Chapter 11

Mrs. Pyke's tears were the confirmation we needed that the bruised and battered man lying in the bed at the Royal Free Hospital was indeed her husband. Given that his entire head was wrapped in bandages, with only his eyes, mouth and nostrils exposed, I didn't recognize him. She knew him by the pattern of freckles on his hands.

Matt handed his handkerchief to Mrs. Pyke and she dabbed at her eyes.

"Will he be all right?" she asked the doctor.

The doctor hesitated. "It's too soon to tell. He regained consciousness briefly an hour ago, but only for a few minutes."

"Did he say anything?" Brockwell asked, pencil hovering over a fresh page of his notebook.

The doctor shook his head. "He was confused. He couldn't remember his name or the events leading up to his accident."

The doctor left to attend to another patient. A nurse offered Mrs. Pyke a cup of tea while she sat with her husband. Brockwell jerked his head, indicating we should discuss the situation out of her hearing. He instructed one of the local policeman who'd accompanied us to stay with Mr. Pyke and to notify us immediately if he regained consciousness.

Brockwell signaled for the other, a sergeant, to join us in the hospital foyer. "It seems he is our missing man," the inspector said with a nod back at the ward. "Tell us everything about his discovery."

The sergeant, a red-faced man with a luxurious black moustache, pushed out his barrel chest. "He was found by myself and Constable Tully on Hampstead Heath at a quarter past one this morning. We immediately brought him here where he has mostly lain unconscious since."

"Was anything found near his body?"

The sergeant frowned. "Nothing out of the ordinary, sir."

"Where in Hampstead Heath was he found exactly?"

The sergeant offered to show us the precise spot.

"Come with us," Matt said as he strode off.

I raced to catch up to him, worried he'd walk into gunfire. He crossed Gray's Inn Road and climbed into our carriage without incident, however.

"You need to be more careful," I said, settling beside him. "The gunman is still out there."

He kissed my temple. "I am being careful. I didn't even wait to give Woodall his instructions." He opened the window to do just that when Brockwell joined us.

"The sergeant suggests we collect a constable to help us search the vicinity where Pyke was found," Brockwell said. "The local station isn't far from the Heath."

"I prefer a man we know and trust," Matt said.

Brockwell gave Woodall instructions to drive to the Shoreditch police station where the detective inspector used his authority to borrow Cyclops for the day. We then headed to Hampstead Heath.

My immediate reaction upon arriving at the open parkland was one of reluctance and dread. It was too exposed. A gunman would have a clear shot at Matt as he crossed it. He would not listen to reason, however, and remain in the carriage.

"No one has followed us," he said as Woodall pulled to the curb. "It's safe."

"It's not."

"I'm coming with you, India, and that's final." He jumped out before the coach had come to a complete stop. He put his hand out to assist me, smiling warmly. "You look pretty when you're scowling."

"Your charm won't work on me this time." I accepted his hand and he kissed my knuckles before I alighted.

"Do I need to kiss you on the mouth right here to stop your scowl?"

I gasped. "You wouldn't dare."

He gave me one of his wicked smiles.

I clicked my tongue and walked off, keeping alert to our surroundings.

The sergeant led the way along the muddy path. Brockwell joined me ahead of the others, keeping up with my brisk pace. I seethed in silence until the detective inspector piped up.

"He's right. No one followed us here."

"I know but I still worry. It's so open." My heart quickened as a carriage rumbled past on the road. In warmer weather, this area was much busier, but today the icy winds and dark clouds kept people away. I clutched my coat collar tighter at my throat.

Brockwell waved toward a woodland ahead. "The pond is somewhat sheltered by the trees."

"Not at this time of year."

The bathing pond was quite large with grassy banks rolling to the water's edge on the near side and the bare trees surrounding the rest. A shed for bathers to change had been built on the bank near the short pier off which swimmers would jump in the summertime. There were no intrepid bathers braving the ice-cold water today.

When we caught up to the sergeant further along the path, he was already inspecting the ground. "Mr. Pyke was found here." He indicated the grass near the path before it sloped toward the pond.

Matt crouched to inspect the ground. "If there was any blood, it's been washed away by the rain."

Brockwell clasped his hands behind his back and studied the vicinity. "It's impossible to tell if Mr. Pyke was attacked here or was brought here after being attacked elsewhere."

