Garden of Lies(69)
“Logically, he should cut his losses,” Slater said. “If he is in town, as I believe, he should buy a ticket on the first ship bound for New York. But in my experience, people rarely behave rationally when there is a lot of money at stake.”
“What, exactly, do you want from me?” Brice asked.
“Anything and everything you might have heard about the Olympus Club and its members.”
“That does not amount to much,” Brice warned. “But now that I consider the matter there is something that may or may not have some significance.”
“What is that?” Slater said.
“In the past couple of months, two high-ranking men died. In Mayhew’s case the death was reputed to have been a hunting accident but no one believed that. Davies jumped off a bridge.”
“I remember the reports in the press,” Lilly said. “There were rumors of suicide in both cases.”
“For what it’s worth, I heard that both men were members of the Olympus Club,” Brice said.
—
A SHORT TIME LATER Slater escorted Brice outside to the waiting carriage. The rain had stopped but the fog was prowling back into the streets of London. Brice climbed into the cab and sat down. When he did not speak, Slater stepped back and started to close the door.
“Thank you,” he said.
Brice put out a hand to stop the door from swinging shut.
“Did you mean it earlier when you said that you do not blame me for what happened on Fever Island?” he asked.
“None of it was your fault,” Slater said.
“Some people believe I deliberately triggered that trap.”
“I never believed it,” Slater said. “Not for a moment.”
“About the Jeweled Bird,” Brice said.
Slater smiled. “I know it was not stolen. It no longer exists, does it? You took it apart, stone by stone, and sold the gems off very quietly.”
Brice’s expression hardened. “The family was bankrupt. I did the only thing I could think of to do in that situation.”
“You did what you had to do for the sake of the family. I understand.”
“Do you?”
“It is what I would have done in the same circumstances,” Slater said.
Brice was quiet for a time.
“I thought it possible that you might not hold me responsible for the disaster on the island,” he said at last. “But I was certain you would never forgive me for destroying what turned out to be the only surviving artifact of an unknown civilization.”
“My perspective on some things changed during that year on Fever Island.”
Brice looked at him. “If I hear anything else about the Olympus Club I will contact you.”
“I appreciate that. But be careful, Brice. This affair has become dangerous.”
“Yes, I saw that for myself tonight. What have you been doing all these years while you were away from London? It was common knowledge that your father cut you off in an attempt to bring you home. How did you make a living?”
“I did what you and I used to do together—I traced lost artifacts. But I did it for the money, not the thrill of discovery.”
“And is there a lot of money in that line?”
“Enough.”
Brice snorted softly. “No wonder you knew the Jeweled Bird no longer existed. You went looking for it and couldn’t find it.”
“It would have been hard for something like that to disappear altogether into the underground market.”
“And now you’re stuck here in London because your father saddled you with the responsibility for the family fortune. Hard to envision you settling down to city life. You were never interested in Society. Do you think you’ll become bored?”
“I worried about that for a time. But no longer. I have a hobby.”
“Hobby?”
“Haven’t you heard? I practice exotic sexual rites on unsuspecting ladies in my basement.”
Brice laughed.
Slater smiled and closed the door. He watched from the front step until the cab disappeared into the fog.
THIRTY-NINE
The dream of the City of Tombs pulled him out of a restless sleep. He opened his eyes, giving himself a moment to cross the murky boundary between sleep and wakefulness.
He threw aside the covers and sat up on the edge of the bed. Mrs. Wyatt’s journal of accounts was on the nightstand along with the page of notes he had made.
He got to his feet and picked up the notes. It was a list of payments from clients who were identified only by their initials in the journal. There was something about the figures that did not look right.
He needed to think. He needed to walk the labyrinth. Tossing aside the notes, he pulled on his trousers and took the black silk dressing gown off the hook.
He opened the door and went out into the hall. The lamps were turned down low for the night but there was enough light to illuminate the corridor and the stairs. The Websters knew that one of their priorities was to make certain that the house was never enveloped in complete darkness. He had survived the experience of the Fever Island labyrinth but that did not mean that it had not left him with a few eccentricities.
He was quite capable of making his way silently down the hall. He knew every board that squeaked or groaned. He could avoid all of them. That was exactly what he intended to do until he found himself a step away from the door of Ursula’s bedroom.