Page 8 of A Murder on London Bridge
Robert was buried in theTimes Literary Supplement, his expression as serious as though the balance of English letters depended upon his attention. I had my coffee, eggs just the way I liked them, and the noble intention of not stealing from his plate.
“Don’t think I don’t notice,” Robert said dryly from behind the periodical, just as my fork hovered near his bacon.
“I’ve no idea what you mean,” I replied, sipping my coffee with studied innocence. “It’s hardly theft if you weren’t eating it.”
“One might argue possession is nine-tenths of the law,” he murmured, spearing another bite of egg with maddening calm.
“Ah, but the remaining tenth belongs to cunning.” I snatched the bacon with a grin before he could react.
He gave me a look that was equal parts mock sternness and indulgence. “You’re incorrigible.”
“And you’re predictable,” I said sweetly, savoring my prize.
He folded theSupplementand set it aside, his expression shifting from amusement to intent. “I meant to ask you about your visit to Merton’s shop. I should have asked last night, but it was past two when I finally came in.”
“I waited for you as long as I could, darling. But I’m afraid I fell asleep.” I tilted my head at him. “What kept you so late?”
“A gang we’ve been watching decided to make their move,” he said, reaching for his tea. “Arms trafficking. We caught them in the act and spent half the night dragging them back to the Yard for questioning.”
“That explains the circles under your eyes,” I said softly, covering his hand with mine. “You must be exhausted.”
“Not enough to forget about you.” He raised my hand to his lips and kissed it. “Now, tell me about what you discovered at Merton’s.”
“The manuscript allegedly points toward treason of an ancestor of a current Cabinet minister. He said it had been authenticated. If true, it could ruin a man’s life. I pointed out the obvious, that he was putting his life in danger. But he brushed my warning aside with a confidence I found almost insulting. He seemed to believe himself untouchable.”
Robert’s mouth tightened. “Arrogance makes a man careless.”
“Exactly. I left the shop more uneasy than when I entered. He was so certain nothing could touch him. I think he will do the opposite of what I advised.”
Robert leaned back in his chair, thoughtful. “If trouble comes, he’ll have walked straight into it.”
Before I could answer, the door opened and the footman entered with the morning paper, neatly folded. Robert set aside his teacup and reached for it, slipping theSupplementto one side.
He spread the paper across his plate, scanning the front page with the intent focus that always made me feel as though nothing else in the world existed. His eyes narrowed. The corner of the page crackled beneath his fingers.
“What is it?” I asked, leaning forward.
He didn’t answer at once, only drew a long breath through his nose. Then he folded the paper toward me and tapped a column with one finger.
ANTIQUITIES DEALER MURDERED
I stared at the headline, my coffee cooling in its cup.Merton.
Shortly after sunrise, the body of a well-dressed gentleman was discovered on the southern end of London Bridge by a deliveryman en route to a warehouse. The deceased has been identified as Mr. Oswald Merton, proprietor of Rutland & Merton, Antiquaries, a respected shop specializing in rare manuscripts and historical objects. Scotland Yard has not yet released a cause of death, though sources suggest foul play is suspected. A witness reported hearing an argument in the early hours, but no suspect has been identified.
I set down my cup with care, as though the porcelain itself might shatter beneath my fingers. The arrogant tilt of Merton’s chin, the dismissive wave of his hand when I’d warned him — allof it flashed before me in an instant. I pressed my lips together. “He didn’t take my advice. And now?—”
“Now it’s a murder case,” he said, his voice low and grim.
“London Bridge,” I whispered. “I warned him, Robert. He laughed at me.”
Robert’s jaw tightened. “And he paid for it with his life.”
“It feels like my failure,” I said, the words escaping before I could stop them. “If I’d pressed harder, if I’d?—”
“You’d have changed nothing,” Robert interrupted gently but firmly. “A man like Merton doesn’t bend until he’s broken. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what’s happened.”
He scanned the rest of the article, his eyes narrowing. “If he was found on the bridge, it wasn’t a random assault. Whoever killed him knew he’d be there.”
