Chapter Twelve
Twelve
Whoever he is, the bastard has the notebook.” Cornelius gingerly touched the bandage Amity had just finished placing on his head. He winced. “My apologies for the ungentlemanly language, Miss Doncaster. I fear I am not at my best at the moment.”
“I assure you, I have heard far worse language in my travels,” Amity said.
“And as for your condition, we can only be grateful that the intruder did not murder you. Fortunately, the injury looks quite shallow, although I imagine it does not feel that way. As for all the blood, I’m afraid head wounds tend to bleed profusely but you will heal.
The carpet may be beyond repair, however. ”
She surveyed her handiwork, satisfied that she had done her best to clean and disinfect the wound given the limited resources in the household.
A bowl of blood-stained water sat on the small table next to Cornelius’s chair.
She had bathed the injury thoroughly and then doused it with what she suspected was some very expensive brandy that Benedict had discovered in a nearby decanter.
She and Cornelius were alone in the study. Benedict had disappeared outside into the garden to take a look around. The cluttered room was redolent of old pipe smoke and leather-bound books.
“Thank you for the doctoring, my dear,” Cornelius said.
“You are entirely welcome.” She smiled. “The bandage will do for now but you might want to summon a real doctor to take a look at the injury in the morning, I trust you know a skilled physician, one who holds modern views on the importance of cleanliness. Meanwhile, you must stay quiet for the next few days. I am more concerned about a concussion than I am about the cut in your scalp.”
“I doubt that I will feel like going anywhere for some time,” Cornelius said. He peered up at Amity. “So you’re the lady globetrotter who saved my nephew’s life on that island in the Caribbean.”
“I happened to be in the vicinity so of course I did what I could.”
“I am in your debt, my dear.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, sir. You don’t owe me anything.”
“Yes, I do. It was my fault Benedict was on that damned island in the first place. I knew he wasn’t experienced in that sort of work. He’s an engineer, not a professional spy.”
Amity smiled. “So he keeps reminding me.”
“Thing is, he was the only person I knew whom I trusted and who was capable of judging the true value of Alden Cork’s invention.
And it’s a damn good thing I did send Ben because I very much doubt that any of my so-called professional agents would have understood that the real secret of the weapon is Foxcroft’s solar engine and battery system. ”
“But now Foxcroft’s notebook has disappeared. Benedict risked his life for nothing.”
“Hmm. Yes. Interesting, eh?”
Amity glared at him. “How can you be so casual about the theft, sir?”
The kitchen door opened and closed. Benedict walked back into the study. He slipped his gun into the pocket of his coat.
“The intruder evidently has a talent for picking locks,” he said. “There is barely a scratch on the door. It appears he left the same way he entered—through the kitchen.”
“He must have been watching the house,” Cornelius said. “He knew that I was alone. This is Palmer’s day and night off. He always goes to see his daughter and her family on Wednesdays. He takes the train and does not return until Thursday morning.”
“If the spy is aware of this house, then we must assume he knows a great deal, not only about the solar cannon and Foxcroft’s engine and battery but also about your government connections,” Benedict said.
“The intruder must be the same person who stole Cork’s drawings for the weapon and tried to murder you on St. Clare,” Amity said. “Now he has Foxcroft’s notebook. This is terrible.”
There was a short, tense silence. Cornelius and Benedict exchanged glances. Neither man appeared unduly alarmed. If anything, they seemed remarkably satisfied.
She planted her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. “What is going on here? I have the distinct impression that neither of you is sufficiently concerned about this turn of events.”
Benedict raised his brows. “Well, sir? You did request my fiancée’s assistance in this matter. It seems to me that she cannot be helpful unless you tell her more about the situation.”
Cornelius hesitated and then grunted. “Quite right. Miss Doncaster, the reason we are not overly concerned about the loss of the notebook is because Benedict wisely thought to remove the most crucial pages—the ones that provide the specifications and materials required to construct the engine and the battery.”
Amity absorbed that news. “Very clever. But won’t the spy realize that the important pages are missing?”
