The doorbell jangled furiously. Jonathan began to pack a bag. He kept glancing fearfully out of the window until he saw them walk away.

He darted down the stairs, carrying his bag, and called a cab. "Charles Street," he said.

Peter walked out to his carriage. It was later in the morning than he had intended to leave, but sheer relief had made him fall into a deep sleep. The carriage was loaded with his luggage.

He had one foot on the step when he heard a voice shout, "Peter! Wait!"

Peter stared as Jonathan hurtled towards him.

"You little b.a.s.t.a.r.d," hissed Peter. He started to climb into the carriage.

"They told me it was only a prank," said Jonathan, tears running down his face. "They are going to kill me. Take me with you."

"I am going to the south of France to forget about the whole sordid business."

Peter climbed into the carriage and rapped on the roof with his cane. The carriage lurched forward. Jonathan jumped on the backstrap.

Twisting round, Peter saw the youth's anguished face through the back window.

He turned away in disgust.

When the hansom stopped in the forecourt of Charing Cross Station, where Peter was booked on the Dover train, he told his manservant, "Get a porter. Now, you," he said, glaring at Jonathan, "run along."

"Take me with you. I'll do anything. I hate the life here. Please."

In his anger and distress, Peter could not help noticing that tears did not mar or blotch the beauty of that face. He decided to pretend that Jonathan did not exist.

He heaved a sigh of relief when he was finally settled by his manservant in a first-cla.s.s compartment. "Take care of the house when I am gone," said Peter.

Just as the train began to move forwards out of the station, the carriage door opened and Jonathan tumbled in.

"What am I to do?" demanded the furious Peter. "I cannot call the guard in case you shame me further."

"I thought it was a joke. I never expected to like you so much. I'm frightened," said Jonathan.

Peter raised a newspaper and pretended to read. After several miles, the quiet sobbing opposite melted him a little.

"Luncheon is served," called a waiter.

Peter sighed and lowered the newspaper. "Dry your eyes. We may as well eat."

Rose wondered what on earth was going on. "If only we could get to the captain's office," she said to Daisy.

"We could simply say we were going for a walk," said Daisy.

"At the moment we are not allowed out of the house."

"I'll watch by the window and see whether my lord and my lady go out. My lord goes to his club most days." Daisy took up a position by the window.

After quarter of an hour, she said, "There he goes. Now we need to wait for Lady Polly."

The day dragged on. Rose read while Daisy kept watch. "Lady Polly has just left," she exclaimed.

Rose put down her book. "How do we get past the servants?"

"They'll be taking afternoon tea," said Daisy. "If we hurry, we should get out unnoticed."

"What about coming back?"

"Let's worry about that later. We'll go to Chelsea. He may have finished work by the time we get there."

At Harry's Chelsea home, Daisy bit back an exclamation of disappointment as Phil opened the door to them.

"Is Captain Cathcart at home?" asked Rose.

"I am expecting him at any moment."

Rose handed him her card. "We will wait."

"Certainly, my lady. Step this way. Sherry, my lady?"

"Yes, please."

"Who on earth is that?" hissed Daisy when Phil had left the room.

"I believe he is some down-and-out that the captain rescued from poverty."

Phil returned carrying sherry gla.s.ses and a decanter on a tray. He carefully poured two gla.s.ses and handed one to Rose and then one to Daisy.

He bowed low. "Will there be h'anythink else, my lady?"

"No, I thank you."

Phil bowed his way out of the room.

Daisy looked around the book-lined parlour. "You would think with all the money he's making he would find a more fashionable address."

"Shh! I hear a motor car."

Harry walked in, followed by Becket. "Lady Rose! What brings you here?"

"I must know what is going on," said Rose. "What was in that photograph?"

Becket helped Harry out of his coat and took his hat and stick. He smiled at Daisy, who gave him a cheeky wink.

Harry sat down. "The photograph was of Sir Peter in a compromising position with a beautiful youth wearing a mask."

"You can't mean ... Gentlemen don't ..."

"I am afraid they do. Berrow and Banks paid the young man to entrap Sir Peter."

"Have you been to Kerridge? You must tell the police."

