The River Knows by Amanda Quick Page A

Fiona Risby. And that damned necklace was the only piece of jewelry that had been taken.
    Coincidence? What in blazes was going on here?

    For a time after Fiona was pulled from the river rumors had circulated to the effect that Stalbridge was not convinced that she had committed suicide. But even if he did suspect that Fiona had been murdered, why did he care? By all accounts, he had been about to terminate the engagement, anyway. There was even gossip that he had found her in bed with another man. What possible interest could he have in avenging her? And why would he wait this long to act? And if Stalbridge was the thief, why did he also help himself to the extortion items and the business papers?

    It was all so bloody bewildering. He felt hopelessly muddled and very, very uneasy. Something had gone badly wrong.

    He stalked to the window and stood looking out into the garden. He wished he could discuss the problem with someone he could trust. He certainly did not intend to confide in Quinby and Royce. He was playing a dicey game with their employer at the moment. The last thing he wanted to do was make a slip that might get back to Clement Corvus.

    In the old days he would have sought Victoria’s advice. She had possessed an extraordinarily clever mind when it came to fitting together the pieces of this kind of puzzle, but Victoria was gone, and so was Grantley, the only other person he could consult. There was no one else he could trust.

    He hesitated. There was always Thurlow, he thought. Victoria was the one who had chosen him as the seducer par excellence to compromise the various young ladies in their extortion scheme. Thurlow had his talents. He was, according to Victoria, one of the most handsome men in London. Certainly the innocent young women he had seduced had thought so.
    Thurlow, however, was also a devout gambler. That was what had made him so useful, of course. He was regularly in need of money to clear his debts. But Victoria had never entirely trusted him. “A gambler’s first loyalty is to the next game of cards,” she had said.

    Another uneasy thought arose. Thurlow knew about Grantley. Damnation, maybe it was Thurlow who had murdered Grantley. That appalling possibility sent another jolt of fear through him. Had Thurlow decided to go into the extortion business himself? Perhaps he had started out by getting rid of the middleman—Grantley—and then helped himself to the items in the safe, items that Thurlow, himself, had originally stolen from the young ladies. It seemed highly unlikely that Thurlow was skilled in the art of safecracking, but perhaps it was not altogether impossible. That still left the question of Stalbridge’s role in the affair.

    Elwin began to feel as if he were sinking into quicksand. It was all so damned complicated.

    He swung around to face Quinby and Royce. “Here is the plan. First, you will both make certain that Stalbridge does not come anywhere near me or this house again. Is that understood?”

    “Yes, sir,” Royce said dutifully.

    Quinby shrugged.

    Elwin hesitated. He desperately wanted to order the guards to kill Stalbridge and Thurlow as well, just to be safe, but that was not possible; they were Corvus’s men. The crime lord was unlikely to agree to allow members of his organization to be used to murder two gentlemen.

    Corvus was not overly troubled by scruples, but killing two respectable men, one of whom moved in Society, would be a dangerous business for a man in his position. That sort of violence would attract Scotland Yard’s attention. Corvus had no reason to take that risk.

    “Second,” Elwin said, “I want to employ someone to keep a watch on a man named Thurlow, who lives in Halsey Street. I assume one of you is acquainted with the sort of person who can be hired to perform such a task?”
    Quinby shrugged again.

    Royce cleared his throat. “There’s a man named Slip, who might be interested in that type of