The Masque of the Black Tulip Read Online Free PDF Page B

forward in his chair. "Who found him?"
    Wickham dismissed the question with a shake of his head. "A
    scullery maid from the kitchen of a neighboring house; she had no part in it."
    "Had she witnessed anything out of the ordinary ?"
    "Aside from a dead body?" Wickham smiled grimly. "No. Think of it, Dorrington. Ten houses—at one of which, by the way, a card party was in progress—several dozen servants coming and going, and not one of them heard anything out of the ordinary. What does that suggest to you?"
    Miles thought hard. "There can't have been a struggle, or someone in one of the neighboring houses would have noticed. He can't have called out, or someone would have heard. I'd say our man knew his killer." A hideous possibility occurred to Miles. "Could our chap have been a double agent? If the French thought he had outlived his usefulness…"
    The bags under Wickham's eyes seemed to grow deeper. "That," he said wearily, "is always a possibility. Anyone can turn traitor given the right circumstances—or the right price. Either way, we find ourselves with our old enemy in the heart of London. We need to know more. Which is where you come in, Dorrington."
    "At your disposal."
    Ah, the time had come. Now Wickham would ask him to find the footman's murderer, and he could make suave assurances about delivering the Black Tulip's head on a platter, and…
    "Do you know Lord Vaughn?" asked Wickham abruptly.
    "Lord Vaughn." Taken off guard, Miles wracked his memory. "I don't believe I know the chap."
    "There's no reason you should. He only recently returned from the Continent. He is, however, acquainted with your parents."
    Wickham's gaze rested piercingly on Miles. Miles shrugged, lounging back in his chair. "My parents have a wide and varied acquaintance."
    "Have you spoken to your parents recently?"
    "No," Miles replied shortly. Well, he hadn't. That was all there was to it.
    "Do you have any knowledge as to their whereabouts at present?"
    Miles was quite sure that Wickham's spies had more up-to-date information on his parents' whereabouts than he did.
    "The last time I heard from them, they were in Austria. As that was over a year ago, they may have moved on since. I can't tell you more than that."
    When was the last time he had seen his parents? Four years ago? Five? Miles's father had gout. Not a slight dash of gout, the sort that attends overindulgence in roast lamb at Christmas dinner, not periodic gout, but perpetual, all-consuming gout, the sort of gout that required special cushions and exotic diets and frequent changing of doctors. The viscount had his gout, and the viscountess had a taste for Italian operas, or, more properly, Italian opera singers. Both those interests were better served in Europe. For as long as Miles could remember, the Viscount and Viscountess of Loring had roved about Europe from spa to spa, taking enough waters to float a small armada, and playing no small part in supporting the Italian musical establishment.
    The thought of either of his parents having anything to do with the Black Tulip, murdered agents, or anything requiring more strenuous activity than a carriage ride to the nearest opera house strained the imagination. Even so, it made Miles distinctly uneasy that they had come to the attention of the War Office.
    Miles put both feet firmly on the floor, rested his hands on his knees, and asked bluntly, "Did you have a reason for inquiring after my parents, sir, or was this merely a social amenity?"
    Wickham looked at Miles with something akin to amusement. "There's no need to be anxious on their account, Dorrington. We need information on Lord Vaughn. Your parents are among his social set. If you have occasion to write to your parents, you may Want to ask them— casually—if they have encountered Lord Vaughn in their travels."
    In his relief, Miles refrained from pointing out that his correspondence with his parents, to date, could be folded into a medium-sized snuffbox. "I'll do