“With luck, no,” Benedict said. “My brother is a very good architect. He possesses a great deal of talent when it comes to drawing. The plans he produces for Stanbridge & Company are works of art.”
“Oh, I see.” Amity beetled her brows. “Do you mean to say that you forged some pages of the notebook?”
Benedict smiled approvingly.
“Foxcoft kept his notes in a binder. We simply removed the important pages and inserted new ones.” Benedict looked at Cornelius. “I told you that she is very sharp.”
Cornelius chuckled and then winced in pain and gingerly touched his head. “I believe you.”
Benedict turned back to Amity. “Between the two of us, Richard and I were able to forge two pages of specifications and notes for Foxcroft’s engine. We used some of the unused pages in the binder.”
Amity caught her breath. “That was a very clever plan.”
Cornelius snorted. “Ben always has a plan.”
“I thought it best to take the added precautions because Uncle Cornelius believes that there is a well-placed traitor involved in this affair,” Benedict said.
“Obviously you are right,” Amity said.
Out of curiosity, she moved closer to the safe and leaned down to peer into the dark interior. The only thing left inside was an envelope.
“My plan did not involve you being injured in the process,” Benedict said to Cornelius. “I assumed that if someone made an attempt to steal the notebook it would happen when you and Palmer were away from home.”
“Don’t blame yourself, Ben,” Cornelius said.
“The important thing is that you predicted that someone might try to steal the notebook and you were correct. Whoever our spy is, we now know for certain that he possesses considerable talent for his profession. The lock on that safe is the most modern model available.”
Amity looked over her shoulder at Cornelius. “How do you plan to catch the thief?”
“You misunderstand, Miss Doncaster. I have no intention of arresting the spy. I merely wish to identify him. Once I know who he is, I can make use of him.”
“By feeding him false information to give to the Russians,” Benedict explained.
“Well, that makes sense, I suppose,” Amity said. “But how will you identify him?”
“I have a short list of suspects, Miss Doncaster,” Cornelius said, his voice turning grim. “They are all being watched very closely at the moment. When one of them makes a move to give the notebook to the Russians, I will know about it.”
Benedict studied him. “What if you are watching the wrong people? You told me that none of your suspects was absent from London at the time I was shot on St. Clare.”
Cornelius fumbled with his spectacles and squinted at Amity.
“I am hoping that Miss Doncaster will be able to assist me in that regard. But I am not at my best at the moment. I can’t even recall all the questions I had intended to ask you, my dear.
The interview must wait until I can think more clearly. ”
“I will be happy to tell you what little I know whenever you are ready, sir,” Amity said. “But what of the letter inside the safe?”
Cornelius scowled. “I never put any letter in there.”
Amity removed the envelope from the safe, straightened and studied the name on the front. “It is addressed to you, sir.”
“Let me see that,” Cornelius snapped.
Amity handed the letter to him. “I suspect that your safecracker left you a message.”
Cornelius yanked the letter out of the envelope and peered at it for a moment. “Damn and blast, I can’t read a thing. My vision is somewhat blurred and my head hurts.” He thrust the letter toward Benedict. “Read it, Ben.”
Benedict unfolded the single sheet of paper and read it in silence. He looked up.
“It appears our burglar is not particularly loyal to any government,” Benedict said. “He has his own best interests at heart. He’s looking to turn a profit on this night’s work.”
“How?” Amity asked.
Benedict tapped the letter. “He states that he is willing to sell it back to us. For a price.”
“Bloody hell,” Cornelius growled. “And just what the devil is the price?”
Benedict glanced at the note in his hand. “It does not say. It only states that you will be contacted in the near future, at which time details will be provided.”
In spite of all he had been through that night, Cornelius appeared suddenly cheerful.
“Well, now,” he said sounding quite pleased. “That makes things so much simpler, doesn’t it?”
“Does it?” Amity asked.
“There is no way the spy can conduct a transaction without coming at least partway out of the shadows,” Cornelius said. “And when he does, we will be ready.”