Lanier remained, fixed on the settee. Denis said nothing to her. I wanted to linger and thank her, but Denis ushered me out and closed the doors before I could so much as say good-bye.
Once upstairs in his study, Denis seated himself behind his desk and motioned for me to sit down. A refreshment of brandy was offered, and I declined it.
'I wanted to speak to you privately,' he said without preliminary, 'to thank you for clearing up this matter for me.'
He might have been speaking of my having thwarted a minor piece of gossip at a garden party. I inclined my head. 'I wanted Sutcliff found out.'
'I imagined,' he said, 'that you would discover the murderer's identity and a manner in which to gather the proof sooner than the magistrates, and you did not fail me. I am pleased at the outcome.'
'Grenville nearly died,' I said, tight-lipped. 'I want Sutcliff to pay for that.'
'He will. Captain, you can understand my anger about Middleton, because it matches yours about Grenville. Sutcliff had no right to do what he did.'
He sat back, palms flat on the desk. 'Sir Montague will arrest him and bring him to trial. That will be an end to it. Though you may not like my gratitude; in this case, you have it.'
I nodded. I did not like Denis, but I decided to unbend and at least accept his thanks.
'In return,' he said, his voice still cool. 'I will give you this.'
He removed a folded, sealed piece of paper from his desk and pushed it across the bare wooden surface to me.
I went still. No writing appeared on the outside of the paper, but I knew what it was.
He had offered me this information before, the whereabouts of my wife and daughter, in return for steadfast loyalty to him. He wanted to own me utterly, he'd said, and had pulled whatever strings would draw me into his web. He had found the right strings with my wife and daughter.
Now he gave this to me freely, as a reward. I did not need to take it. Taking it would indicate that I accepted payment for a task he had bid me to do. Thus he would win a round of the endless game that he and I played against each other.
I stared at the paper for a long time, my thoughts stilling. Then, my hands unsteady, I reached for it. Under Denis' scrutiny, I broke the seal and unfolded the paper.
Written in a clear hand was a direction, the name of a house in a village. Near Lyons, it continued. France.
I stared at the words for a long time. Carlotta and Gabriella were there. Alive, in the French countryside near Lyons. Years of wondering, of doubt, of fear fell away, and my eyes grew moist.
'Thank you,' I said.
I folded the paper, put it into in my pocket, rose from my chair, and walked out of the room.
I accompanied Sir Montague, Jeanne Lanier, and Pomeroy back to Berkshire to the boarding house in
