Page 69 of Peril in Piccadilly
“You don’t think it’s likely that he met someone he knew, and went somewhere with him?”
“No,” Tom said. “If he went anywhere with anyone and didn’t come home, something is wrong and we’re right to worry. A few hours would have been sufficient for that sort of thing.”
His tone indicated clearly how little he liked this idea, and Crispin slanted him a smirk. “How is it that you know what’s a sufficient amount of time for that kind of activity, Gardiner?”
Tom slanted a look back, this one a lot less amused. “Do I look like an innocent to you, St George? Besides, you’ve brought women home before. Plenty of them, from what I hear. Do you usually spend more than a few hours with them?”
“Not if I can help it,” Crispin said, with no attempt to make himself sound like a gentleman. “I’m usually gone as soon as I can fasten my flies. But it’s not the same thing, is it?”
“It’s exactly the same thing. And I would thank you to refrain from trying to make me compromise myself.”
Crispin sniggered, but he took one hand from the wheel to perform a locking motion on his lips.
“I don’t think he would have gone home with anyone for that purpose,” I said. “He had a reason for being there. He was excited about it. And he knew that I counted on him. He wouldn’t have wanted to disappoint me.”
And that was aside from the fact that he was in love with Tom, and wasn’t likely to have accepted anyone else’s invitation to engage in that kind of activity.
“The question, then,” Tom said, “is whether whoever took him, or talked him into going with them, knew that they were getting Kit, or whether they wanted Kitty.”
“I don’t think that should be the question,” Crispin protested. “I mean, yes. He does look like a pretty girl when he’s all dressed up. But if someone wanted a pretty girl and then they got Kit instead… well, they certainly wouldn’t keep him, would they?”
Likely not. They would either toss him back where they found him—in which case he would have made his way home by now—or they would have killed him so he couldn’t identify them.
I shook off that idea with a shudder. “What should the question be, then, if not that?”
Crispin flicked a look at me in the mirror. “Whether Wolfie is involved or not.”
“I thought we agreed that Wolfgang has no reason to wish Christopher harm.”
“Youmay have decided that, Darling. I’m quite certain I didn’t.”
“You just don’t like Wolfgang, St George. But?—”
“You’re damn right I don’t, Darling.”
“—we already talked about it and decided that he’s not doing anything wrong?—”
“Idecided no such thing.”
“—and if he has nothing to hide, why on earth would he?—”
“He most certainly has something to hide.”
I scowled at the back of his head. “And what is that, pray tell?”
“He left the Savoy and is still pretending that he’s staying there,” Crispin said. Which, I admit, shut me up. For a moment, at least.
“Fine,” I said grudgingly. “He did do that.”
“And it’s suspicious.” He appealed to Tom. “Isn’t it?”
“It’s certainly interesting,” Tom agreed. “Although there could be good reasons for it. Or at least reasons.”
“Which would be?”
“He doesn’t want Pippa to think badly of him,” Tom said with a glance at me, “so he’s hiding the fact that he’s had to move to cheaper accommodations.”
“Lying by omission.” Crispin’s tone dripped with satisfaction.
