Page 22 of Garden of Lies

Fulbrook came to a halt at the bottom of the steps and contemplated the row of cabs waiting in the street. He did not select the first in line. Instead he chose a hansom seemingly at random and went up the narrow steps. He disappeared into the deep shadows of the small cab.

“Bloody hell,” Griffith grumbled. He shook the reins, rousing the horse into a light trot. “I wasn’t expecting that. Most take the cab at the front of the line.”

“Most men of Fulbrook’s station prefer their own carriages.”

“A hansom is faster.”

“And so much more anonymous,” Slater said. “Interesting.”

They followed Fulbrook’s cab into the thickening fog. As they progressed through the streets the neighborhood changed. The houses and parks grew larger and more imposing.

“If he’s got a mistress in this neighborhood he’s keeping her in fine style,” Griffith remarked.

“I doubt very much that he’s got a woman stashed in one of these big houses,” Slater said. “More likely he’s headed to the home of a friend.”

“Damned late and a far way to travel just to have a brandy with a friend,” Griffith said.

“Depends on the friend.”

Fulbrook’s hansom came to a halt in front of a grand mansion. It was impossible to see much of the big house or the gardens because of the high brick wall that enclosed the grounds. Iron gates barred the drive.

A man with a shielded lantern appeared from the shadows of a small shelter adjacent to the gate. He angled the light into the close confines of the Fulbrook cab. A few words were exchanged. Evidently satisfied, the guard opened the gates and waved the hansom through.

“This is close enough, Griffith,” Slater said. “I do not think the guard will pay any attention to us if we remain where we are and keep the lamps turned down. I’d prefer not to attract his attention.”

Griffith brought the vehicle to a halt.

Fulbrook’s hansom disappeared through the gate. The guard allowed another carriage to depart and then he closed the gates. He had to open them again when a new vehicle arrived.

“There is a great deal of coming and going,” Slater said. “Fulbrook’s friend appears to be entertaining tonight.” He jumped down from the cab. “I’m going to take a look around.”

“D’ye think that’s wise?” Griffith asked uneasily.

“I believe it’s what detectives do,” Slater said.

“It’s also the sort of thing that burglars do and they tend to get arrested.”

“It’s only incompetent housebreakers who get arrested, Griffith.”

Slater removed his spectacles and folded them neatly into the pocket of his coat. His eyesight was excellent. The eyeglasses were nothing more than a veil—not unlike the one that Ursula wore. People saw the spectacles—they did not see the eyes. In the years since Fever Island he had found the small disguise very useful in his work. For some strange reason people tended to discount the possibility that a man wearing spectacles might prove dangerous.

He faded into the shadows, simultaneously chagrined and amused to discover that he felt the old dark thrill of the hunt heating his blood. He had Ursula to thank for this, he thought.

He made his way along the narrow lane that bordered one side of the towering garden wall, turned the corner and found the rear gate. It was locked but there was no guard and no streetlamp.

He studied the view of the gardens through the wrought-iron bars of the gate. Most of the thick foliage lay shrouded in deep shadows and fog but the entrance to a hedge maze was lit with brightly colored lanterns. As Slater watched, an elegantly dressed couple disappeared into the green puzzle. The man’s drunken laughter was hoarse with anticipation.

The ground floor of the big house was brightly illuminated. There were lights at the edges of the windows of the upper floors but the drapes were pulled closed.

Slater stood quietly for a time listening. Low voices drifted out of the shadows. A woman laughed flirtatiously. A man murmured in what he no doubt believed to be a seductive tone but his words were slurred. Another couple vanished into the maze.

Slater stepped back and studied the gate at the places where it was hinged to the brick wall. The intricate wrought ironwork was intended to keep intruders out but it also provided a number of convenient footholds. The trick would be scaling the gate without being seen. But none of the couples who occasionally materialized in and out of the mist appeared to be paying attention to the gate. In any event the fog was thickening so quickly that it was increasingly unlikely that someone would even be able to see the wall or the gate unless he or she were quite close.

He took hold of one of the iron bars and vaulted upward. He got the toe of one boot on another decorative bit of iron and reached for the next handhold.

Climbing the gate proved simple enough, much easier than climbing out of the labyrinth caves. There were no shouts of alarm. When he arrived at the top of the wall he reversed the technique, dropping almost soundlessly to the ground.

He pulled up the high collar of his coat to conceal his profile and adjusted the brim of his low-crowned hat so that it shielded his eyes. His black scarf could be converted into a mask for the lower portion of his face if needed but in the fog-infused shadows of the gardens he was quite certain he would not have to use it.

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