Daniel’s breath seized at the look of utter, astounded disbelief that washed over Roderick’s face.
Alex leaned in, thrust the knife deeper. “You fool!” Alex’s hand pivoted, twisting the knife. “They were on your heels, and you didn’t even know.”
Death started to leach all expression from Roderick’s face.
Alex stepped back, filched the letter from Roderick’s grasp, left the knife where it was. Hesitated, then leaned close to viciously whisper, “You were the rabbit leading the hounds straight to us-no escape for you this time.”
Whirling, Alex blew out a breath, grabbed Daniel’s sleeve and hauled him around. Head close, Alex murmured, “We walk slowly, sedately. We’re just another pair of worshippers heading to the cathedral for evening service.”
Daniel glanced back, saw Roderick, ice-blue eyes wide, slump to the ground.
Roderick’s eyes glazed-and the Earl of Shrewton’s favorite son was gone.
The cathedral bells were peeling and the light was fading fast. Emily tugged Gareth’s sleeve. “Come on-we need to get closer or he could slip past us in this gloom.”
Gareth surrendered, and strolled with her along the promenade behind the buildings, searching the ruins, what they could see of them in the failing light.
Abruptly, Emily halted. “What’s that?”
He followed her gaze diagonally into the ruins, and saw…dark material spread over pale stone steps. “It’s a body.”
They rushed down the avenue, but before they reached the spot, Royce materialized. He stepped past the slumped form, up through the archway beyond, then crouched.
Delborough, Tristan, Jack, Gervase, and Tony reached the archway as they did. Royce looked up, his face unreadable. “This just happened. Did any of you see anyone fleeing?”
They all shook their heads.
Royce’s lips tightened. He rose. “Search!”
They did, until the light was gone, but found nothing. They returned to the body, all wondering, rethinking.
Hands on hips, Royce stood looking down at the body, now barely visible. He glanced at Delborough. “The dagger-it looks to be the same sort as the one used on Larkins.”
Crouching, Del inspected the ivory handle, nodded as he rose. “It’s a type the cult assassins use.”
“The letter?” Jack asked.
“Gone.” Royce glanced around at the circle of faces. “No one even vaguely suspicious?”
They all shook their heads. “There were couples leaving, and numerous worshippers heading for evening service,” Tristan said, “but no one was rushing, hurrying, trying to get away. No one glancing around.”
Royce grimaced. They all stared down at the body of Roderick Ferrar. “So,” Royce said, accents clipped, “we have the man we were certain was the Black Cobra, but he’s been eliminated. Leaving us with two very big questions: Who killed him? And why?”
Twenty-one
When he’d stared at her, dumbfounded, she’d smiled and patted his chest. “Your timetable runs too close to Christmas-the men can’t be sure of getting home in time, and you all have young families.”
He knew better than to argue. There were battles he could win, and ones he wouldn’t. Such, he’d learned, was the nature of married life.
Those of his ex-colleagues already there and seated about the room had no doubt learned the same. Christian and Jack Hendon were there, ready to, in a few days, play the roles assigned them. The Cynsters and Chillingworth had rejoined them, looking thoroughly pleased. They’d fulfilled their mission, and despite a number of cuts and slashes, none was seriously injured.
“I believe,” Royce said, as Emily settled on the end of the chaise beside the chair Gareth occupied, “that we have to revise our assessment of who the Black Cobra is.”
Delborough nodded. “The Black Cobra is either not Ferrar, or Ferrar was part of a larger whole.”
“I agree.” Gareth frowned. “If the Black Cobra is not Ferrar, then presumably the Black Cobra killed him, or ordered the killing-so that still means the Black Cobra is here, in England.”
“Here in Suffolk, or close by,” Tony said.
After a moment, Delborough shook his head. “Ferrar had to be very high in the cult’s organization. He was vital to the cult’s success through his role in the governor’s office, and given his nature, I can’t see him taking any subordinate position while knowing he was the lynchpin for the cult’s fortunes.” Delborough met Royce’s eyes. “We saw Ferrar giving orders, and the elite guards, including the assassins, obeyed. I’d suggest that all we know favors the notion that the Black Cobra is a group-two, three, or more, we can’t say-but Ferrar was one. Presumably the other Englishman we saw was another.”
Royce nodded. “And that other Englishman, who appeared to be Ferrar’s equal, might have been the one who killed Ferrar, or had him killed.”
“If we accept that the Black Cobra is a multiheaded beast,” Gyles Rawlings said, “then it’s most likely the other members are known acquaintances of Ferrar.”
Royce met Gyles’s eyes, then nodded and glanced at the window, at the dark beyond. “It’s nearly evening, but I believe it’s time we paid the Earl of Shrewton a visit. If we leave now, we’ll be at Wymondham before he sits down to dine.”
They’d brought Ferrar’s body to Elveden in a dray, ready to deliver to his father at Shrewton Hall.
“What about Larkins?” Devil asked. “Did Ferrar kill him, or was it someone else?”
“From what you told me,” Royce said, “it was most likely Ferrar-it was someone Larkins trusted implicitly, so
