"Yes, sir." Mrs. Stiles's hands twisted in the folds of her apron. "Are you certain you don't plan to have him arrested?"
"Reasonably certain. I understand Mr. Nash's dilemma and I sympathize. Still, I cannot allow him to get away with his little scheme in this instance. The lady was most upset."
Mrs. Stiles sighed. "I cannot see why the lot of ye bookish types set so much store by them old manuscripts and such. Nothin' but useless trash, if ye ask me. Waste of time readin' and collectin' them dirty things."
"The desire to collect old books is difficult to explain," Gabriel admitted. "I suspect it is an affliction of sorts."
"Too bad there ain't a remedy."
"Perhaps. On the other hand, it is not an unpleasant ailment."
Convinced that the housekeeper was going to stay out of the matter, Gabriel nodded politely to her and made his way down the hall. The door of the parlor was closed, but he could hear loud voices from inside the room. The first voice was that of an irate young man.
"Damnation, Pa, I did it just like we planned it. Just like we did it the last time. How was I to know she'd have that big cove with her? What does it matter, anyhow? He didn't give me any trouble."
"Ye should've backed off when ye saw there was a gentleman with her," Nash growled back in response.
"I told ye, he didn't even put up a fight." There was a snort of derision. "Handed the damn box over as nice as ye please. It was the lady I was worryin' about. I swear, if she'd had a pistol, I'd have been done for. Stop frettin', Pa. We got the manuscript and the money the lady paid for it."
"I cannot help but fret," Nash retorted. "I did not like the looks of that gentleman who accompanied the lady. Something about him made me uneasy. Strange eyes. Green as emeralds, they were. And just as cold. Had a dangerous look to 'em. Never saw a man with eyes like that."
"Calm yourself, Pa. I told ye, he wasn't a problem."
Gabriel opened the door quietly. Nash was seated at his desk, his head in his hands. A thickset young man with heavy features was striding angrily back and forth across the small space left between aisles of books. A dashing black cape lay across a chair.
"I fear I am going to be something of a problem, after all," Gabriel said gently. He kept the pistol at his side, visible but not overtly threatening.
Both men whirled to face him. The young man's expression was one of dawning horror. Mr. Nash, after a brief start, looked gloomily resigned to his fate.
The young man recovered rapidly. "Here, now, what do ye mean by walkin' in on us without so much as a by yer leave? This is trcspassin'. I'll have ye taken up by the magistrate for this."
Gabriel glanced at him without much interest. "You must be Egan. The helpful son who sees to things around here."
Egan's eyes bulged. "How did ye know that?"
"Never mind." Gabriel looked at Nash. "How often have you played this particular trick?"
"This was only the second time." Nash sighed wearily. "Worked bloody well the first time."
"So you decided to try it again."
"Had to." Nash gestured with his hand. "Out of money, ye see. And there's a bookseller I know who's offering an absolutely splendid copy of Guido delle Colonne's Historia Trojana. What could I do? I was desperate."
"I see your point," Gabriel said. "And I quite understand. Naturally you did not wish to part with a rather choice item from your own collection in order to finance the new purchase, if you could avoid it."
Nash's eyes flickered. "I knew when I saw you with the lady that there was going to be trouble."
"A bit," Gabriel conceded. "But if it's any consolation to you, I have been put to a great deal more trouble than you have. In fact, I have come to the conclusion that the lady is nothing but trouble."
"Right fierce little thing," Egan muttered. "Worried me, the way she kept badgering you to put up a fight."
"It worried me, too." Gabriel glanced at the box on Nash's desk. "I congratulate you on your scheme, gentlemen. Unfortunately, you picked the wrong victim this time. I really must insist that the lady's manuscript be returned. She is desolate at its loss. Surely you can understand."
"I suppose yer goin' to summon the magistrate?" Nash said.
"I see no reason to go to extremes." Gabriel walked forward and picked up the box. He kept the pistol in full view. "I shall be content as long as I get what I want."
"Well, you've got it," Nash muttered. "Take yerself off."
"There's one more thing," Gabriel murmured.
Nash glowered at him. "If ye want the lady's money back, yer too late. She paid in advance and I already sent off an order to that bookseller I told ye about."
"You're welcome to keep the money," Gabriel assured him. "What I want is the name and direction of the lady."
"Huh?" Egan stared at him. "Ye don't know her? But ye was with her."
"She is something of a mystery, I'm afraid. I was only along to protect her and the manuscript. She did not tell me her name."
"Bloody hell." Egan looked amazed.
Nash frowned. "Can't help ye. Don't know her name."
Gabriel eyed him intently. "She corresponded with you regarding the purchase of this manuscript.
And she sent you a draft on her account to pay for it. You must know who she is."
Nash shook his head. "All the correspondence was through a solicitor. He deposited the funds at my bank. I never dealt with the lady direct until she showed up here tonight."
"I see." Gabriel smiled. "The name of her solicitor will do, then."
Nash shrugged. Then he opened a desk drawer and pulled out a letter. "This is the last message I had from him. Said to expect her tonight. Man's name is Peak."
Gabriel glanced at the London address. "This will do. My thanks, sir. And now you must excuse me. I have a great deal of work ahead of me."
"Work?" Egan looked more alarmed than ever. "What work? Are ye goin' to summon the magistrate, after all?"
"No, I have a far more pressing task awaiting me." Gabriel placed the letter carefully in his pocket as he strode toward the door. "Like it or not, I appear to be involved in a quest."
Five days later Gabriel sat alone in the tower room he used for his writing. His right shoulder ached, but that was not unusual when he sat at his work for extended periods of time. The old wound sometimes reacted to damp weather and the strain of long bouts of writing.
The important thing was that the words were flowing freely this morning. His second novel, which he had titled A Reckless Venture, was taking shape nicely. His pen moved across the foolscap with easy assurance as he sent his latest hero into combat against an evil villain. At stake was a magnificent inheritance and the love of a fair maiden.
In the tales Gabriel wrote, the fair maiden always went to the noble fool who was naive enough to fight for her.
Gabriel was well aware that in real life things seldom worked out that way. A man who trusted in the promises of a fair maiden was an idiot.
He had learned long ago that money, a title, and social standing were far more important assets than a noble heart and a chivalrous nature for a man who was hoping to interest a fair or even an unfair maiden. The beautiful Meredith Layton, daughter of the brilliant, powerful Earl of Clarington, had taught him that. He had never forgotten the lesson.
The earl had punished Gabriel very thoroughly for the crime of attempting to save Meredith from an arranged marriage to the Marquess of Trowbridge. Within days after the ill-fated rescue attempt, Clarington had set about destroying Gabriel financially.
The men Gabriel had convinced to back him in a small but potentially lucrative shipping venture mysteriously reneged on their agreements after Clarington spoke to them. They demanded that the money be repaid immediately. At the same time, the loan that Gabriel had obtained to finance the purchase of some London property suddenly came due early. Clarington had advised the investor to withdraw.