The Mystery Woman by Amanda Quick

the shadows in his prints and, most likely, the scar and the cane.
    He stretched out his left leg and shifted position a little in the chair. She could tell from the almost undetectable tightening at the edge of his mouth that the motion cost him.
    “You appear to be uncomfortable, Mr. Gage.”
    “An old injury. It acts up occasionally.”
    “Such as after you toss an unconscious man over your shoulder and carry him some distance to a waiting carriage?”
    His mouth twisted in a grim smile. “I’m getting too old for that kind of exercise.”
    “Richard Euston was not a small man.”
    Joshua acted as if he had not heard the comment. “I stopped by the offices of Flint and Marsh this morning.”
    “Did you?”
    “Mrs. Flint and Mrs. Marsh assured me that you are one of their best agents,” he said.
    “I’m pleased to hear that they are satisfied with my services.”
    “I also informed them that I want to hire you as a paid companion,” he added coolly.
    “What?”
    “If you agree, we will set a trap to catch the blackmailer, who will, in turn, lead us to the assassin who murdered your former employer,” Joshua said.
    “I do not appear to have much of a choice in the matter,” she said. “I will help you with your plan.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Tell me, sir, as a point of general interest, is this the way you regularly conduct your business?” she asked.
    “Sorry. Not sure what you mean.”
    She gave him a cold smile. “I am merely wondering if you are in the habit of applying pressure and threats when you wish to gain the cooperation of others?”
    “I find pressure an effective technique. And I never make threats—only promises.”
    “There is an old saying.
You can catch more flies with honey than you can with vinegar.
”
    “Honey never worked well for me.”

Eleven

    C lement Lancing started the electricity machine and inserted the trailing end of the gold wire into the glass jar filled with the preservative formula. The rest of the long length of the wire was wrapped around the neck of the statue of Anubis that stood beside the workbench.
    Small bubbles appeared in the preservative fluid. Clement was sure the chemicals were starting to change color. But when he looked at the statue he saw that the obsidian eyes of the jackal-headed god remained cold.
    Still, he dared to hope. The Egyptian Water was frothing now. He watched the dead rat immersed in the chemicals. He was certain he saw small, spasmodic movements of the legs. For a brief moment he thought that he had finally succeeded and that the creature had awakened from the profound state of suspended animation induced by the formula.
    It was frustrating to be forced to go back to conducting his experiments on rats but he dared not use humans again. That was what had led to the disaster a year ago. Gage had retired but it was likely that he still had his sources on the streets. If people began disappearing from the poorest neighborhoods again, word would reach him sooner or later. He would recognize the pattern. Gage was very, very good when it came to identifying patterns.
    Clement kept the wire immersed in the fluid for a full two minutes, the longest time yet. But when he removed it from the jar the preservative became clear and colorless once more. The rat went limp; utterly motionless. To all intents and purposes it appeared dead.
    But it was not dead, Clement thought. There was no evidence of decay. The creature was in a state of suspended animation. It was alive. It had to be alive. He could not bring himself to accept the alternative.
    He stared at the rat for a long time before he raised his eyes to look at the other nine jars lined up on a nearby shelf. Each contained a motionless rat preserved in the Egyptian Water. He had prepared the formula with exquisite care, following the instructions on the ancient papyrus precisely, the instructions that Emma had translated.
    There was no question but that the Water worked. The problem was