“Thank you. You can get a rental tux from Maury’s at Pleasant and Piedmont. He outfits the musicians. I’m sure he’ll have—”
Corinne paused at the faint sound drifting down from above. Someone was knocking on the alley door. Gabriel was out of his chair in an instant, gun drawn.
“We should stay here,” Ada said. “What if it’s the HPA or the bulls?”
“Why would they be knocking?” Corinne asked. “It’s probably a delivery.”
Gabriel, ignoring both of them, was already halfway up the stairs. Corinne followed him. Ada made a noise of protest but stayed at Corinne’s heels. The stale air of the storage room was achingly cold, and Corinne immediately regretted shedding her extra layers. The knocking had stopped, and Corinne was about to suggest that Gabriel go out the front and take a look around when the new arrival called out, his voice easily recognizable through the door.
“Gordon? You in there? It’s Charlie Lewis.”
“Put that away,” Ada said, nudging Gabriel’s arm. She unlocked the door and yanked it open.
Charlie was dusted in snow, the flakes gleaming wetly on his black hat and coat. When Ada moved back to let him in, he stomped his shoes on the threshold and shivered.
“Morning,” he said, his demeanor less chipper than usual.
He pulled off his hat and looked at the three of them. He paused, eyebrows raised, when he saw Gabriel’s gun, still aimed at him.
“Well,” Charlie said.
“Ada, you can’t just throw open doors like that,” Corinne said, pushing Gabriel’s wrist down so that the gun was at least pointed at the floor and not Charlie’s heart. “What if it had been a thespian?”
“It could still be a thespian,” Gabriel said. He gave Corinne an irritated look but kept the gun lowered.
“Are you serious?” Charlie asked.
No one replied. Even Ada was regarding him with a sudden unease. Charlie looked at her, perplexed, then shook his head.
“Our first kiss was the day after we met, by the fountain on the Common.”
Ada winced, and Corinne shot an accusatory glare at her. “You told me that was weeks later!”
“It was an . . . accident,” Ada said.
Charlie grinned at her, but before he could say anything, Ada reached up and grabbed his chin.
“What happened to your face?”
Charlie’s hand went to his left eye. Corinne hadn’t noticed before, but it was swollen and darkly bruised.
“It’s nothing,” he said. “I just came to make sure you made it back okay last night.” He very generously included all of them in the statement, but his eyes flicked toward Ada.
“Why wouldn’t we be okay?” Corinne asked.
Gabriel had put away his gun, but a part of her suddenly wished he hadn’t. They had no way of knowing if Charlie had come alone. He’d never given them any reason not to trust him, but Corinne couldn’t stop thinking about those HPA agents, about how at ease they had been in the Red Cat, like they owned the place.
“Let’s go downstairs,” Ada said.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Corinne said, but it was a useless protest as Ada was already pushing open the panel.
Charlie didn’t seem surprised by the secret door, which meant that Ada had already told him about it at some point. Something Corinne intended to berate her about later. She glanced at Gabriel, who seemed uninterested in helping her dissuade Ada.
“I’m going to circle the club,” he said. “Just in case.”
It was a prudent precaution, but Corinne suspected he just didn’t want to be involved. He went up the half-flight of stairs to exit through the club. Corinne locked the back door and followed Ada and Charlie into the basement.
Downstairs, once Charlie had convinced Ada he didn’t need a cold compress, Corinne was finally able to cut in. “Charlie, what happened last night after we left?”
“I don’t— I’m not sure,” he said.
He was sitting on the sofa, his shoulders hunched over. Ada sat near him, her eyebrows drawn together as she studied his face. Her hands were tight fists in her lap.
“Was it Stuart Delaney?” Ada asked.
Charlie nodded.
“Friend of yours?” Corinne asked.
He nodded again. “I was there when they took him,” he said. “We were leaving for the night, out the stage door, and they were there, waiting.”
“Ironmongers?” Corinne pressed.
“I don’t think so. It was two men in suits. No masks. One of them had iron knuckles.”
His hand floated halfway toward his shiner in reflex, then fell limp.
“I blacked out,” he said. “I don’t know how long. When I woke up, Stuart was gone. He’s not—”
Charlie cut himself off and looked between them, his expression torn.
“He’s not the first,” he said at last. “Carson’s kept it quiet, but there have been others in the past couple of months.”
Corinne met Ada’s eye. She had to be thinking the same thing.
“It had to be the two agents we saw last night,” Corinne said.
Ada nodded, her fists tightening.
“You saw agents at the Red Cat?” Charlie asked, lifting his face. “Luke doesn’t let the agency anywhere near his club.”