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have been for last month for all we know.”
    “It’s not likely he’d have more than one meeting in Green Park in the dead of winter. It’s freezing there. Since it’s where he was killed, I say it’s from his murderer.”
    “Oh well, if you say so! And by the way, it’s murderess, if the note’s from a woman,” Prance said.
    “Don’t be tarsome, Reg. You know what I mean. What it doesn’t tell us is what ‘it’ is. What he was supposed to take to her. And I shouldn’t be surprised if it explains what Russell was living on. These papers show he was pretty deep into dun territory. Bills from everyone — including his landlord and Newman’s Stable. I was hoping to find a name on some of his IOU’s but they’re just initialed and even that’s hard to read. All for small sums. Don’t come to a monkey added together.” He examined a few of the chits, frowning and muttering various letters.
    “You mean he was blackmailing someone,” Luten said. “He was selling something to whoever he met in the park that night.”
    “Exactly. The way I see it, that was his invisible means of support Reg was talking about. And it must have been pretty important to lure him out to a dark, cold, lonely park in the dead of night.”
    “Important to the writer not to be seen as well,” Prance said. “Well, until we get the picture from Miss Fenwick, I don’t see what can be done.” He tossed up his hands, as if discarding the whole case.
    Coffen just stared at such a lack of imagination. “There’s all kinds of things to be done. We have a scene of the crime to look into, and a kooey bono and the other whisters to talk to.”
    “If the man had no money or estate, the only cui bono in the case is the blackmailee,” Prance pointed out, and scowled to find himself making as bad a botch of language as Coffen.
    “It looks as if we can cross out the notion of an heir doing him in since he hadn’t any money, but there’s still the scene of the crime,” Coffen insisted. “I’m off. Anyone coming with me?”
    “You work so well alone,” Prance said.
    “In other words you want to sit by the warm fire and give a lecture on your gothic novel. I’m off then.” He waddled out the door.
    Prance cast a hopeful smile on Corinne and Luten. “Only if you’re interested, Ç a va sans dire. ”
    “By all means,” Luten said, and immediately closed his ears to consider more important matters of parliament while Prance prosed on about Lady Lorraine and St. Justin’s Abbey. Corinne gazed at him as if fascinated, while wondering which pattern in La Belle Assembl ée she should choose for her new gown.
    It would be hard to say which of the group was happier when Black stuck his head into the room to say, “Byron’s rig just drew up in front of your place, Sir Reginald. Thought you might like to know.”
    Luten’s ears picked up at that name fast enough. He was jealous of his fiancée’s interest in the blasted poet. And to make it worse, the Whigs had put him in charge of beguiling Byron into their shadow cabinet since his stirring speech in the House in defense of the Luddites.
    “He’ll want to hear about your novel,” Luten said at once. “Don’t let us keep you, Reg.”
    It would have taken the Cavalry to keep Reginald in his seat when Byron was calling on him. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds then,” he said, restraining himself to a trot as he made for the door.
    Black had the scarf ready and the front door open. He shook his head and smirked to see the lad hotfoot it across the street. He’d catch his death of cold, the young idiot. Serve him right.
     

Chapter Five
     
    Prance took a secret delight in stirring up trouble amongst his friends. He admitted to this streak of the rogue in his makeup and preferred his friends to have a flaw in their characters as well. Really life would be unutterably dull if everyone always behaved as he ought.
    For his own part he was punctilious about undoing any little harm