Matt stood and looked around too, his expression unreadable.

Duke came to stand beside me. He kept his voice low. "If he was going to launch a flying contraption, this would be a good place to do it. Open space, no one about on a winter's night."

"There wasn't much wind last night," I added. "Or rain. That came this morning. But I don't see how we can prove Mr. Pyke attempted to fly the rug here and fell off. There's no sign of it anywhere."

"The kidnapper took it with him and left Mr. Pyke here to die, maybe."

"Perhaps," Matt said, joining us. He didn't look convinced, however. After turning a complete circle on the spot to scan the area, something near the shed caught his attention. "Duke, keep the sergeant here. Cyclops, with me."

I headed to the shed with Matt and Cyclops. As we drew closer, I saw what they'd seen. Being taller, they'd spotted it first.

"The rug!" I picked up my skirts and rushed toward it. It was definitely Fabian's rug, but it was covered in mud and leaf matter. A closer inspection revealed there were even twigs stuck in the pile. "It crashed through the bushes."

Cyclops inspected the bank of bushes nearby and shook his head. "Not these. They're not damaged."

"So it was brought here and dumped? Mr. Pyke too?"

Matt shook his head. "No, it landed here after its flight, but it didn't fall through these bushes. It came through those." He indicated the hedgerow lining the path, past where the body of Mr. Pyke had been found. There was a large gap clear through the hedge. "It crashed into the shrubs, Mr. Pyke fell off, and the rug landed here."

I was impressed he'd managed to get it off the ground, with himself as a passenger. By the look of the damaged bushes, it had not risen very high, however. Mere inches only. That explained why Mr. Pyke had survived. A fall from a great height would have killed him.

Brockwell barked an order at the sergeant to take his attention away from us. A moment later, the sergeant and Duke headed off, back the way we'd come. They progressed slowly, inspecting the ground as they walked. We returned to where the body of Mr. Pyke had been found where the detective inspector met us.

"He was getting curious, asking questions about what you were looking at over there by the shed," he said. "So is it the carpet?"

Matt told him about the rug and the bushes. Brockwell agreed with his assessment of how the flight had transpired, and how it had ended.

"But we're no closer to determining if Pyke was kidnapped and was forced to fly it or if he did it of his own accord," the inspector said. "The ground here is churned up, but it's that way everywhere. We've had so much rain lately, this area is a quagmire. I can't determine any single set of footprints."

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Willie waving her arms above her head. She'd gone down the slope to the water's edge when we headed for the shed. We hurried toward her, me holding onto Matt's arm to ensure I didn't slip.

Willie stood a foot from the water, her boots caked in mud. She looked pleased with herself as she pointed to something in the shallows, half submerged. "See that?" She was too excited to wait for us to inspect it or even make a guess. "It's a bomb," she blurted out.

"Get back!" Brockwell shouted, reaching for her.

She shrugged him off. "It ain't going to explode. It's in the water."

Cyclops stepped closer and inspected the device. "She's right. It won't go off."

"Told you. It's too wet."

"It doesn't have any explosive in it."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

Cyclops pulled the metal contraption out of the water and showed her the housing. Inside were several rods of iron, not explosives. "It's fake."

Brockwell scratched his sideburns. "Why would someone plant a fake bomb here?"

Matt glanced back up the slope. "It wasn't planted here. This is where it landed after it fell off the flying rug. It probably fell off at the same time as Pyke and rolled down here."

"The question is, why a fake bomb?" Cyclops asked.

"They were testing the strength of the magic," I said. "They were attempting to see how much the flying rug could carry."

Cyclops cradled the device, estimating its weight. "One man and one bomb."

We all stared at the metal casing with its fake explosives. An oppressive silence fell, as smothering as any of London's fogs. My breathing became ragged, my chest tight. This was no longer a matter of a collector wanting to own the most precious magical artefact. Nor was it about magicians versus the artless. It was serious.

Deadly.

"Thank God Pyke failed," Matt muttered.

"His magic could never hold his weight as well as that of a bomb," I said. "We have no fear on that score. If the plan is to drop bombs from the sky, it will never work. Mr. Pyke's magic simply isn't strong enough."

"But yours is," Brockwell said. "Do I have that correct?"

