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every appearance of gazing thoughtfully out into the night. But Leo knew
     
    A m a n d a
    she was watching his reflection in the glass. He could almost feel her debating her course of action. He waited with interest to see what she would do next.
    "I was warned that you might be difficult." She sounded wryly resigned.
    "Obviously the warning did not dampen your enthusiasm for a journey to the wilds of Devon."
    "No, it did not." She studied him in the dark glass. "I am not easily discouraged, my lord."
    "And I am not easily cajoled."
    Very well, since you insist, I shall be blunt. I believe that my uncle may have been murdered because of the Forbidden Rings."
    Whatever it was he had expected to hear, this was not it. A chill stole through him. He fought it with logic. "If you have concocted a tale of murder in order to convince me to help you find the Rings, Mrs. Poole, I must warn you that I do not deal politely with those who seek to deceive me."
    "You asked for the truth, sir. I am attempting to give it to you.-
    He did not take his eyes off her. "Perhaps you had better tell me the rest of the story."
    "Yes." Beatrice turned away from the window and began to pace. "Three weeks ago Uncle Reggie collapsed and died in somewhat awkward circumstances."
    "Death is always awkward.' Leo inclined his head. "'My condolences, Mrs. Poole."
    "Thank you."
    "Who was Uncle Reggie?"
    "Lord Glassonby." She paused, a wistful expression on her face. "He was a somewhat distant relation on my father's side. The rest of the family considered him quite eccentric, but I was very fond of him. He was kind and enthusiastic and, after he came into a small, unexpected inheritance last year, quite generous."
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    "I see. Why do you say that the circumstances of his death were awkward?"
    She resumed her pacing, hands clasped once more behind her back. "Uncle RegVie was not at home when he died."
    This was getting more interesting by the minute. "Where was he?"
    Beatrice delicately cleared her throat. "In an establishment that I understand is frequented by gentlemen who have rather unusual tastes."
    "You may as well spell it out, Mrs. Poole. I am certainly not going to let you get away with that meager explanation." She sighed. "Uncle Reggie died in a brothel."
    Leo was amused by the color that tinted her cheeks. Perhaps she was not quite so much the woman of the world after all. "A brothel."
    "Yes. "Which one?"
    She stopped long enough to glare at him. "I beg your pardon?'
    "Which brothel? There are any number of them in London."
    "Oh." She concentrated very intently on the pattern in the Oriental carpet beneath her feet. "I believe the establishment is known as the-" She broke off on a small cough. "The House of the Rod."
    "I have heard of it."
    Beatrice raised her head very swiftly and gave him a quelling glance. "I would not boast of that if I were you, sir. It does you no credit."
    "I assure you, I have never been a client of the House of the Rod. My own tastes in such matters do not run in that direction."
    "I see,' Beatrice muttered.
    "It is, I believe, a brothel that caters to men whose
     
    sensual appetites are sharpened by sundry forms of discipline."
    "My lord, please." Beatrice sounded as if she were on the verge of strangling. "I assure you, it is not necessary to go into great detail."
    Leo smiled to himself. "Carry on with your story, Mrs. Poole."
    "Very well." She whirled around to stalk toward the far end of the library. "In the days following Uncle Reggie's death, we discovered to our great shock that sometime during the last weeks of his life he had gone through a great sum of money. Indeed, his estate was on the very brink of bankruptcy."
    "You had counted on inheriting a fortune?" Leo asked. "No, it is vastly more complicated than that."
    "I am prepared to listen."
    "I told you that Uncle Reggie could be very generous." Beatrice turned and started back in the opposite direction. "A few months before he died, he