Page 76 of The Devil in Oxford
“Very well. A man matching your Cornishman’s description was seen by a porter conversing with a gentleman outside the hotel this morning. I am to understand that your Cornishman checked his watch and within seconds stumbled, overcome by some fit, unable to stand on his own two feet.”
“That’s not possible. Ruan doesn’t get sick… he doesn’t… stumble…” And though I said the words, my mind had already connected the pieces my heart refused to countenance.
“That’s what they saw. He was suddenly overcome by weakness and was aided into a nearby vehicle.”
The person who took Leona had injected her with something before kidnapping her. She’d been drugged. Likely the same thing had happened to Ruan.
“Ruby. Say something.”
I shook my head, chewing on my lower lip. Butwhocould have done it? The inspector was currently tied up on the other side of the hall, under the watchful eye of Mr. Owen. I seriously doubtedthat Lord Amberley or his son had the mettle to do it, even if they were behind it all. Not to mention the method was too clinical, too precise. Harker’s killer might be the same person to take Leona and Ruan, but what if he was not? The specter of the scarred man that Hari spied outside the museum returned to my mind in full force.
Hari wet his lips hesitantly. “The porter said that your man could hardly keep his head up when he was put into the vehicle.”
“My poor lad!” Mrs. Penrose exclaimed, her hands at her own throat in shock. I’d nearly forgotten she was even in the room.
My voice came out oddly calm. Resolved, despite the bone-deep ache forming in my chest. “Did anyone recognize the person who took him? Was there… anyscaror distinctive marking?” I gestured to my cheekbone.
Hari shook his head, understanding at once my meaning. “I asked the same. The doorman didn’t get a good look at the other fellow, but he was finely dressed.”
“The car?” I whispered, reaching for anything at all to help me find both Ruan and Leona.
“A Morris Cowley.”
That was no help at all. There were dozens of those on the road. Ruan could have been put into any number of vehicles. I slowly looked up, meeting Hari’s worried hazel eyes.
He reached out and wrapped me in his arms, hugging me tight. “We shall find him, Ruby. We shall find them both.”
I swallowed hard, rested my cheek on Hari’s shoulder, and closed my eyes, inhaling the faint vetiver on his clothes. It was all wrong. “Whoever took Leona has him too. It’s all my fault…” My mind darted back to the page in my notebook. The killer had stolen the page with Hari’s address from my journal because they knew I would be seeing him again.
I stepped back, raking my hands through my hair, and gave my head a good shake before beginning to pace the kitchen. Feelingsorry for myself wouldn’t bring either of them home. I’d simply have to go get them.
“You have a look, Ruby…” Hari murmured.
The edge of my mouth curved up into a dark smile. “Am I that easy to read?” I glanced from Mrs. Penrose back to Hari. “Can you forget, for a time, that you are a man of the law?”
He flashed me a quicksilver grin, the same one I’d seen many times during the war. “How much trouble are you truly in, Ruby? As your friend this time.”
Mrs. Penrose disappeared through the door into the snug as I began to tell Hari all the things I’d kept from him these last few days. Mr. Owen wasn’t the only one good at keeping secrets.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-FIVEThe Die Is Cast
HARIquickly came around to my way of thinking. But it took far longer than I would have liked to convince Mr. Owen of the rightness of my plan to let the inspector go and to see where he led me. If the man wanted Annabelle dead, it meant he was working for our killer. The same killer who likely held both Leona and Ruan. There was no time to waste and no alternative.
It was a perfectly simple plan, though Mr. Owen bristled at the mere thought of it. He furrowed his brow in that way of his, hands on hips and coffee-colored eyes wary. Mrs. Penrose, on the other hand—with her beloved pellar in peril—was eager to join the scheme. And once she agreed, Mr. Owen slowly came around as well to our way of thinking, especially after my attempt at questioning our prisoner failed. Inspector Beecham was incapable of doing anything but to smugly sit there and refuse to answer any of my questions. He believed he had the upper hand—and a part of me feared he did.
Later that evening, before bed, Mr. Owen readjusted the inspector’s bindings, leaving the rope a fraction of an inch too loose. All the while I prepared myself to track a murderer across the darkening streets of Oxford.
Mr. Owen closed the door between the snug and the kitchen and gave me a skeptical frown. “Are you certain you want to do this, my lamb?”
I was. There were no other alternatives. It was the only outcome.
Mr. Owen let out a sad sigh before handing me Hari’s small bulldog pistol. I tucked it into the pocket of my skirt as he helped me into my coat.
He pressed a bristly kiss to my cheek, brushing my dark curls out of my face. “Be careful.”
“Take care of them.” I tugged a dark blue kerchief from my coat pocket and tied my hair back before hurrying out the door and into the street beyond.
Doubt clung to me like woodsmoke, pricking at my throat. I could only hope the man would take this window to try to escape. If he didn’t… I didn’t know what I would do or how I would find them.
