The Nobleman and the Spy (21 page)

“I see.”

Smelter warmed to his story. “The man said, „Who stands to benefit from this situation? Every workingman who has ever railed against the tyranny of an empire and longed for the freedom to call his land his own."”

Karl froze and swallowed. Something about those words, that particular phrasing, sparked a memory in him, but he couldn"t quite place it.

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The compartment was silent for a moment except for the clattering of the wheels on the track. Karl felt Jonathan"s gaze on him, curious, questioning. He returned the look and gave another small shake of his head, letting Jonathan know his silence meant nothing. He"d just had a momentary experience of hearing an echo in Smelter"s words, but he wasn"t certain of what. It meant nothing.

“What shall we do with him when we reach the station?” Jonathan leaned close to whisper, and his warm breath on Karl"s cheek sent a flush of desire through him, even under these dire circumstances. “We can"t hand him over to the police until his usefulness is played out.”

“We"ll take him to my uncle"s house with us,” Karl muttered back, not particularly caring if Smelter overheard him.

“Your Excellency, I know I have betrayed you in the worst way possible. I don"t deserve your forgiveness. I should be hanged for such treasonous behavior, but I beg of you, show mercy,” Smelter whined. “My family. You understand the devotion of a father to his children, his wife. Their well-being comes first in his mind, supplanting all reason. My honor has been compromised by my blind love for my dearly beloved family.”

“I do understand,” Karl assured him. “Family comes first. I will take that into account if you continue to share everything you know about this conspiracy and its perpetrators.”

“Yes, Your Excellency. Absolutely. I am your man.” Smelter spoke with his usual obsequious lilt, as if he believed Karl was completely won over by his abject pleading.

“Tell me truthfully, now. Are any of the others involved? Sechsman, Greber, Villiars?” Karl paused, then added, “Cohen?”

“No, Your Excellency. None of them to my knowledge.”

And somehow that bit had the ring of truth to it. Although he could be covering for others, it seemed more likely Smelter would want to point blame toward anyone in the entourage besides himself. Karl nodded.

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“What was to be the contingency plan if the bombing failed?” Jonathan abruptly spoke up. “Has your contact spoken to you since the bombing? Were you told to follow the erbgraf to the country and get him to drink from your poisoned flask? Somehow I don"t believe that"s the only alternative solution that was planned.”

“I did not see the man. I only received a note wrapped around a vial.” Smelter squirmed. “If they have other plans, I don"t know of them. I"m merely a cog in this machine.”

There was no more time for questions as the train pulled into the station, and they had to prepare to leave the train. Jonathan untied Smelter"s ankles, grasped him by the arm, and roughly pulled him from the seat.

He clapped Smelter"s hat on his head, then picked up his own, which had got slightly dented in the fray.

“Let me carry the pistol.” Jonathan held out his hand to Karl, demanding, not asking for the weapon. “You keep your eyes open, and stay close behind me. We"re not out of danger yet.”

As Jonathan led Smelter from the compartment, Karl saw the back of the man"s hair was matted with blood from his head wound. Jonathan gripped him by the arm and held the gun in his other hand. Karl felt like some damsel in distress bringing up the rear. He"d wanted to keep the pistol but hadn"t wanted to challenge Jonathan in front of their prisoner.

Their prisoner. Smelter, a man who"d been part of his life for years, would have killed him today. The bomb attempt had been bad enough, but there was something much more personal about offering poison. Karl shuddered at the cold-bloodedness of it.

He shook off his mood and paid close attention as they exited the train to the teeming platform. Even this early in the day the station was busy. An attack could come at any moment if Smelter had warned his confederate to be waiting at the station for them.

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The crowd was full of men of medium height and build and nondescript appearance, any one of whom could be a coconspirator in Karl"s assassination. Karl had adopted an air of nonchalance about his life being in danger for Jonathan"s benefit, but in truth, he was unsettled and wary. His gaze whipped from right to left, searching for any suspicious activity. Meanwhile Jonathan walked close beside Smelter, his pistol hidden near his side.

