The Girl in the Clockwork Collar (Steampunk Chronicles #2)(51)

Whip Kirby watched as he approached. Once they were within a few feet of each other, the lawman tipped his hat. “Your Grace, thank you for seeing me without a prior appointment.”

“Of course. Shall we find somewhere a little more private to talk?”

They found a small seating area not far away, which wasn’t currently in use. Griffin made himself as comfortable as he could, but his torso was still a little tender. Having one’s chest perforated would do that.

“I’ll get right to the point,” Kirby said, leaning forward so that his forearms rested on his knees. “Have you had any contact with Jasper Renn?”

Griffin arched a brow. “Who?”

“Come now, Your Grace, don’t play games. I saw you at the Tombs, and I know Renn was seen in your company in London. Your presence in New York is no more a coincidence than mine. Plus, you’ve been asking around ’bout Dalton just as much as I have.”

“If you know this, then you also know that I’m not about to tell you anything that might endanger my friend, or myself.”

The lawman tipped his chair back. “You assume I’m interested in harming the boy.”

“Aren’t you?”

“I’m interested in justice.” Kirby’s eyes were flat—entirely empty of emotion. “I won’t let some well-meaning English dandy stand in my way. I’ll ask again—have you made contact with Renn?”

Griffin could lie, but there was something in the old man’s tone that confused him—a hint of desperation. Could it be that they were on the same side?

“I haven’t been in direct contact, no.”

The older man smiled, causing lines to fan out around his eyes. “So that English girl running with Dalton’s gang is yours. I wondered about her. You know about Dalton, too, right?”

If Finley belonged to anyone it was herself. He was tempted to tell the marshal that. Instead, he nodded. “I do.”

“Then you know what kind of trouble your friend is in.”

“Is that all you wanted to talk to me about, Mr. Kirby?” Griffin was still sore and more than a little cranky, so he was done with this conversation.

The lawman met his gaze with one that was the color of a wolf ’s and just as unnerving. “During your association with Renn, he never once talked about San Francisco or why he left?”

“We might have talked a little about his family but not much else.” Come to think of it, Griffin hadn’t offered up much personal information about himself, but they had managed to become friends, anyway.

“You’re sure? He never once mentioned Venton or Reno Dalton? Not even a girl? I find it hard to believe that young men your age wouldn’t talk about girls.”

Griffin arched a brow. “Not one in particular, no.” What did this man think, that he had nothing better to do than sit around chitchatting about girls all day? “I didn’t learn about Dalton until I arrived in Manhattan.”

“Damnation,” Kirby mumbled, rubbing the stubble along his jaw with the palm of his hand. “I suppose he wouldn’t talk about Venton’s murder, not if that’s what he was runnin’ away from.”

Just what sort of information was he after? And was that concern he heard in the man’s tone? Griffin went ahead with the obvious. “Jasper is not a murderer, Mr. Kirby.” He didn’t care what kind of evidence the lawman had. He refused to believe the young man he knew would kill someone in cold blood.

Kirby regarded him for a moment. “Your faith in your friends is admirable, Your Grace. But regardless of that, I want to talk to Renn myself.”

He wouldn’t be much of a lawman if he simply took Griffin’s word for it, and Griffin respected that. But if Kirby wanted information, then he was going to have to share some. “Tell me, Mr. Kirby, what is it that leads you to believe that Jasper murdered this person?”

Kirby hesitated, as though considering his words. Perhaps he decided to trust Griffin, just as Griffin was prepared to trust him. Sometimes a man had to listen to his gut. “Your Grace, I don’t think Renn murdered Mr. Venton.”

“You don’t?”

“No,” Kirby asserted with a shake of his head. His eyes were serious, his expression unguarded. “I believe Venton was killed by a girl named Mei Xing.”





Chapter 11


Finley didn’t get much of a chance to poke around in Dalton’s business. She managed to sneak into his bedroom but found nothing of any interest—not even a safe—except a book filled with stories and pictures that made her face hot and the rest of her feel twitchy. After looking at it, she had a pretty deep suspicion that this was exactly the sort of book her stepfather, Silas, kept in the locked cupboard at the back of his shop.

Once she was done with his room, she moved on to the parlor but didn’t expect to find anything. Anything important—that wasn’t hidden in his bedroom—would be in his study, and that’s where Dalton was at the moment.

Jasper and the others weren’t back yet, so there was nothing for her to do and no one for her to talk to—unless she went to Dalton. She was pretty certain he had Mei with him, and she’d rather swallow live leeches than spend any more time than she had to with that girl.

There was something of a training room set up in what normally would have been a drawing room, on what some of the people around here referred to as the first floor. This was confusing because she was used to calling it the ground floor, which was followed by the first, second and so on. There was a sparring square and a sandbag for punching, along with other equipment to improve physical health and strength. Dalton shared the modern belief that exertion was good not only for the human body but the mind, as well. It was the perfect place for her to go to burn off some of this nervous energy dancing through her veins.