I swallowed, nodded. "But there needs to be a support beneath the rug—iron or wood, that sort of thing. I can control both but a magician like Mr. Pyke can't. There needs to be two magicians on the rug, each speaking the flying spell for their magical specialty. Mr. Pyke didn't know that, nor does it seem his kidnapper did."

Matt circled his arm around my waist but he offered no words of comfort. He looked troubled, his gaze distant. Perhaps he too was thinking of Pyke lying in the hospital, his body bruised. If I wasn't always surrounded by Matt or one of the others, would I have been kidnapped instead?

"This wasn't Pyke's idea, was it?" Cyclops asked.

"It might have been," Willie said, not sounding convinced.

"But doubtful," Matt countered.

Brockwell nodded, scrubbing his sideburns. "Coyle. It must be."

It was looking more and more like it.

We trudged back to the carriage then returned to the hospital, but Mr. Pyke had not regained consciousness. Matt brooded for the entire journey, his silence throwing a shroud over our group. I knew he was thinking about me being a potential target for the kidnapper next time, but I also knew there was little I could say to lighten his mood.

Brockwell decided to stay at the hospital to be there to question Mr. Pyke when he woke up. He walked with us to the carriage but did not get in. "Return Cyclops to his station then go home and wait. If Pyke wakes, I'll send a message immediately."

I eyed Matt sideways. Waiting was not his strong suit. He sat with a rigid back and didn't even acknowledge Brockwell.

The detective inspector knew Matt well enough to know this was a worrying sign. "Do not call on Coyle. Is that understood, Glass? We don't have enough evidence to confront him. If Pyke can point to Coyle as his kidnapper then we will act, but only then." When Matt didn't respond, he rapped his knuckles on the door. "Glass!"

"Understood." Matt closed the door and thumped on the ceiling. He'd already given Woodall his instructions before we climbed into the carriage. I had assumed we would head home, but as we turned into Wilton Terrace, I realized Matt was prepared to defy Brockwell's orders.

We stopped outside Lord Coyle's residence.

Matt did not try to stop me from joining him as he stormed up the front steps, as did Willie and Cyclops. Duke remained on the pavement to keep watch.

The butler answered the door and allowed us to wait in the drawing room while he checked if his master was in. He was at home, and fortunately he was prepared to see us. Or perhaps it was unfortunately. I wasn't sure I wanted this confrontation to take place.

We did not sit down in the drawing room, and when Lord Coyle joined us, he did not offer us a seat. He remained standing too, leaning heavily on his walking stick, and I suspected he preferred to sit but would not do so until I did.

I stood by Matt's side, attempting to appear as defiant as I could while my heart hammered against my ribs. Matt didn't look worried at all. He looked furious.

"Mr. Pyke has been found," he began.

Coyle did not seem surprised by the news. "Dead or alive?"

"Alive. He's in hospital under police protection."

"Protection? From what? Me?" Lord Coyle's laugh bellowed from his stomach and ended in a phlegmy rattle. "You're barking up the wrong tree, as usual. His disappearance had nothing to do with me. What happened to him? Was he beaten by thugs?"

"His body was found near the magic rug where it had crashed through the bushes. A device resembling a bomb was also found nearby."

"Resembling?"

Matt's jaw firmed. "We know it was you who kidnapped him and forced him to fly the carpet with a device of the same weight as a bomb."

Coyle grunted. "You've got it wrong, Glass."

"You failed."

"Pyke failed. It was nothing to do with me."

Matt pointed his finger at him. "You won't succeed with your mad scheme."

"And what scheme is that?" Lord Coyle's tone was as slithery as a snake's.

"Don't come near my family. Is that clear?"

"That will be difficult considering I married your cousin."

"If you come for India, I will destroy you." Matt grabbed my hand and pushed past his lordship. I quickened my pace to keep up with his long strides.

Lord Coyle's throaty chuckle echoed around the room. "How gallant, Glass. What say you, India? Or do you let your husband speak for you, and drag you hither and thither?" He nodded at my hand, linked with Matt's.

Matt's grip loosened, but he didn't let go.

I made a point of placing my other hand on Matt's arm. "My husband and I are as one on this. Whatever you're up to, you won't get away with it." I turned to go, only to stop again. "He is gallant, isn't he? And a true gentleman, too. Perhaps you should take a leaf out of his book. Your wife will think better of you."

