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sound as though I am in the habit of doing that sort of thing.”
    “I see. You only flit through strange bedrooms when the fancy strikes, is that it? When was the first time you invaded someone’s bedroom?” he asked.
    A shiver of warning slithered down her spine.
    You’ve said enough, she thought. In spite of his assistance this evening, the plain fact is you do not know this man. You cannot take the risk of revealing your secrets to him.
    “Never mind,” she said. “Tell me what you found. Did you get the safe open?”
    “Certainly.” He turned up one of the lamps, reached into the voluminous coat and brought out a handful of papers. “These were all that were inside the safe.”
    She stared at him, astonished. “You took all of his personal papers?”
    “Yes. There wasn’t time to sort through them to find the specific papers you wanted so I grabbed the lot.”
    “Good grief.” What had she expected? He was a thief, after all. “I, uh, just wanted to know if there were any papers relating to the brothel inside the safe. I didn’t actually intend—” She broke off. “Never mind.”
    “Here.” He handed the papers to her. “See if you can find what you’re looking for in that bunch.”
    Gingerly she took the papers and held them up to the light.
    “They all appear to be business-related,” she said, rifling through them. “Most deal with his new investment scheme. I don’t see any relating to—” She stopped when she caught sight of a familiar address. Excitement stirred her pulse. “Ah, here we are. This one mentions the property at Number Twenty-two Winslow Lane.”
    She read through the document quickly and then looked up. “You have found the very document I was looking for, sir. According to this, Hastings recently invested a large sum of money in Phoenix House.”
    “Nothing like a satisfied client, I always say.” He took several small, leather-bound books out of various pockets. “May I hope for repeat business?”
    She ignored the teasing and examined the small books. “What have you got there?”
    “I’m not sure yet. I took them because most of them did not appear to belong to Hastings or his wife.”
    He handed a volume to her and opened one of the others to examine it.
    “This is a private journal,” Louisa said. She paused when she saw the name inscribed on one of the pages. “Good heavens, you’re right. It cannot possibly belong to Hastings. According to this, it is the diary of Miss Sara Brindle. She is set to marry Lord Mallenby at the end of the month. How on earth did it end up in Hastings’s safe?”
    “An excellent question.” He held up the book he had been perusing. “This journal belongs to a young lady named Julia Montrose.”
    “I’ve met her. She was recently engaged to Richard Plumstead. It is considered a spectacular match. Plumstead is in line for his father’s title.” She frowned. “This is all quite bizarre. Why would Hastings have these diaries?”
    “I can think of one very good reason off hand.”
    She took a quick breath. “Do you think that he is blackmailing those people?”
    “I doubt if young Julia or Sara has sufficient income of her own to pay blackmail. They likely receive only quarterly allowances. If Hastings is extorting money from anyone, it would be from someone else in the family. In the case of Julia, it would have to be her great-grandmother, Lady Penfield. She still controls the fortune in that family.” Anthony paused. “She is quite elderly and not in good health.”
    “Lady Ashton said something about Sara Brindle’s elderly aunt having control of Sara’s inheritance.”
    Anthony opened the last of the small volumes. “This, I suspect, will prove to be a record of extortion payments.”
    “We must return those items to their rightful owners immediately,” Louisa said.
    “I agree. But some discretion will be required.”
    “Yes, of course. We cannot reveal our own identities.” She paused. “What of the