Kate whirled from the window. “Why? How do the police know we were there?”
“They don’t, or they shouldn’t. And I suspect they won’t spend much effort on a man such as he. However, if they manage to connect Hibbert to Imogen Anstruther, it would lead them to you.”
She nodded, vexed she hadn’t considered that possibility before now. “What will we tell them?”
“The truth, of course.”
“The truth?” She looked doubtful, her arms folded across her chest.
“Not the entire truth.” Simon laughed as he moved next to Kate. “The entire truth is rarely necessary, which is precisely why I smudged out the werewolf tracks at the death scene. No sense in giving the boys at Scotland Yard a more difficult riddle than they can solve. I will also want the shoes you were wearing last night so I can destroy them. Bloodstains and all.” He opened the window and the cat leapt inside. “Don’t worry, we’ll work out a logical story before we need it.”
“You don’t strike me as a cat fancier.” Kate watched the animal patter off down the hall.
“Well, he’s the former owner of this house,” Simon said cryptically. “And he refuses to leave.”
There was a rap at the front door and Simon started. “A visitor. That’s unusual. In fact, nearly impossible.”
“Is it the police?” Kate’s eyes widened. “You said the house was warded.”
Simon went to the hallway, where Nick appeared too. Both men seemed disturbingly unnerved. “Are you expecting anyone?”
“No. You?”
The two men walked slowly to the front door. Nick stood to one side and his hand began to sparkle with faint flickers of lightning. Simon pulled his walking stick from a wicker cobra basket and drew out the sword.
Kate heard a slight crack and realized it was her fists tightening.
Simon touched a panel on the door and it shimmered into transparency. He reared back in surprise. Nick noticed his reaction and leaned over to look out.
“Who the devil?” Nick asked.
“I can’t fathom how he found us.” Simon lowered the sword and triggered the door to swing open. “Good morning, Hogarth.”
“Sir.” The Anstruthers’ massive manservant stood calmly on the stoop, eyeing the narrow blade in Simon’s hand. “Is Miss Anstruther here?”
“Hogarth!” Kate raced forward before Simon could answer. “What is it? Have you heard from Imogen?” Her questions were desperate.
“Miss Imogen has been located, ma’am.”
Kate didn’t like the way he had phrased that response, nor his guarded tone. “Where is she?”
Across the Thames River from Westminster was Lambeth, where stood a rambling Georgian palace known as Bethlehem Hospital, often called Bethlem for short. It was perhaps the most well-known medical facility in the entire city, and the most feared. The polite citizens would cluck their tongues and pay proper homage to the progressive concept of Christian kindness and scientific treatment for the patients there. But more often than not, they suppressed a shudder of horror at the thought of the wild-eyed lunatics screaming in the cold shadowy dungeons of “Bedlam” asylum. And they prayed it would never be them.
Kate knew she was dreadfully pale as she followed a white-clad orderly through the spacious main hall. The comforting footsteps of Simon and Hogarth were close behind. Gratefully, no drooling, gibbering patients wandered about. The smell was a noxious blend of sweat and faint chemical. Attendants and doctors in their long coats, well dressed and serious, nodded sympathetically.
The orderly opened a door and stepped aside. “Dr. White will see you.”
They entered a vast front office and Kate saw an older man behind a distant desk. He was shrouded by bright light from a sweep of windows behind him. He rose quickly and came forward, buttoning his jacket politely. He was white-haired but moved with vigor. A man of great concentration, he focused on Kate as he used both massive hands to take hers.
“Miss Anstruther, thank you for coming so promptly.” His voice was deep and comforting.
“How is my sister?”
“Please, won’t you sit?” Dr. White directed her to a plush leather chair, one of several in the corner of his office.
“Thank you. Doctor, may I present my friend, Mr. Simon Archer.”
Dr. White shook Simon’s hand. “Mr. Archer, we’ve met briefly.”
“I recall. Three years ago at the Royal Society’s ball honoring the memory of Sir Joseph Banks.”
“You have a prodigious memory, sir. I believe you were favoring the recently widowed Lady Houseworth that night. Most kind of you to provide her with support in her time of grief.”
Kate glanced at Simon, and save for a tightness in his jaw, he offered no reaction to the comment.