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tonight. I have been searching in another direction.”
    “You said you were not a member of Arcane.”
    “Arcane is a client.”
    “A client ?” She appeared stunned. “You work for the Society?”
    “I am currently conducting an investigation for Arcane’s new psychical investigation agency, Jones & Jones. Perhaps you have heard of it?”
    Her jaw tightened. “I have heard rumors of the new agency, yes.”
    “You do not approve?”
    “In my world, there is a strong suspicion that J & J is in the business of putting those of us who use our talents to make a living out of business. Arcane believes that psychical practitioners, in particular those at the Leybrook Institute, give legitimate study and research of the paranormal a bad reputation.”
    “Because there are so many charlatans in your midst, and those frauds deceive and mislead the public. I understand. But I think it is safe to say that J & J currently has more work than it can handle dealing with truly dangerous psychical criminals. Trust me when I tell you that Caleb and Lucinda Jones, the directors of J & J, are not concerning themselves over much with mediums, séance-givers and other fraudulent practitioners these days.”
    “That remains to be seen.”
    “I comprehend that you do not trust Arcane, but I need your help. I am hunting a killer, Virginia, one who is operating in your world.”
    “What are you talking about?” she asked.
    “Two glass-readers have died recently. J & J has asked me to investigate.”
    “Why would J & J care about the deaths of two practitioners? The police certainly weren’t interested. They don’t even believe that Mrs. Ratford and Mrs. Hackett were murdered. Neither does anyone else. The authorities concluded both women died of natural causes.”
    “But you suspect that is not the case, don’t you?”
    She hesitated. “Yes.”
    “So does J & J. So do I. As I said, it is a long story, and the hour grows late. I give you my word that I will explain everything in the morning.”
    “You will not fob me off without some further explanation, sir. You said you are investigating the glass-reader deaths on behalf of Arcane. What talent do you possess that enables you to conduct such an investigation?”
    “Let’s just say that you were close to the truth when you told Becky that I am a sort of private inquiry agent. I am, in fact, a hunter.”
    “Who or what do you hunt, Mr. Sweetwater?”
    “Monsters of the human variety, Miss Dean. Like you, I do my best work at night.”
     
     
    H is own house was dark and silent when he got home, but that was the way it always was at night. He lived alone. His housekeeper arrived early in the morning and left in the late afternoon. The arrangement provided him with the solitude that he found himself seeking more and more after dark. There was no one about to notice when he went out to walk the night, no one who might casually mention the new habit to another member of his closely knit family.
    At least the glass-reader case was temporarily distracting him from the late-night strolls and the abyss that beckoned ever more strongly.
    Owen carried the clockwork carriage into the cluttered library and set it down on a table. The dark windows of the miniature vehicle glittered malevolently in the light of the gas lamp. Before he went to bed tonight, he would lock the device securely in the safe in the basement. He was certain that he had disabled the weapon, but he did not intend to take any chances. The thing was something entirely new in his experience. He would proceed with great caution.
    He crossed the room to the brandy table and poured himself a healthy dose of the spirits. Glass in hand, he sat down in front of the cold hearth and contemplated the beautifully crafted curiosity. The inquiry he was conducting had taken an ominous twist. Hollister’s death was the least of it. There were still far more questions than answers, but one thing was clear. Virginia Dean was the key