They were nearly out the terminal, the crowd dispersing in various directions as people reached the street, when Karl heard the sharp crack of a weapon being discharged. He dropped to a crouch, expecting the sharp sting of a bullet to tear through his flesh but felt nothing. And then Jonathan barreled into him, tackling him the rest of the way to the ground. For the second time in as many days, Karl lay sprawled beneath Jonathan"s protective body.

Karl lifted his head, taking in the scene around him. Many people, oblivious to the gunshot, casually went about their business, while others cried out and whirled around, searching for the source of the noise, or hurried away. Someone screamed for the police.

Herr Smelter lay facedown on the ground. It took Karl a moment to realize this wasn"t a self-preserving action. The man had been hit. The sniper had missed his intended target—Karl.

“Get off,” Karl mumbled as he struggled to rise, pushing his valiant protector off his back.

Jonathan leaped up and searched for the shooter while Karl crawled over to Smelter and felt for a pulse in the man"s neck. Although his flesh was still warm, Karl detected no heartbeat or sign of breathing.

“He"s dead.” Karl climbed to his feet and stared down at the corpse of his doctor.

Someone shouted, “There they are!” Karl swung around, hoping to see the shooter, but the person shouting pointed at him. Two coppers ran in their direction, truncheons out.

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Karl tensed, ready to run. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Jonathan grabbed his arm and whispered, “Melt in.”

“What?”

“We"ll back away, slowly. And then we"ll walk off. No running. Come on, keep that horrified expression on your face. Good, but back up. We don"t need to be found with weapons.”

The policemen were shouting for witnesses—did anyone see anything? And could the ladies and gentlemen please back up? Everyone in the station was pressing forward to look at the dead body of Smelter, including the policemen.

Jonathan and Karl simply allowed everyone else to push past them.

In less than a minute, they"d reached the back of the cluster of people.

Reese looked around as if searching for a familiar face as they made their way through the crowd. No one watched them. No one followed. The shooter was gone.

They sped up as they walked through the terminal and out into the weak sunshine of a London morning.

“Did you spot the killer?”

“No. I"m sorry,” Reese said. He felt a low thrum of rage at Smelter, at himself for not finding the other assassin.

At Karl for mattering too damn much.

“Too busy saving my life again? Really, Jonathan. This is getting to be a bad habit.”

Reese had to smile.

He strode to the waiting hackneys and gave Gilley"s address. “We can"t go to your uncle"s, but Gilley should know what"s going on.”

They were soon bowling along the street fast enough that no one would be able to easily wrench open the door and get at Karl. Reese relaxed for the first time since he"d opened the door to Smelter that morning.

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* * *

“He"s preparing for work, I know,” Reese said. “Please inform him that Mr.

Reese needs to speak to him. Immediately.” He pushed past the servant and into the hall. Karl made apologetic sounds at the servant as Reese opened a door off the front hall.

A parlor. The next door was a small study. That was better. Closer to the back of the house in case they needed to flee. They wouldn"t, but…

“We"ll wait.”

The servant made a faint protest.

“Don"t worry, we won"t steal anything, and we"ll wait here,” Reese said. “Please fetch Mr. Gilley.”

Karl looked around the small room with interest and nodded at the bookshelf.

“He speaks several languages, your Mr. Gilley.”

“He"s not mine.”

Karl walked to a sofa and sat, looking perfectly at ease as usual, though his face was still pale and he seemed lost in thought. He took up a great deal of space in the rather cramped room. He stretched out his long legs. Reese noticed that the carpet under Karl"s boots was threadbare. Interesting that Gilley didn"t seem to be wealthy. That meant he was far more honest than Reese had suspected—and perhaps an easy target for bribe-bearing villains.

“I wonder,” Karl said and paused. “Do you know what I think, Jonathan?”

Reese had stopped near the desk, where he considered opening the drawers.

