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He was about to crack Elwin Hastings’s
    safe while his new accomplice—make that client—waited for him in a closed carriage in a nearby lane.
    His already complicated life had developed a few new and decidedly convoluted twists tonight.
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    For the second time that evening Anthony studied the shadowed hallway outside Hastings’s
    bedchamber. The guard was gone. There was no indication that anyone else was lurking up here. He
    checked the alcove where he had hidden a short time earlier. It was empty.

    Getting back inside the mansion had been simple enough. He had pulled on the long overcoat and
    low-crowned hat that he had brought along for the purpose. Louisa had watched closely, clearly intrigued
    by the sartorial transformation.

    “If I am seen at a distance, it is unlikely that I will be recognized,” he explained.

    “You look quite menacing in that coat and hat, sir. It is amazing how it affects your appearance. I vow,
    you could easily pass for a member of the criminal class.”

    “The idea is to look like a respectable tradesman.”

    “Oh. Sorry.”

    He had scaled the garden wall without incident, although he had been forced to crouch behind a hedge
    when the second guard, Royce, made what appeared to be a routine patrol of the grounds.

    Guided by the floor plan he had studied that afternoon and what he had seen of the house earlier, he had
    no trouble locating the servants’ entrance. The back stairs that led to the upper floors were still clear. The
    harried staff was occupied on the ground floor dealing with the behind-the-scenes demands generated by
    a houseful of guests.

    Satisfied that he had the hall to himself, he opened the door of Hastings’s bedroom. Inside he stood
    quietly for a moment, allowing himself to absorb the feel of the moonlit room. He had been studying
    Hastings for over a year. He knew a great deal about his quarry.

    He raised the corner of the carpet and found the safe exactly where it was supposed to be. He did not
    need to strike a light to see what he was doing. When one opened an Apollo Patented Safe in a
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    clandestine manner, one did it by touch, not sight.

    He got the strongbox open very quickly. The small set of safecracking tools he had brought with him had
    been specially commissioned from one of the finest craftsmen in Birmingham. The implements were more
    delicate and more sensitive than a surgeon’s scalpels.

    The interior of the Apollo was as dark as a small cave. He reached inside, pulled out all of the items, and
    placed them on the carpet in a shaft of bright moonlight. There were four velvet pouches of the sort used
    to hold jewelry, a number of business documents, five leather-bound journals, and an envelope containing
    three letters.

    He flipped through the journals. Four were written by people other than Hastings or his wife. The fifth
    was a record of payments received from individuals who were identified only by initials. The letters in the
    envelope were signed by a young lady.

    He tucked the journals, letters, and business papers into pockets on the inside of his overcoat. Turning
    to the jewelry pouches, he unlaced each in turn. The first three contained an assortment of bracelets,
    earrings, and necklaces fashioned of diamonds, pearls, and colored gems. All of the pieces were in the
    modern style. They had no doubt belonged to the first Mrs. Hastings. She had been much admired for
    her sense of fashion. He picked up the fourth sack and poured the contents into the palm of his hand.
    Moonlight glinted on an emerald-and-diamond necklace set in gold. The design was old-fashioned and
    very familiar.

    A savage exhilaration roared through him. He had anticipated finding some answers tonight. He had not
    allowed himself to hope that he would be this fortunate.

    He put the necklace back into the