"I think we both know I'm not the husband she wants." His gaze slid to Matt.

"No, but you're the husband she deserves."

His smile widened. "Well played, India. You've got steely nerves. That's why I like you for more than your magic."

"We are not friends, my lord."

"Ah, but I am on your side nevertheless."

"I don't see how. You want power and wealth, and you think magic can deliver that to you by harming others. My god, you want to bomb your enemies!"

"My enemies? My dear lady, my enemies are your enemies." He took a step forward, ramming the end of his walking stick into the floor. "Magic has the power to protect us and advance us if we use it correctly."

"Not us, my lord. I want no part in your plans."

He grunted again, but this time it was more of a derisive laugh. "You're an idealistic fool and we all know from our history books how those fare."

I tugged on Matt's arm and marched out of the drawing room.

"It was not I who kidnapped Mr. Pyke," Lord Coyle called after us. "You have my word on that."

Once we were safely ensconced in the carriage and heading to Shoreditch police station, Willie declared she didn't believe a word Coyle had said. "It was him. He kidnapped Pyke, I know it."

Duke scoffed. "How do you know?"

"Woman's intuition."

He gave a pointed look at her buckskin trousers. "What does your feminine intuition tell you, India? Was Coyle lying?"

"He's an accomplished liar, so I suppose it's likely. Matt?"

Matt drew in a deep breath as if it were the first proper one he'd breathed since arriving at Coyle's. "He's still at the top of my list of suspects. One thing I'm almost certain of is that Pyke didn't orchestrate this himself. He was put up to it by someone, either through coercion or flattery."

We all agreed with that.

We left Cyclops to complete his day at work while we returned home. With nothing more to do until we heard from Brockwell, we each went about trying to occupy ourselves for the rest of the day. Duke and Willie accompanied Aunt Letitia on a walk while I discussed some household matters with Mrs. Bristow and Mrs. Potter. I joined Matt afterward in his study with the door closed. It was a rare opportunity to be together in the middle of the day.

For one brief but wonderful hour, we blocked out the world and our troubles and simply enjoyed one another's company. After he helped me dress and I straightened his tie, I pushed him onto his office chair and sat on his lap. I smoothed down his hair. "I needed that."

He smiled against my lips. "So did I. More than I can say. Thank you for distracting me with so much enthusiasm."

I laughed and it felt deliciously cathartic after the last few days.

A knock on the door had me jumping to my feet. I stood by Matt, pretending to read something on his desk, as he asked the newcomer to enter.

Bristow opened the door. "I thought you'd like to know that Miss Glass, Mr. Duke and Miss Johnson have returned home."

"Thank you, Bristow." Matt waited for Bristow to leave then stood and kissed me on the mouth. "All good things must come to an end eventually."

I reached up and clasped my hands behind his neck. "I've never liked that saying. Good things don't have to end."

"An adjournment?"

"Better." I kissed him lightly then led the way downstairs.

Cyclops arrived home just before the gong sounded while Aunt Letitia was dressing for dinner. Before he headed up to change too, he wanted to inform us of a development.

"It's about Abercrombie." He glanced at the door. "What I'm about to tell you must not leave this room."

"Letty ain't going to walk in," Willie assured him. "Coming down before the dinner gong sounds is like breaking the law to her."

"What about Abercrombie?" I prompted.

"I convinced my chief inspector to send a spy into the protestors' camp specifically to watch him so if he's heard encouraging violence, he can be arrested."

"Excellent news. Well done, Cyclops."

He put up his hand. "Don't get too enthusiastic yet. The chief inspector has to have approval from his superiors before it can happen."

It was a start and I told him so.

Dinner was a small affair which, in itself, was unusual. There was no Brockwell, Lord Farnsworth or Chronos. I missed their company. Willie did too, going by her frequent heavy sighs, a sure sign she wanted to have a conversation but not start it.

I eventually gave up and confronted her. "Are you missing Brockwell?"

She screwed up her face. "No! I ain't a desperate debutante just out of the school room, and he ain't no prince, neither."

I turned to her squarely. "Missing someone has nothing to do with one's age or station. Nor is there anything wrong with admitting you miss him. He's a wonderful man, quite interesting, and excellent company. Of course you should miss him."

She sniffed. "Sounds like you miss him."

"Is there something you want to tell me? Something about the recent conversation you had with him in this very house?"