He looked into those blue eyes and smiled. “No, but I know you"ll tell me what you"re thinking.”

“You don"t appear annoyed by my tendency to share my thoughts.”

“No.” Reese took in a slow breath. “No, I like it.”

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Karl grinned. “That is good to know.” For a long moment they held each other"s gazes, and Jonathan felt one sort of tension ebb while another, far more intriguing tension, built. Karl"s eyes held power over him. Another one of those maudlin, sentimental thoughts, but he wouldn"t mock himself. He was too tired, too heartily glad that Smelter and his cohort hadn"t succeeded in killing Karl.

“Go on,” he finally said. “What were you thinking?”

“Ah. Grim reality again. I was thinking of Smelter, who took the bullet meant for me.”

“Smelter?” Reese didn"t shout, but he came close. “He deserved to die. He would have killed you.”

“But the man has three small children. Some arrangement will have to be made. Cohen will take care of this.”

“If he isn"t the one behind the attempts to kill you.”

“The idea of Cohen as a conspirator to commit murder is ridiculous. The man grumbles and sighs, but he is absolutely loyal to me, as I"ve told you before.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, to the point that he"s obviously been torn about his real duty, which is to my father.”

Reese narrowed his eyes. “Are you that sure he"s your friend?”

“I do not think this is merely a matter of fondness. Murdering me wouldn"t make sense for other reasons.”

Impatiently, Reese waved a hand. “Go on.”

“I know my father considers Cohen an able man but has never given him preferential treatment.”

“And you do?”

“Yes. I count on him, and he knows it. If I were to die, then Cohen would be back with the count"s retinue, no longer valued and rarely consulted—simply 150

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ordered about. The count wouldn"t allow anyone of Cohen"s lineage to hold real power.”

“A Jew?” Reese asked.

Karl nodded.

The door opened, and Gilley rushed into the room, buttoning his waistcoat.

“Gentlemen. What is going on? I just received a report that Mr. Smelter boarded the milk train for Buckinghamshire early this morning, and then you show up. Did Smelter find you? Oh. Wait. Good Lord! He must have, or you wouldn"t be here. My blessedly stupid agent didn"t follow him.”

“Calm yourself, Gilley.”

“Of course, of course.” Gilley adjusted his sleeves and gestured to the door to the study. “Shall we sit at the table, Your Excellency? May I give you breakfast? I"m sorry I don"t have better fare to offer.”

“I shall be delighted,” Karl said firmly.

Gilley led the way down the hall, snatching his jacket from a waiting servant and ordering two settings be added to the table for guests.

Reese burned to shout at Gilley and Karl to get moving. He longed to rush out the door and somehow track down the killer at once. But he"d entered a new world the day he"d revealed himself to Karl. A world where men sat down to a well-prepared breakfast of eggs, bacon, kippered herring, and toast instead of slinking off to business at once.

He angrily speared a piece of scrambled egg and looked around Gilley"s dining room, which was larger and better furnished than his study. He took a bite of the eggs and decided Gilley must not have stinted on paying a reasonable cook.

Karl was staring moodily at his plate. Reese wondered if he could drag him off to another room and get him to disclose his thoughts.

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Gilley cleared his throat. “Please, Erbgraf, Your Excellency. Mr. Reese, tell me why you"ve returned to London.” Karl didn"t answer, so Reese related the bare details of their adventures to Gilley, who didn"t interrupt for once.

When he was done, Gilley pulled out his monocle, polished it, then put it away.

He reached for a piece of toast. “Smelter? I must say I"m not surprised. He"s been acting as nervous as a cat surrounded by birds.”

“Cats eat birds,” Reese said.

“Ever seen birds persecute a cat?” It relieved Reese that Gilley reverted to the slightly sarcastic, nervous air he usually adopted in Jonathan"s presence. The whole world hadn"t shifted—only Reese had faced a sea change. And he still wasn"t sure he could think about it. Not yet.