“No such thing as ghosts, boy,” he said aloud.
“That’s not what my ma says. She went to one of those séances the other night and talked to the spirit of her sister, Meg. Aunt Meg died a year ago. Never told anyone where she hid her teapot. My ma looked all over for it. But Meg’s ghost couldn’t remember where she put it.”
“I told you, there are no ghosts,” Cobb snarled.
Tom flinched.
“Yes, sir,” he whispered. He looked around. “Smells bad, don’t it? I’ll wager there’s a dead rat around here somewhere.”
And suddenly Cobb was very certain that he ought to take a look inside the crate that held Hubbard’s body. He needed to be sure that he had not made any mistakes. But he could not allow Tom to see the corpse.
“Give me the lantern,” he ordered.
Tom handed him the lantern.
“Wait over there by that stack of empty crates,” Cobb said.
“Yes, sir.” Tom wrinkled his nose and hurried across the room. “Must have been a real big rat.”
Cobb went to the crate that held Hubbard. He would just take a quick look, he assured himself. Make sure the body hadn’t been disturbed.
He set the lantern on top of a nearby crate. He could feel the boy watching him.Probably thinks I’m crazy.But there was no help for it. He had to be sure.
He got the lid of the crate open. The odor of death abruptly got stronger but Cobb barely noticed. It was not the first time he had encountered it.
He stared down at Hubbard’s body. It was just as he had left it, he concluded. Relief pulsed through him. He started to go through Hubbard’s clothing. He heard the boy moving about behind him.
“I’ll just be a moment,” he said, not bothering to turn around. “Then we’ll take the crates and leave.”
“Your hired killer had a card from your hotel tucked into his shoe.”
The voice came out of the shadows, startling Cobb so badly he dropped the lid of the crate. He yanked the gun out of his pocket and whirled around.
At first he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. The boy had vanished. Then he heard harsh, frightened breathing coming from behind a stack of crates. Tom was hiding. Not that the boy mattered now. It was the voice in the shadows on the far side of the warehouse that rattled Cobb’s nerves.
“Who are you?” he grated. “Where are you? Show yourself.”
“I trust you are not going to panic.” The figure moved out of the darkness, pausing at the very edge of the glary light cast by the lantern. “I came here to discuss a business venture with you. Now that Fulbrook is no longer involved, I am hoping that you will be interested in a new partner.”
Cobb struggled to make sense of what was happening. “Who are you?”
“Roxton.”
“So you’re the bastard Valerie told me about—the one who took an interest in the stenographer’s death. What do you want?”
“Yours is a simple, straightforward business plan. You intend to build a monopoly based on the ambrosia plant drug. You came here to close down the British end of the business. You will return to New York with everything you need to cultivate, harvest and concoct the drug in all its various forms. All you required are some specimens or seeds and an expert gardener who knew how to obtain the drug from the plant. Lady Fulbrook.”
“You seem to know a great deal about my business affairs.”
“I did my research.”
“How did you discover Hubbard’s body?” Cobb demanded. “There were no witnesses that night. I’m certain of that.”
“London is my city. I know my way around.”
Cobb gave that some thought. “I notice that you did not go to the police with your discovery.”
“Why would I risk losing what promises to be a golden business opportunity? I will admit that I’m curious about why you got rid of Hubbard. He was, after all, the only person you could trust in London.”
