He stood back, waiting for Pandora to leave the carriage, but she didn’t move. She was certain there was something he hadn’t told her. If so, he would talk to Gabriel about it, and then she would have to find out about it secondhand.
When he moved back into the doorway and gave her a questioning glance, Pandora said earnestly, “If I’m to trust you, Dragon, you can’t hide things from me, or I’ll never be sure of you. Besides, withholding important information isn’t protecting me. Just the opposite. The more I know, the less likely I am to do something foolish.”
Dragon considered that and relented. “I walked through the office rooms, and went out to the warehouse. I saw . . . things, here and there. Glass and rubber tubes, metal cylinders, traces of powdered chemical compounds.”
“But those things are common at a printer’s works, aren’t they?”
A notch appeared between his black brows, and he nodded.
“Then why are you concerned?” she asked.
“They’re also used for making bombs.”
Chapter 18
As soon as Gabriel arrived home after a long day of meetings, he was greeted by the sight of Drago awaiting him in the entrance hall.
“Milord.” Drago moved forward to assist him, but was pointedly shouldered aside by the first footman, who collected Gabriel’s hat and gloves. Gabriel sternly suppressed a smile, knowing that Drago hadn’t yet learned the order of precedence concerning the small rituals of the household. Certain tasks defined a servant’s status and would not be relinquished easily.
After shooting a quick, scathing glance at the first footman’s back, Drago returned his attention to Gabriel. “A word with you, milord?”
“Of course.” Gabriel led the way to the nearby morning room, where they both went to stand at one of the front bay windows.
As Drago gave him a succinct account of the visit to the Clerkenwell printer’s shop, including their abrupt exit, and the suspicious items in the offices and warehouse, Gabriel listened with a growing frown. “What was the chemical compound? Could you hazard a guess?”
For answer, Drago pulled a small, cork-stoppered glass tube from his coat pocket and handed it to him. Gabriel held it up and rotated it slowly, watching a few salt-like grains roll inside.
“Chloride of potash,” Drago said.
It was a common and easily recognizable chemical, used in soap, detergents, friction matches, fireworks, and ink. Gabriel handed the tube back to him. “Most people wouldn’t see cause for concern upon finding this at a printer’s works.”
“No, milord.”
“But something about it seemed dodgy to you.”
“It was the look of things. The way Mrs. O’Cairre behaved. The man Lady St. Vincent saw. Something’s not right about the place.”
Bracing one hand on the niche framing of the bay window, Gabriel regarded the quiet street outside, and drummed his fingers on the wood paneling. “I trust your instincts,” he finally said. “You’ve seen enough trouble to know when it’s brewing. But the police will dismiss this out of hand for lack of compelling evidence. And I don’t know of a detective in the entire department who isn’t corrupt or an idiot.”
“I know who to talk to.”
“Who?”
“Doesn’t like his name to be mentioned. He says most London detectives are too well known by their appearance and habits to be of any use. Soon they’ll make a clean sweep of the department and create a special branch. That’s a secret, by the way.”
Gabriel’s brows lifted. “How do you know all this when I don’t?”
“You’ve gone missing of late,” Drago said. “Something about a wedding.”
A smile tugged at Gabriel’s lips. “Talk to your contact as soon as possible.”
“I’ll go tonight.”
“One more thing.” Gabriel hesitated, almost dreading the answer to what he was about to ask. “Did you have any difficulties with Lady St. Vincent? She didn’t argue or try to evade you?”
“No, milord,” Drago replied in a matter-of-fact manner. “She’s a brick.”
“Oh,” Gabriel said, bemused. “Good.” He headed upstairs to find his wife, puzzling over the statement. In London street cant, calling someone a brick was the highest possible praise, used only for a man who was exceptionally loyal and good-hearted. Gabriel had never heard Drago pay such a compliment to anyone. In fact, he’d never heard of a woman being called a brick until now.
Pandora’s voice drifted from the direction of her bedroom, where she changed her clothes and had her hair arranged. At his insistence, she slept in his bed each night. She’d offered a few half-hearted objections at first, pointing out that she was a restless sleeper, which was true. However, whenever she awakened him with her tossing and turning, he solved her problem—and his—by making love to her until she fell into an exhausted slumber.