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powers, are dangerous. We have to get rid of him at once.”
    “Calm down, Adam. There is no need for panic. All will be well.”
    “I must warn you that Mr. Pierce is not fond of hypnotists, especially those with psychical talents, and neither am I,” Adam said grimly.
    “You encountered a hypnotist with paranormal abilities? Good heavens, I had no idea. What happened?”
    “Suffice it to say that the hypnotist in question is dead. Suicide. Perhaps you read about it in the papers. Her name was Rosalind Fleming.”
    “Now that you mention it, I do seem to recall the name. But there was nothing in the papers concerning her mesmeric talents. She was a lady who moved in high society, was she not?”
    “Before she manipulated her way into elevated social circles she made her living as a medium. She employed her skills to blackmail her clients.”
    “She jumped off a bridge, as I recall.”
    “Yes.”
    The perfectly neutral response set off warning bells. Leona knew it meant that the subject was closed. That, in turn, probably meant that the topic of conversation threatened to probe a little too deeply into the mysteries surrounding Adam’s very good friend Mr. Pierce.
    “The question now,” Leona said, “is what are we to do with Mr. Ware?”
    “You say he is asleep?” Adam asked.
    “Yes.”
    “Is it a deep sleep?”
    “Very deep,” Leona said.
    “In that case, I suggest that we leave him in the woods beside the road.”
    “You can’t be serious. The man saved my life tonight. Besides, it is starting to rain. He would likely catch his death of cold.”
    “You cannot take him home with you as though he were another stray dog,” Adam muttered, exasperated.
    “Perhaps you could put him up for the night?”
    “Absolutely not. Mr. Pierce would never approve. He had strong misgivings about our scheme from the outset, if you will recall. If he were to learn that I dragged home a hypnotist—”
    “All right, let me think a moment.”
    “Why was Ware in Delbridge’s museum tonight?”
    Leona hesitated. “He went there to get the crystal.”
    “ Your crystal?”
    “Well, yes, as it happens.”
    “Damnation. In that case there is something else you should take into consideration while you are pondering what to do with your hypnotist.”
    “What?”
    “You had best assume that when he awakens he will still want the damned stone.”
    Leona felt her usually resilient spirits plummet. Adam was right. If Thaddeus came looking for her it would only be because he wanted the stone, not because he wanted her. That electrifying kiss a short time ago was a product of his hallucinations, part of a nightmare. It was hardly the sort of encounter that would inspire desire in a gentleman’s heart.
    “From what little I saw of him earlier,” Adam continued, “I suspect that he will not gracefully abandon his quest and allow you to claim the stone.”
    “You are correct,” Leona said. “We must get rid of Mr. Ware. I have an idea.”

5
    THE CLOCK STRUCK THREE.
    Richard Saxilby awakened and looked around the gallery. Confusion struck first. What was he doing up here? He had accompanied the others on the tour that Delbridge had insisted upon conducting earlier in the evening, but he had not enjoyed the experience. He had little interest in antiquities and had fully expected to be bored. But boredom had not been the problem. Instead, the collection of relics displayed in the gallery had given him a distinctly unpleasant sensation.
    Why had he come back?
    Memory returned in a stomach-churning rush. He was here because of Molly. The saucy little baggage had suggested they meet here after the dancing began. She had told him that no one would think to look for them in this place.
    But Molly was dead, savagely murdered.
    He whirled around, heart pounding. No, it had not been a dream. She was still lying there on the floor. So much blood, he thought. Her throat was sliced open. She had been slaughtered.
    His guts rebelled.