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gone to the man’s parties and suppers and met him in society. Two years before, that had changed.
    It was a famous case, which Lenox had been proud to solve. One of Barnard’s maids had been killed, and while Barnard was innocent of that crime—his two nephews had committed the murder—in the course of his investigation Lenox had discovered something shocking: Barnard had stolen nearly twenty thousand pounds of the Mint’s money for himself. Once he knew this, Lenox began to trace a whole host of crimes back to Barnard, carefully taking notes on the unsolved mysteries in Scotland Yard’s files and developing a dossier on them.
    It was personal, too, Lenox’s pursuit of Barnard, for two reasons. First, he had sent his thugs (he worked with an East End group called the Hammer Gang, who provided him with muscle) to beat half the life out of Lenox; second, and more irrationally, Barnard had proposed marriage to Lady Jane. Ever since she had rejected him and taken Lenox, Barnard had been scornful of Lady Jane, which was more than Lenox could take.
    In all this time, though, he had been careful to keep his hatred of the man to himself, to greet Barnard with cordiality, never to let on what he knew.
    “George, how do you do?” he said, shaking hands.
    “Not badly, Lenox, not badly. There, thanks,” he said, handing a footman his overcoat. “A lovely party with a lovely hostess, isn’t it? How is Jane?”
    Lenox didn’t like the sneer on Barnard’s face. “Very well, thank you.”
    “Good, excellent. I admire her greatly, you know, for looking past your . . . profession. Or would you call it a hobby?”
    “How are your days occupied now, Barnard?” asked Lenox, in a tone that even he recognized was barely civil.
    Barnard wouldn’t let go of the subject. “Fine, fine,” he said, “but you—are you looking into these murders at the newspapers? It’s a great shame about, what are they called, Win Carruthers and Simon Pierce.”
    “Did you know them?”
    “Oh, no, of course not. Vulgar chaps, no doubt, but we mustn’t allow anarchy. Are you looking into it?”
    “I’m running for Parliament soon, actually. Everything has fallen behind that priority in my life, I’m afraid.”
    Barnard looked bilious at this and only said in response, “Ah—I see Terence Flood, I must speak to him.”
    “Good evening,” said Lenox with a nod.
    Lady Jane came back to Lenox. “Are you almost ready to leave?” she asked.
    “Lord, yes,” he said.
    They returned to Lenox’s house after circulating to say good-bye. Though he was troubled both by Exeter’s visit and by seeing Barnard, Lenox threw off his cares long enough to have a late snack—milk and cake—with his betrothed, and an hour’s conversation with her put him in a better mood. Walking back up her stoop, she permitted him a short kiss before going inside with a cheerful laugh. Well, he thought; all will be well in the end. This time next year perhaps I’ll be in Parliament.

CHAPTER FOUR

    T
    he next morning, Lenox was scheduled to visit his friend Thomas McConnell, a doctor who often helped on Lenox’s cases, and McConnell’s wife, Toto, a young, vivacious woman, with an endearingly cheerful way about her; the most scurrilous gossip, on her lips, seemed little more than innocent chatter. She was a beauty, too, and had married the handsome, athletic Scot though she was some twelve years his junior.
    Yet their marriage had been troubled—had even at times seemed doomed—and while Toto’s personality had remained essentially the same throughout the couple’s troubles, his had not. Once bluff and hale, an outdoorsman with gentle manners, he had begun to drink, and his face now, though still handsome, had a sallow, sunken look to it.
    However, things had for a year or so been better, more loving, and it appeared that now the couple had passed the rocky shoals of their first years and settled into a contented marriage on both sides, with more maturity