She shoveled beans into her mouth and shook her head.

"Sometimes discussing a problem makes it seem less dreadful."

"It's private."

"It'll just be between the two of us. No one else need know, not even Matt." The others had continued their conversation around us. Either they were ignoring us on purpose to give me an opportunity to find out from Willie what had happened between her and Brockwell, or they were genuinely oblivious.

"You can't keep a secret, India."

I bristled. "I can."

"Well I ain't telling you and that's final."

"Why not?"

"Because I know what you'll say, and it's the exact opposite of what I want to hear, right now."

"You don't know what I'm going to say."

She rolled her eyes. "You're predictable."

I snatched up my wine glass. "I am not," I muttered before sipping.

Aunt Letitia retired to her room after dinner, while the rest of us adjourned to the drawing room. We were just about to sit down to a game of cards when Bristow entered.

"You have a visitor," the butler announced.

Willie looked up eagerly from the cards she was shuffling. "I hope it's Farnsworth. I need the distraction."

My mind leapt to earlier in the afternoon when Matt had thanked me for distracting him. I shook off the thought. Lord Farnsworth was not that kind of distraction for Willie. Well, he had been, just the one time, but not anymore. Brockwell certainly fitted that description.

It was Brockwell himself who entered the drawing room, however. Willie crossed her arms, slumped in the chair, and refused to look at him.

The detective inspector shuffled into the room clutching his hat in both hands. "Good evening, all."

Everyone responded, except for Willie.

Brockwell's cheeks pinked at her slight. He cleared his throat and addressed Matt. "Mr. Pyke has regained full consciousness. You're welcome to join me and question him."

"We'll come now," Matt said, rising.

We all stood, even Willie. "Not me," she said. "I'm meeting up with Farnsworth."

Duke arched a brow at her. "You never mentioned it before now."

"I don't have to tell you everything."

Cyclops picked up the deck of cards and waved them in front of her face. "If you had a previous engagement, why were you about to deal yourself into a game?"

"'Previous engagement?' You're sounding like an English toff lately, Cyclops." She pushed past him, gave Brockwell a wide berth, and disappeared out the door.

Cyclops sighed as he clasped Brockwell's shoulder. "Whatever is going on with you two needs to get fixed. She's even more annoying than usual."

Duke clasped Brockwell's other shoulder. "We know it's her fault, whatever it is, but maybe you should apologize anyway. It can't hurt."

Brockwell looked like he wanted to sink into the floor and out of sight.

I gave him a sympathetic smile as Cyclops and Duke left the room. "Don't mind them. They're simply worried about her. We all are."

"I'm not," Matt said, quite cheerfully, as he followed the others out.

The inspector turned to go too, but I caught his arm. I lowered my voice. "So what did you say to Willie the other night?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, India, but if she wants to tell you then she will." He slapped his hat on his head and strode off too.

I frowned at his back, hands on my hips. Matt stopped at the top of the staircase and flashed me a grin. It made me laugh, despite everything. It was good to see him in a cheery mood for once, his other worries set aside for now.

That mood didn't last long, however, as we once again focused on the case. Mr. Pyke's reappearance signaled the end of our involvement in the investigation, but thankfully Brockwell wasn't prepared to exclude us. As far as we were concerned, there was still more to uncover. Much more.

It remained to be seen whether anything would be done—or could be done—with whatever information we did uncover. It depended on whom Mr. Pyke implicated.

Mrs. Pyke still sat in the same chair we'd left her in that afternoon. She had been feeding her husband soup from a bowl and now set it aside. Mr. Pyke was propped up in bed against two pillows, bandaged from head to toe like a mummified Egyptian come back to life.

"It's good to see you sitting up," I said, smiling. "We were worried about you."

"Thank you."

"The doctor says he should make a full recovery," Mrs. Pyke said. "But it will take time for the broken bones to heal." Her eyes were full of tears, as they had been when we left her earlier in the day, but they were tears of hope and relief, I suspected.

"I'm sorry my wife troubled you with this, Mrs. Glass. I'm sure you're too busy to worry about me."

Mrs. Pyke's face fell.

"Not at all," I assured them. "I'm glad she came to us. Indeed, she was right to do so. She knew your disappearance was related to magic and that the regular police couldn't help. By coming to us, we were able to bring it to the attention of Detective Inspector Brockwell. He's used to investigating matters involving magic and he frequently engages our assistance. He's artless, you see."

