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if it was to happen to me? What if I was to have workers as despises the hand as feeds 'em."
    "If you notify the Home Secretary's office, the militia can be brought to defend your brickworks."
    "The militia be damned! They don't come until all's done, as far as I can see it," Rand scoffed. "I'd rather tend the matter in my own way."
    "I cannot countenance a crime before it is committed—or after, for that matter," Patrick said dryly.
    "What if I was to defend my business, and what if a rioter was to get killed?"
    "The circumstances would have to be considered, but in most cases, the law is on your side."
    "Circumstances be damned also, sir!" The older man's expression softened suddenly, and he coaxed, "Take the money—I'd rather pay you than a damned militia."
    A faint smile played at the corners of Patrick's mouth. "Mr. Rand, if you were to actually be accused of harming anyone, I'm afraid I should require a great deal more than five hundred pounds."
    "And like I was telling you, I got it—whatever you was to ask, I got it. All you got to do is name the price. Tell you what—your time's short, ain't it? Listen, you come to dine with me tonight in Marylebone—got the biggest house there—and we'll discuss the matter at
    he'd dismissed any hope of ever seeing the fair Elise again, but given a freak circumstance of chance, he was now going to dine with her. Not that he could have any real interest in that quarter, he reminded himself, for no matter how wealthy her father, he couldn't afford to ally himself with a female of inferior social standing.
    "Mr. Hamilton-—sir?"
    Patrick looked up. "What is it, John?"
    "Mr. Johnson declined to wait, sir—said he'd be 'round tomorrow, and he wouldn't talk with Mr. Banks either, saying he needed someone who could conduct a defense before the bench. I collect it is something concerning his brother's arrest for larceny—it seems he was a footman caught inside Lord Brompton's house in possession of a piece of Latly Brompton's jewelry."
    "If he was caught in the act, about all I can do is plead him," Patrick decided.
    "Mr. Johnson was hopeful that perhaps you could get him transported. Otherwise, he is very much afraid his brother will hang."
    "I'd say it is a certainty he will."
    The clerk cleared his throat. "He says his brother was wrongfully discharged for dallying with the latly. The brooch in question was supposed to be a parting gift from her."
    "Ah, now that could make the difference. I doubt Brompton will wish to chance washing his linen in court. I suppose," Patrick mused, "I could suggest to Peale that it is in everyone's interest to avoid embarrassing Brompton."
    The young man cleared his throat again. "And Mr. Johnson was wishful of knowing if you could be paid later, sir. I did suggest that he visit the cent per cents, but I am not at all certain he can afford a moneylender."
    Patrick drummed his fingers on the folder containing Bartholomew Rand's money. Finally, he sighed. "When Mr. Johnson returns, you may inform him that I shall speak to Mr. Peale, and if it can be
    arranged between us, I will plead for his brother." He stared unseeing for a moment, then sighed again. "God grant that Mr. Justice Tate sits on that one; otherwise, if it should be Russell, Johnson can count his brother as good as hanged alreatly." "Oh?"
    "Last session he sentenced a twelve-year-old boy to the gallows over a bucket of paint," Patrick recalled dryly. ''Anything else?"
    "Mr. Banks finished researching Lord Pender's case, sir, and has prepared a summary for you."
    "Did he include the depositions?"
    "Yes." Byrne hesitated, then blurted out, "I have read them, and I think Mr. Thirske perjures himself. What he told Mr. Banks yesterday does not at all agree with what he said to the magistrate."
    "One day, John, you are going to practice before the bar," Patrick predicted.
    "Thank you, sir."
    "I don't suppose you have seen the Gazette, have you?"
    "I put it in your drawer."
    Leaning over the