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better if ye tell me before,” Stanley reflected. “That way I’d be sure not to do whatever it was ye was tellin’ me to do but not really meanin’ it.”
    â€œFine, then, I’ll tell ye before—I’ll say ‘Stanley, I’m about to say somethin’ sarky,’ so ye ain’t to pay no mind to it—all right?”
    Stanley shook his head, thoroughly confused. “If ye don’t want me to pay no mind to it, why bother sayin’ it at all?”
    â€œSweet Mary an’ Joseph—fine, then!” Bert looked as if his dark little eyes were about to explode from their sockets in frustration. “I won’t say nothin’ at all, all right? Now if it ain’t too much trouble, can we please get on with it?”
    â€œSure, Bert,” said Stanley amiably. “What do ye want me to do now?”
    â€œJust hold her still so she can’t kick me in the gams again,” Bert instructed, glaring at Camelia.
    â€œI can’t hold her legs without lettin’ go o’ somethin’ else,” Stanley explained.
    â€œThen put yer leg across hers, so she can’t move them.”
    â€œThat ain’t proper, Bert,” Stanley told him soberly. “Why don’t ye just stand a bit aways from her, so she can’t reach ye with her foot?”
    â€œBecause I want that bag o’ hers that she’s got on her arm.”
    â€œI’ll get it.”
    Camelia writhed fiercely against Stanley, fighting to keep her arm pinned tight against her body, but she was no match for her enormous captor. Keeping his calloused hand against her mouth, Stanley used the rest of his massive arm to hold her fast as he pulled her reticule off her wrist and tossed it to Bert.
    â€œWell, well, what ’ave we here?” clucked Bert, opening it. He withdrew the crumpled sketch Camelia had hastily crammed into her bag and examined it. “Aha!” His eyes bulged triumphantly as he looked up from the precious piece of paper. “This wouldn’t happen to have somethin’ to do with yer precious dig in Africa, now would it, yer ladyship? Did that dicked-in-the-nob inventor friend o’ yours give ye this?”
    Camelia regarded him serenely, as if she didn’t give a whit whether he took that particular piece of paper or not.
    â€œI thought so,” said Bert, shoving the sketch into his pocket. “What else ’ave we got in here?” he muttered, peering down into the reticule. “Ye got any brass?”
    â€œHe didn’t say nothin’ about takin’ brass from her, Bert,” Stanley objected.
    â€œHe didn’t say nothin’ about
not
takin’ brass from her, neither,” Bert pointed out pragmatically as he fished a small leather purse out of Camelia’s reticule and quickly counted the coins inside. “We done a bang-up job, and we’re entitled to a share o’ the whack—that’s just good business.” He shoved the coin purse into his pocket.
    â€œAre we finished then?” Stanley eased his grip upon Camelia slightly, not wanting to hold her any tighter than necessary now that she had stopped struggling.
    â€œNot quite. I’ve a message for ye, yer ladyship,” Bert drawled, inching his way toward Camelia. “Stay out o’ Africa,” he hissed, pulling a pistol out of his coat, “unless ye want to see more o’ yer precious workers snuff it. That land ye’re on is cursed, as sure as I’m standin’ here. Best thing for a fine lady like ye is to stay away from it—or else ye’ll find yerself snuffed too—got it?”
    â€œExcuse me,” drawled a heavily slurred voice suddenly from the end of the alley, “can either of you gentlemen tell me the way to the Blind Pig?”
    â€œNo!” snapped Bert, glowering at the drunken man staggering down the alley. “Now bugger off, ye bloody