“Now, on to the nasty business of Lord Fleming’s snatching.” Uncle Andrew drummed his fingers on his desk. “I assume you propose to wait for this fourth ransom note to be delivered?”
Gage sighed heavily, sinking deeper into his chair. “I don’t know that we have much of a choice. We don’t have enough evidence to solidly point at any of our other suspects.”
My uncle frowned. “What of this Mr. Collingwood? Didn’t you say he contacted all of the families involved about this gold torc?”
“Yes. But he also seems to have contacted nearly everyone in the Society of Antiquaries, so that in and of itself is not enough to point the finger at him.”
“And the leader of this Edinburgh street gang?”
Gage’s face screwed up in a ferocious scowl. “Much as I’d like to believe it’s him behind all this, there are too many variables.”
My uncle stared at the remaining traces of Gage’s black eye, the pale yellow circle of healing skin and slight pink dappling, likely guessing at the source of Gage’s continued animosity. We’d been forced to explain the contusion during our previous visit with Anderley two days prior.
“Then who does that leave?” he asked.
I glanced at Gage, who stared silently at me, allowing me the opportunity to divulge what we’d discovered about Mr. Stuart. Knowing the man had been a guest in my uncle’s home during their Hogmanay Ball, I did my best to relay our findings delicately, but my uncle’s furrowed brow proved the effort might have been futile.
“But Mr. Stuart never left the ball,” he protested. “I saw him frequently that evening.”
“He wouldn’t have needed to nor even wanted to,” I explained. “If Mr. Stuart is the culprit, he would have marked Lord Buchan’s grave sometime during the days preceding the ball. Then he would have made sure to be seen during the festivities to remove all trace of suspicion from him.”
“And you’ve already said Mr. Young and Lord Shellingham mentioned seeing him at the abbey.”
Seeing the frown that lowered his features and the way his eyes avoided meeting mine, I could tell how reluctant he was to accept my suspicions. I leaned forward in my seat, trying to catch his eye. “Uncle Andrew, I like Mr. Stuart. I genuinely do. But we have to consider every possibility, no matter how disagreeable it is, until the truth is revealed or other information rules it out. Mr. Gage taught me that,” I said, turning toward him. His eyes brightened with some emotion, but before I could decide what it was, my attention was drawn back to my uncle, who was now watching us curiously. “So no matter how much we want to ignore the possibility, we can’t. Not if we want to discover the truth.”
I thought of the young caretaker Willie, still waiting for answers, still blaming himself for not going with Dodd to check out the light at the abbey on the night he was killed. He deserved closure just as much as, if not more than, these families who had paid ransoms to have their loved ones’ remains returned to them.
My uncle inhaled and nodded. “You’re right, of course. As a magistrate, I’m well aware that I can’t simply rely on preconceived notions of people. And I know you will not move forward with this without first having definitive proof.” He glanced sharply at me and then Gage, as if to assure himself. “So what would you like to know?”
“Well, to start, where did you meet Mr. Stuart? Aunt Sarah said it was in Edinburgh.”
His gaze rose toward the ceiling. “It was at a dinner party, I believe. I found him to be dashed clever, and he had some interesting thoughts on Eastern Europe.”
“Do you recall who introduced you?” I pushed. “Who hosted the dinner party?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Dalrymple were our hosts. On St. Andrews Square. But I believe it was Mr. Tyler who presented Mr. Stuart to me.”
I sat straighter. “Mr. Tyler of Woodslea?”
“Yes, I . . .” My uncle’s voice trailed away as he realized the implication. His face darkened with unease.
Gage, too, had moved forward in his seat at this pronouncement. “Did Mr. Tyler say how he knew Mr. Stuart?”
“No, not that I can recall. Though there was some intimation that he had visited them recently.”
I turned to Gage, trying to suppress some of the excitement I felt flowing through my veins, at least for the sake of my uncle. “Didn’t Mr. Tyler say they’d hosted a gathering the weekend that his father’s grave was disturbed?”
“Yes. And I have to wonder if Mr. Stuart was one of their guests.”