Fondness filled Jennie’s eyes at the mention of her former assistant at theHerald. Sophie and Jennie had long been as close as sisters. Their similar natures and passion for inquiries had forged a strong bond, but Alex felt no rivalry. She adored the vibrant young woman who’d proven her mettle at the newspaper and now served as an operative for the Colton Agency.
“Benedict is also aware of that development. He did not appear enthused,” Alex said lightly.
“The men have been rivals for a very long time.”
“At this time, I do not believe Benedict is concerned about such matters,” Alex said.
“Indeed. He may be in grave danger. Marlsbrook must maintain his focus and remain on guard.”
Grave danger.The words cut through Alex like a hot knife. If anything happened to Benedict, she would be devastated.
“Jennie, is it possible that someone may commit a crime…in such a way that it would appear that Benedict is guilty?”
Tiny lines furrowed between Jennie’s brows. “By leaving false evidence that would implicate him…in the commission of a hanging offense.”
“Precisely,” Alex said. “In effect, the killer would ultimately be responsible for Benedict’s death. But the method would involve a prolonged misery. What greater mental torture than to be an innocent man facing execution for a crime he did not commit?”
Jennie’s complexion paled. “Rooney did emphasize that Marlsbrook would meet the executioner. God above, Alex. Could the devil behind these crimes intend to use the law itself as a murder weapon?”
Chapter Twelve
The night chill was more pronounced than usual. Scanning the bookshelves in her study for a research volume that might aid her in decoding the symbols in the dead man’s final message, Alex shivered. Pulling her dressing gown tighter, she cinched the wrap, then turned to the hearth and stirred the fire. She drank in the warmth, even as her mind raced.
Jennie’s dire words echoed in her thoughts. Could someone be intent on framing Benedict for a crime—a hanging offense? The prospect rippled another chill over her nape, skittering down the length of her spine. Giving herself a shake as if that would rid herself of the eerie sensation, she considered her next move. It was late, and her bed was warm. But she’d little hope of falling into a slumber. Curling beneath the blankets would not help her. Her best hope lay in deciphering the cryptic message to identify the villain behind the nefarious scheme.
Villain.The word played in her mind. How very melodramatic. But then again, perhaps the word truly fit. After all, she’d recently felt a killer’s hands on her person, a man who had sought proof of her death to satisfy his employer.
As Rooney’s harsh words whispered in her thoughts, another chill rippled over her skin. She let out a low breath, easing tension from her nerves. Devil take it, she had every right to be afraid. Even Matthew had shown a modicum of fear. Confident and bold as he was, he knew they were up against a sinister force they could not even name.
Padding across the plush carpet in slippered feet, she went to the window. With a swish of her hand, the curtain fell to the side, and she peered into the night. Just beyond the lamppost, she spotted the guards Matthew had assigned to her residence. A brawny bear of a man, Inspector Eddington had recently left the service of the Metropolitan Police and now employed his skills on behalf of the agency, while Julian Harker had served the Queen’s Empire in India before joining the ranks of Colton’s operatives. With Eddington seated in a curtained coach and Harker stealthily patrolling the premises, she should feel safe.
No amount of security could ease the fear deep within her. If someone were willing to kill to get to her, they could likely access the premises. Jennie had expressed that very objection as she’d urged Alex to reconsider and take up temporary residence at her spacious home.
Pity it was out of the question. Alex needed her resources. She required access to her reference library and the materials she utilized in her examination of artifacts. And there was an additional consideration. Jennie and Matthew had adopted two orphans, a quick-witted lad and his precocious young sister. Jennie had insisted that no one would dare attack the Colton residence, but the slightest risk to the children was too much for Alex to abide. If any harm came to Douglas and Sally, she would never be able to live with herself.
She turned, and the curtain fell back into place. Perhaps she should have asked Mrs. Thomas to stay with her that night. The housekeeper’s presence might have proven a small comfort, and she’d no doubt Mrs. Thomas would have been eager to exchange the sound of her father’s pronounced snores for the quiet of a chamber under Alex’s roof.
Behind her, the curtain trembled. Alex’s heart stuttered. A little gasp escaped her, only to settle into a sigh of exasperation as Nefritiri strolled out. Good heavens, the cat was going to be the death of her. As if she sensed Alex’s exasperation, the cat formed what looked like a smile on its furry face.
“You naughty brat,” Alex mumbled under her breath as the cat lifted its tail and sashayed beneath her desk. “If you think this is the way to get a spot of cream, you are mistaken.”
The cat issued a plaintivemeow.“Oh, you spoiled girl.” She reached down to rub the feline behind the ears. “I am afraid you’ll have to wait. I’ve work to do.”
As if the creature understood her, Nefritiri stalked away, presumably in search of a warm cushion upon which to curl up and go to sleep.
Alex returned to her desk. Lifting the photograph of the images, she stared at the icons. The imprecision of the symbols complicated her task. Of course, one could not have expected precise lettering from a dying man, much less one who’d been forced to employ his own blood to etch out the message.
Nine symbols in all. One of the drawings, an unclosed circle, appeared to be incomplete. Had the dying man’s strength ebbed before he could complete the image? A glyph that appeared to be the Egyptian symbol for death and an image that might have represented a horse were centered amidst an array of icons. An image that appeared to be an arrow was surrounded by symbols—a pair of wavy lines, a column of some sort, a letter that appeared to be anM, another glyph that resembled a horse, and a symbol that might have been aV.
What in blazes was the unlucky man trying to tell the others? The obvious conclusion was that it was a warning. But about what?
She flipped open a reference book, a thick and unwieldly tome. The symbol that resembled a column might have been meant to indicate the Roman numeral two. But why had horizontal lines been drawn above and below the numerals? TheVand theMmight also have been Roman numerals. This was all so very odd. It was unusual for her to have such difficulty translating hieroglyphs.
Roman numerals.The words repeated in her mind. Perhaps she was on the right track. Could it be that the symbols were not actually Egyptian at all, but rather, Roman in origin?
Where had she seen them before? Somehow, now that she viewed them through the lens of Roman origin rather than Egyptian, they seemed familiar.
She studied theM. It appeared to have a curved half loop at the end of the letter. What was it intended to depict?
