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villains do, is it not? Hatch nasty plots against innocent ladies?"
    "Aye, and that's a fact, but there's no need to worry," the boy said cheerfully. "Edmund Drake will meet a right dreadful fate. All of Mrs. Fordyce's villains come to terrible ends in the final episodes."
    Adam folded the paper and tucked it under his arm. "Something to look forward to, no doubt."
    A short time later he went up the steps of the big house in Laxton Square . Morton, bald head gleaming in the morning sun, had the door open before Adam could retrieve his key.
    "Welcome home, sir," Morton said.
    If he had not been so weary, Adam thought, he would have been amused by Morton's studied lack of curiosity. It was, after all, half past ten. He had left the house shortly before nine last night to go to his club and had not returned until this moment. One would assume that the butler must have a few questions. But Morton was far too well schooled or, more likely, too well inured to the eccentric ways of the household to remark upon the hour.
    "Mr. Grendon has just sat down to a late breakfast, sir." Morton took Adam's coat and hat. "Perhaps you would care to join him?"
    "An excellent notion, Morton. I believe I will do that."
    He needed food as much as he needed sleep, Adam thought. And sooner or later, he would have to face Wilson and convey the bad news. Might as well get the business behind him.
    When he walked into the paneled and polished breakfast room a short time later, Wilson Grendon looked up from the depths of his morning paper. He studied Adam for a few brief seconds and then removed his gold-rimmed spectacles and set them aside.
    "You had no luck, I take it?" he asked without preamble.
    "The medium was dead when I found her. Murdered."
    " Damnation." Wilson's thick gray brows bunched over his formidable nose. "Delmont is dead? Are you certain?"
    "Hard to be mistaken about that sort of thing." Adam tossed the folded newspaper onto the table and crossed to the sideboard to survey the array of dishes. "There was no sign of the diary, so I am forced to conclude that the killer stole it. I spent half the night and most of the morning making inquiries into the affair."
    Wilson absorbed that information with a troubled expression. "The murder is certainly a strange twist"
    "Not necessarily. The average villain would likely see a great potential for extortion in this matter." Adam picked up a silver serving fork and helped himself to a large heap of scrambled eggs and smoked salmon. "The prospect of money can make any number of people con-template murder."
    Wilson turned thoughtful. "Are you certain that the medium was murdered for the diary?"
    "No" Adam carried his plate back to the table and sat down. "But it would appear to be the most logical explanation, given the timing and circumstances."
    "Well, then, if you are right, whoever now possesses the diary will no doubt soon be in touch."
    "I prefer not to sit and wait for the killer to send a message inviting me to pay blackmail." Adam dug into his eggs. "I intend to find him first."
    Wilson drank some coffee and lowered the cup. "Did you learn anything useful in the course of your inquiries last night and this morning?"
    "No. The only halfway promising suspect proved to be an exceedingly difficult and unpredictable female who thinks t hat 1 am an ideal model for a villain in a sensation novel." "How odd." Wilson's pale gray eyes lit with interest. "Tell me about her."
    Trust Wilson to seize upon the one aspect of the business that he least wished to discuss, Adam thought. He buttered some toast while he considered his response.
    "There isn't much to tell," he said. "I am convinced that the lady in question is not involved in this affair."
    Wilson leaned back in his chair. "This is not the first time that you and I have had occasion to discuss murder and potentially dangerous documents at breakfast."
    "What we have done in the past along those lines were matters of business," Adam said