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examined Artemas with cool, considering eyes for a full moment.
    "The price would be quite high," he said. "Not many young men would wish to pay it. But if you are
    serious in your intentions, you may call on me tomorrow. We will discuss the matter of your future."
    "I don't have much money." Artemas smiled wryly. "In point of fact, I have considerably less now than I
    did earlier in the evening, thanks to you, sir."
    "You were the only one who had the sense to quit when you saw the way things were going," the
    stranger said. "You might have the makings of an excellent student. I shall look forward to meeting with
    you in the morning."
    Artemas had been on the stranger's doorstep at eleven o'clock the next day. The moment he had been
    admitted, he had realized that he was in the home of a scholar, not a professional gamester. He soon
    discovered that George Charters was a mathematician by inclination and training.
    "I was merely experimenting with a notion I came up with a few months ago concerning the probability
    of certain numbers appearing in a series of card hands," he'd explained. "I have no great interest in
    making my living at the tables, however. Much too unpredictable for my taste. What about you, sir? Do
    you intend to spend your life in the hells? "
    "Not if I can help it," Artemas had replied readily. "I would prefer a career that was rather more
    predictable myself."
    George Charters had been Vanza. It had suited him to instruct Artemas in some of the basic notions of
    the philosophy. When he had realized that he had a willing and adept pupil, he had offered to pay
    Artemas's passage to the Isle of Vanzagara. Henry Leggett had agreed that he should seize the
    opportunity.
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    Artemas had spent a total of four intense years in the Garden Temples, returning to England every
    summer to visit with George and Henry, and with his lover, Catherine Jensen.
    On his last visit, Artemas had arrived to discover that George was dying of a heart ailment and Catherine
    had been killed in a mysterious fall.
    Henry had stood at his side during both funerals. When they were over, Artemas had announced that he
    would not return to Vanzagara. He intended to stay in England and make his fortune and seek his
    revenge. Henry had not been keen on the notion of vengeance, but he had approved of the
    fortune-making scheme. He had accepted his offer of a post.
    Henry had proved quite brilliant, not only at managing investments with great discretion, but also at
    learning intimate details concerning the financial affairs of others. Henry provided Artemas with the sort of
    information that Zachary's Eyes and Ears could not be expected to learn on the streets, the sort that only
    a respectable man of affairs could hope to discover.
    But this morning, Artemas decided, it was not enough.
    "Is that all you could learn about Mrs. Deveridge, Henry? Rumors, gossip, and secondhand
    scandal-broth? I already know most of what you have just told me. It's common knowledge in the clubs."
    Henry looked up from his notebook. He peered at Artemas over the round gold rims of his spectacles.
    "It is not as though you allowed me a great deal of time for the task, Artemas." He glanced meaningfully
    at the tall clock. "I received your message at approximately eight o'clock this morning. It is now
    two-thirty. Six and a half hours is simply not sufficient for the sort of inquiries you wish to be made. I shall
    have more to offer in a few days."
    "Bloody hell. My fate is in the hands of the Wicked Widow and all you can tell me is that she has a habit
    of murdering her husbands."
    "One husband, not several," Leggett said in his maddeningly precise way. "And the tale is based on
    gossip, not fact. I would remind you that Mrs. Deveridge was never considered a suspect in her
    husband's death. She was not even questioned, let alone taken up on charges."
    "Because there was no proof. Only