Lenore went willingly, letting out a strangled sigh of relief and squeezing Phin so tight she wasn’t sure she would ever let go. Bart wasn’t done fighting, though.
“Get off of me!” he shouted, writhing and kicking as though he could use what he surely thought was his superior strength to buck Gleason off. “I’ll kill you, you lily-livered limey.”
“Do you really want to go at it with me?” Gleason asked in a surprisingly dark voice, teeth bared, almost as if he wanted Bart to challenge him.
“I’ll rip your puny little head off,” Bart growled in reply.
“You think so?”
Gleason followed up his question by jerking Bart’s arm to the side, making it pop in a way that had Bart hollering once more as he rolled to his side. From there, Gleason kicked him the rest of the way to his back, then dove toward him. He moved so fast that Lenore couldn’t quite follow what he was doing, but judging by the way Bart cried and doubled up, Gleason landed a knee in Bart’s groin before straddling him, his hands at Bart’s throat.
Bart went silent, his eyes and his mouth wide open. Slowly, he started to turn red. He was twice as big as Gleason and built like an ox, but the lithe and apparently dangerous detective watched with cool impassivity as Bart’s face went from red to blue. Lenore was so impressed with Det. Gleason’s agility that she didn’t bother pointing out that he was in danger of killing Bart.
Det. Gleason seemed to know just when to stop, though. He pulled back just as Bart’s eyes began to roll back in his head and stood, keeping a boot planted firmly on Bart’s sternum. “Still want to fight me?” Det. Gleason asked, breathing heavier, but looking utterly in control of the situation.
Bart merely gaped and choked as he tried to catch his breath.
Another commotion sounded from the street as two carriages pulled up in front of the house. Lenore nearly wept in relief when Freddy, Reese, and Jack Craig jumped down from one of them while four uniformed police officers scrambled out of the other. Freddy made it through Phin’s front door first.
“Thank God you’re all right,” he said, raising a shaking hand to his forehead.
Lenore peeled away from Phin to hug him.
“How did you make it back here so quickly?” Phin asked, glancing from Freddy to Reese to Jack and the police officers.
“We were already on our way when we came across Freddy sprinting through Belgravia,” Jack said.
“Sprinting?” Lenore gasped. “But you were headed to Howsden House.”
“Swan did the same thing we did when we followed you from the ball,” Freddy said. “He was on our tail before we’d gone more than a few blocks from the hotel.”
“But how did you know to come here?” Phin asked Jack, pulling Lenore back into his arms, as if he couldn’t risk having her snatched away by anyone else.
“Gleason sent word,” Jack said, moving to Det. Gleason’s side.
“He’s not going anywhere, my lord.” Det. Gleason nodded to Bart as he writhed on the floor, then to Jack. “His shoulder is dislocated and he’ll be sore for a while, but at least he won’t fight when you take him into custody.”
“Good job.” Jack slapped Det. Gleason’s back, then nodded to two of the officers, who wrenched a moaning Bart to his feet.
“You’ll take a man into custody after he kidnaps and attempts to murder a woman, but not before? Not when we told you this would happen all along?” Phin demanded, glowering at Jack.
Jack exchanged a glance with Freddy and Reese, then nodded to Lenore. “I hate to say it, but our intervention is not because of his actions toward you, though I wasn’t going to let that continue any longer than it had to.”
“Then what is it due to?” Lenore asked, utterly confounded by the entire situation.
“Bartholomew Swan is wanted on five counts of murder, or attempted murder, in the State of Wyoming,” Det. Gleason announced. “He managed to escape east, then evade authorities in New York before boarding a ship headed to England under an assumed name. One can only imagine that he planned to murder the only person outside of England who knew of his guilt—” he nodded to Lenore, “—before starting a new life under a new name abroad.”
Lenore could only gape at the detective. “South America,” she breathed. Bart couldn’t have returned to the States any more than she had thought she could for the last year. Which meant his threats against her family were hollow—and it explained why no one from home had mentioned Bart in their letters—but that hardly seemed to matter at the moment. A part of her shouted in triumph that the law had finally caught up with Bart, but she had far more questions boiling in her brain.
“How did you know about any of this?” Phin asked Det. Gleason what she was too startled to find her voice for.
Det. Gleason grinned mischievously. “Your brother suggested I investigate Swan through channels that aren’t available to most people. Not even him. Sure enough, his hunch was right.” He pivoted to nod at Bart with all the cheek of a man who had been underestimated, but got the upper hand in the end. “He’s sloppy, this one. I’ve already alerted the authorities in America of his impending capture. I’m sure you’ll find an extradition request on your desk by morning, my lord.” He finished with a respectful half-bow for Jack.
“Remind me to speak to your superior about giving you a promotion,” Jack said with a grin that kept growing as the full scope of Det. Gleason’s involvement in the situation grew.
“Begging your pardon, my lord, but I am what you might call an independent contractor,” Det. Gleason said with a cocky smile. “I only work for myself.”
“Whoever you work for, there’s got to be a reward in it for you,” Jack laughed, slapping the man on the back again. “But before we