My speech seemed to lift Mrs. Pyke's spirits. "So my husband can speak freely in his presence?"

"He can."

"It won't matter," Mr. Pyke said heavily. "I can't tell you much. I never saw the face of one of the men, the one who I think organized my kidnapping."

"What do you mean?" Matt asked.

"Wait a moment." The detective inspector removed his notepad and pencil from his pocket and found a blank page. "Let's start at the beginning. Were you kidnapped, Mr. Pyke, or did you leave of your own volition?"

"A little of both." He tried to sit up straighter, but gave up, wincing in pain. His wife fussed with the pillows at his back until he gently shooed her away. "A man came to my shop three days ago and asked if I was a wool magician. I said I was. He then asked if I'd ever made one of my carpets fly. I told him I hadn't but I know someone who had."

"You did what?" Matt asked icily.

"I never named names! Anyway, it didn't seem to matter, because I think he already knew about Mrs. Glass. At least, he already knew about a flying carpet. He didn't say he knew she was the magician who made it fly."

"Go on," Brockwell said. "What else did he say when he called on you?"

"He demanded I try to make a carpet fly on my own. When I said I didn't have the spell, he told me he had it written down."

"So you went with him," Matt said flatly.

Mr. Pyke glanced at his wife. "I hesitated at first. That's when he said Mrs. Pyke would be harmed if I didn't meet him after I closed up the shop."

I gasped. "He threatened you?"

Mrs. Pyke had been biting her lip as she listened to her husband's story, but she didn't seem shocked. She must have already heard it. "He wouldn't have gone with that man otherwise, Mrs. Glass. He'd never do anything dangerous or wrong."

Mr. Pyke pressed his fingers to the bandages at his temple. "The man collected me in his conveyance on Courser Street after I left the shop and drove me to Hampstead Heath. It was just going dark by the time we arrived, but we waited hours until it was quiet. I memorized the spell he gave me by the light of the carriage lamp. When we were sure no one was about, he took me to an area on the Heath where another man stood with a rug laid out on the ground. The first man told me it was one that had been flown before, so I assumed it was the one you spoke the spell into that day in Mr. Charbonneau's house."

"Go on," Brockwell prompted, pencil poised over the notepad.

"I did as I was ordered and spoke the spell into the carpet. It lifted somewhat. I tried it again and again, dozens of times, and each time it lifted a little more, sometimes flying a short distance. The men became impatient and annoyed with me, and insisted I keep trying. So I did and finally it flew up and about, although I had difficulty controlling it. It went this way and that, up and down, as if it had a mind of its own."

"So you decided to get on it and fly it?" Duke asked, speaking up for the first time. "Seems foolish."

"I had no choice. The first man ordered me to get on it. To be honest, he frightened me more than the other one. He gave me a metal box to hold and told me to make the rug fly. So I attempted it again, but it couldn't carry my weight. It went forward along the ground, however, taking me with it. I kept speaking the spell over and over and it sped up, but never fully lifted off the ground. It crashed through some bushes which is how I got all these scratches." He indicated his bandaged face and hands. "Then I fell off and must have knocked my head. The box fell out of my hands. I don't know where it went."

"He can't remember anything after that," Mrs. Pyke finished.

Her husband nodded. "The next thing I knew, I was in here."

"And what did the men look like?"

"The first one, the one who visited me in the shop and collected me on Courser Street was a big fellow with black hair and beard. A real thuggish character. He was a young fellow with a Cockney accent."

"And the other one?"

"He hardly spoke and I never saw his face. When I arrived at Hampstead Heath, he moved away into the shadows and kept his face averted. But he was clearly the leader. The thug looked to him from time to time before giving me orders."

"Was he large?" Matt asked. "Did he have a distinctive moustache? Did he walk with a limp or the aid of a walking stick?"

"He had a walking stick, but he didn't need it. He was thin, not particularly tall. I know his name."

We all leaned forward as if Mr. Pyke had pulled on strings attached to our necks.

"Just after I fell off the carpet, I was in and out of consciousness. The thug reached me first and I heard him say something to the other man who was out of my line of sight."

"And?" I asked, breathless.

"He called him Sir Charles."