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distraction, and Brennan wasn’t a man to be distracted easily. Not when Sir John himself had recently brought a most interesting piece of information to his attention.
    The robbery at Lady Plumworthy’s was almost a duplicate of similar robberies perpetrated by the Cat over the last two years. Sometime during the evening someone had made himself free with his hostess’s bedroom and jewelry.
    As expected, the victim refused to divulge her guest list to Brennan, offended that official suspicion might fall upon one of the upper levels of society. “It had to have been one of the servants,” the old harridan had insisted, eyeing him as if he were some creature crawled up out of the gutter. “Do you think I number thieves among my acquaintance?”
    “ I think you must, your ladyship. You say there were no strangers here last night,” Brennan had said politely.
    “ Insufferable,” her ladyship had muttered, and Brennan had little doubt she was referring to his studiedly polite manner and not the robbery.
    If he weren’t already certain it was the Cat, he would have been more than happy to blame Lady Plumworthy’s majordomo. The haughty creature who ushered him out of her ladyship’s august presence was everything Brennan despised, from his small, cruel eyes to his malicious tongue. Robert Brennan had a real gift for summing up a person in just a glance, and Hawkins was a bad ‘un through and through.
    “ Her ladyship must have forgotten the Gypsy,” Hawkins said as he opened the front door for Brennan. Robert had little doubt the man would have showed him to the servants’ entrance, but there were occasional gestures of respect that he insisted on. He was not about to use the servants’ entrance like a dustman.
    “ The Gypsy?” Brennan murmured. An upper servant such as Hawkins would want a fair amount of blunt for his information, more than Brennan usually had available. “There was a Gypsy here last night?”
    For some reason Hawkins didn’t seem more than casually interested in remuneration, and when Brennan’s hand didn’t dip toward his pocket, he simply shrugged and continued. “ ‘Course, she didn’t call herself a Gypsy. Acted more like she thought she was a real lady, but if someone nabbed the sparklers, it must have been her.”
    Hawkins’s knowledge of thieves’ cant was even more interesting. Brennan nodded encouragingly. “And who was she?”
    “ Some old acquaintance of her ladyship’s, I think, fallen on hard times.”
    “ Then she could hardly be a Gypsy, could she? Not the sort to mingle with the aristocracy.”
    “ Lady Plumworthy ain’t exactly aristocratic, if you know what I mean,” Hawkins said with a coarse laugh. “She’s risen high, she has, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t still know where she came from.”
    “ What was the Gypsy doing here?”
    “ What else do Gypsies do? Tell fortunes and rob you blind,” Hawkins said with a sneer.
    Brennan reached into the pocket of his greatcoat, pulling out a sheaf of paper and a carbon pen. “And what is the name and direction of this Gypsy?”
    “ What’s it worth to you?”
    “ Absolutely nothing,” Brennan said calmly. “It’s your responsibility as a citizen and an employee of her ladyship’s to see that justice is done. I’m certain I can rely on your sense of duty, can’t I?”
    “ Not likely,” Hawkins muttered, starting to turn away.
    Brennan was not in the mood to be trifled with. He towered over the servant, and it was a simple matter to catch him by the scruff of the neck and shove him up against the heavy oak door. “I would appreciate your cooperation, Hawkins,” he said smoothly.
    Hawkins’s protruding eyes bulged out farther. “Maitland,” he gasped. “Miss Jessamine Maitland. Called herself Miss Brown, but her ladyship confided in me, seeing as how I was supposed to make sure she arrived safely. She lives in Spitalfields, near the Five Diamonds pub.”
    Brennan released him, and Hawkins