"I cannot tell the police. Kerridge would be honour-bound to arrest Sir Peter. He would be charged with acts of gross indecency and sentenced to hard labour."

Rose's face was bright red. "I never imagined ... I never thought ... Where is Peter?"

"Well on his way to the south of France, I hope."

Rose stared at him for a long moment. "Do you see what this means? If Berrow and Banks hired this youth to compromise Sir Peter, then they are probably the ones who hired the a.s.sa.s.sin to try to kill me."

"That is possible. Although I fear one of them wanted Petrey out of the way so that he could try his luck with you. But I definitely cannot tell Kerridge. I am going out this evening to silence Berrow and Banks."

"You will kill them?"

"No, my dear. There are other ways."

"I cannot understand why my father did not cancel my engagement."

"He will. But I did not, for the moment, want Berrow or Banks to have that satisfaction. Now I need to go out again. May Becket take you home?"

"Yes, please."

Harry rang the bell. "Becket, take Miss Levine out to the motor. I need a word with Lady Rose in private."

When they had left, Harry looked seriously at Rose. "I am going to ask your father's permission to pay my addresses to you. What do you think of that?"

"He will never agree. And why?"

He wanted to say, Because you enchant and infuriate me. Instead he said, "Because I would not leave you unprotected. London is full of adventurers. You may make another mistake."

"But you will leave me alone like you did before!"

"I will try to behave like a faithful swain. Come, Rose, we are both misfits and we could deal well together."

Rose looked up at him from beneath her long lashes. "An arrangement like before?"

"If you wish."

At last she gave a little sigh. "Very well, then."

"I must deal with Berrow and Banks first. Then I will call."

"I am only agreeing because at the moment I am not allowed out of the house."

Harry smiled. "Let me escort you out to the motor."

Harry waited until Becket had returned. "Do not take off your coat, Becket. We are going to Scotland Yard. How is Phil progressing with the camera work?"

"He is excellent and knows how to develop and print negatives."

"Good. Tell him to get that new Kodak I bought him, film, and magnesium for the flash. I'll need him tonight. I will also need to furnish you with a pistol, Becket. You do not mind threatening anyone with a pistol, do you?"

"Certainly not, sir."

"So here's what we will do ..."

Harry hoped his guess was correct-that Berrow and Banks would wait outside that brothel in the hope of getting hold of Jonathan. But to make sure, he, Becket, and Phil followed the pair from The Club, then hid at the end of Verney Street and watched. Berrow and Banks looked around furtively and went into the brothel. They came out a few minutes later and stood waiting.

"Jonathan must have been due on duty about now," whispered Harry. "Becket and Phil, go now. You have your instructions."

Becket walked forward to where Berrow and Cyril were standing. Harry had altered his manservant's appearance. Becket now sported a heavy moustache and mutton-chop whiskers.

He held the gun on the pair. Then he raised it and fired a shot neatly through the top of Berrow's silk hat and then levelled the pistol on them again.

The brothel door slammed shut and the lights went out. A shot in Verney Street meant trouble, and trouble meant the police. No one wanted to be around when the police arrived. Harry at the end of the street saw a possible customer turn and run off.

"What do you want?" squeaked Cyril. "Our money?"

"I want you to kiss your friend on the mouth."

"b.u.g.g.e.r you," hissed Berrow.

Becket clicked back the hammer on the pistol. "Oh, do what the maniac says," howled Cyril, "or he'll kill us."

He grasped Berrow by the shoulders and pressed his mouth to his. Becket melted into the shadows as the magnesium flare went off.

Neither man saw the flash, both having their eyes tight shut. When Cyril released Berrow, he looked wildly around. There was no sign of anyone. Both men took out their silk handkerchiefs and wiped their mouths.

"Disgusting!" raged Berrow. "Let's get out of here. Scotland Yard shall hear of this." He set off down the street.

"Hold on," said Cyril. "We can't tell the police."

"Why not? We were forced to kiss each other by some maniac with a pistol."

"The police will ask where it took place. If we say Verney Street, they'll think we're a pair of you-know-whats. And I told you that someone opened my safe and stole that negative and photograph."