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a new man in her life, a gentleman who was paying his addresses to her.”
    “Who?” Thane asked.
    Bott shrugged. “Alas, the fellow was not identified. But the story corroborates that of Maria Wilkes. Several of the servants in the Entwhistle house verified that Wilkes, too, was being courted by an unnamed gentleman.”
    Courted?
Thane privately took issue with the term. These girls would have to have been incredibly naïve not to have realized that a man high above their station could have only one purpose in flirting with a comely servant girl.
    Unless, of course, he also had murder on his mind.
    “Where is this cravat?” Thane asked. “The one that was dropped near Miss Huddleston.”
    “I have it right here with me, as I’ve been taking it to various tailors and haberdasheries around town. Regrettably, it has no distinguishing characteristics.” Reaching inside his coat, Bott withdrew a folded length of wrinkled cloth and laid it on the desk. “As you can see, it is made ofthe finest linen, a quality only a well-to-do gentleman could afford to purchase.”
    Thane took the cravat and unfolded it across his lap. He had dozens like it in his own clothespress. On this one, a few dirt smears marred the snowy white fabric.
    “I would surmise, then, that this was the murder weapon.”
    Bott inclined his head in a nod. “That was my thought, as well.”
    A dark picture sprang into Thane’s mind, of a young woman struggling against her attacker while being choked to death with this very cloth. Grimly he said, “May I have this?”
    Bott sat up straight. “With all due respect, m’lord, I cannot see that it would be of any great use to you. As I said, I’ve already taken it around to every shop in Town.”
    “Nevertheless, I would like to show it to my valet. He may have some thought as to its origin.”
    “An excellent notion,” the magistrate said, rising to his feet and picking up a hefty legal tome. “Now, this meeting must come to a close as I am due in court shortly. I will, of course, order extra patrols in the vicinity of Hyde Park, in case the villain attempts to strike again. Bott, carry on with your investigation. Your Lordship, once again, I greatly appreciate your help. Without you, we would not have access to the great houses of the city.”
    Bott still looked disgruntled, but Thane ignored him. The fellow would get over his snit soon enough when he realized that Thane had no interest in milking any glory from solving the case.
    He had seen enough needless death on the battlefield. His sole interest was achieving justice for the two women who had died—and preventing any others from suffering the same fate.
    He tucked the cravat into an inner pocket of his coat. As he strode downstairs, Thane passed the crowded antechamber where throngs of unwashed masses sat on benches, awaiting their turn with one of the magistrates or to visit prisoners in one of the holding cells. He proceeded outside into the dull gray afternoon and headed to the iron post where his horse was tethered. While bending down to untie the reins, Thane glimpsed her slim figure out of the corner of his eye.
    Miss Lindsey Crompton.
    He jerked upright and spun toward her. Only to realize his mistake as she reached out to open the door to Bow Street Court.
    Instead of a finely etched profile, this woman had a crooked nose and a coarseness to her features.
    Instead of an upswept mass of rich brown hair, this woman wore a dark bonnet adorned by a broken peacock feather.
    Instead of a willowy form with generous breasts, this woman was painfully thin, almost sickly.
    Irked with himself, Thane swung onto his horse and negotiated a path through the congestion of drays and carriages on the cobbled street. How very foolish of him. His imagination was conjuring ghosts.
    It was the image of Lindsey Crompton that haunted him. He had committed an act of supreme idiocy by reaching into her bodice the previous night. He had succeeded only in