Chapter 12

"We should wait," Brockwell said as we gathered in the hospital foyer to discuss Mr. Pyke's explosive statement.

"Wait for what?" Matt asked. "Pyke has implicated Whittaker. We must act now, before he can concoct a story to explain his involvement."

"He will already have a story prepared," Brockwell said.

"I ask again, why wait?"

"For due process to take its course."

"Due process!" Matt echoed. "We're beyond worrying about that, surely."

"I must consult with my superiors, perhaps even the commissioner himself, and—"

"That will get us nowhere. They'll forbid you to speak to him. You know it, Brockwell. We have to confront Whittaker on our own."

The detective inspector rubbed the back of his neck. "So you think Whittaker was acting under orders from his superiors in the government?"

"I do, yes. That's why you shouldn't consult your superiors. You'll get nothing but vague responses that explain nothing. They'll protect Whittaker, or at least protect the secrets he keeps. Confronting Whittaker directly gives us a chance."

A nurse approached, a finger to her lips. "Keep your voices down. This is a hospital."

"My apologies." Matt gave her a smile. It vanished as soon as she turned her back.

Brockwell appealed to me. "Please try to convince your husband of the efficacy of waiting until I've spoken to my superiors."

"I agree with Matt," I said. "Commissioner Munro will protect the home secretary, who will protect Sir Charles. Involving them will not only stop us from getting the answers we need, it will also see this investigation stripped from you, Inspector."

Brockwell glanced at Cyclops, perhaps hoping for support from a fellow policeman. But Cyclops crossed his arms over his chest and regarded the inspector coolly.

"Don't you want to know what Sir Charles is up to?" I asked. "I certainly do."

"We will discover his motives for kidnapping Pyke in due course."

"You're a fool if you believe that," Matt growled.

Brockwell looked torn. I did feel sorry for him, despite our difference of opinion. He was a pedant and stickler for following the rules. Confronting Sir Charles now went against his very nature. He'd been fortunate to have been given free rein to investigate magical cases as he saw fit, but he knew this was different. Pyke's evidence against Sir Charles had raised the stakes to a new level that could jeopardize Brockwell's career.

To everyone's surprise, Matt took pity on him. He placed a hand on the inspector's shoulder and softened his tone. "My wife is the one who could be in danger now, with Pyke's failure to make the carpet fly. I will not stand by and let anyone do to her what they did to Pyke, no matter how much you beg me. I'm sorry that troubles you, but the truth is, you can't stop me from confronting Whittaker. You know I'll do it, but you don't have to come if you don't want to. We'll keep your name out of it."

Matt's change of tone worked. Brockwell heaved in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He gave a small nod. "This requires a delicate touch, Glass, and I think I should be there to lend the interrogation some authority. Can you promise me you won't go in with guns blazing?"

Matt patted Brockwell's shoulder and straightened. "I can control myself and fortunately Willie isn't here."

Brockwell gave a wry smile. "She'll be sorry she missed it."

* * *

I feltno apprehension about confronting Sir Charles. I didn't consider him a physical threat. Suspicious, certainly, but not dangerous with Matt, Cyclops and Duke alongside me, not to mention an officer of the law.

But apprehension arrived with a vengeance when Sir Charles showed no sympathy for Mr. Pyke. If he wasn't sympathetic toward an innocent man lying in hospital, he would have no qualms coming for me.

"The fellow is lying," he said with a tilt of his chin. "I don't know him."

"Then why would he give your name?" Brockwell asked.

"He must have heard it somewhere. Now, if you don't mind, it's getting late."

We made no move to leave, however. In fact, I sat down. The men remained standing until Sir Charles finally gave in and sat too.

Duke and Cyclops were the only ones who didn't sit. Duke stood outside on the landing to discourage the landlady from listening, and Cyclops remained by the door on the inside, his hands clasped loosely in front of him. Sir Charles swallowed heavily, perhaps worried that he was now a prisoner in his own home. It had not come to that, however.

Yet.

"Let's get something clear from the beginning," Matt said with steely command. "We know you orchestrated the kidnapping of Pyke, the wool magician, in the hope he could make a magic carpet fly."

Sir Charles spluttered a humorless laugh. "A flying carpet?"

"Denying it only delays our departure."

Sir Charles smoothed a hand over his oiled hair—his dark hair streaked with gray. According to Mrs. Fuller, that was the description Mr. Pyke had given for the man who'd been following him in a conveyance.

"We know Coyle told you he saw the carpet fly with us on it," Matt went on.

"I don't work for Coyle."

"Whether you do or don't is irrelevant. You clearly share information."

"You presume too much, Glass."

"Let me tell you what else we presume," Matt went on, unperturbed. "After Pyke was mentioned in that newspaper article, you called on him at his shop. Or your colleague did while you waited in the carriage. You gave him an ultimatum—use his magic to make a carpet fly or his wife will come to harm."

Sir Charles pursed his lips in distaste. "I don't make threats."

"Your colleague did on your behalf. It's the same thing."

Sir Charles's nostrils flared as he looked away.

"Your man also collected Pyke after work and drove him to Hampstead Heath, where he was given directions to attempt to make the carpet fly. When he managed to make it lift a little using the new flying spell created by India and Charbonneau, you ordered Pyke to ride the carpet with an object resembling a bomb in size and weight. You wanted to test the magic to see if the rug could fly while carrying a man and a bomb. But Pyke couldn't manage it. He fell off and the carpet crashed after barely lifting off the ground. Your experiment was a monumental failure that almost cost a man his life."

"Is there a question in this story?"

"Did you steal the rug and spell from Charbonneau or was that Coyle?"

It was something we'd briefly discussed in the carriage on the way. Brockwell had asked Matt not to mention his lordship's name. Matt had given him no promises.

To his credit, the inspector remained still and did not cast a censorial glare at Matt. As far as Sir Charles was concerned, we were a united force.

"They were given to me by an anonymous source," Sir Charles said.

The muscles in Matt's jaw tightened. "Who gave you the orders to undertake the experiment? Your superiors in the Home Office or Coyle?"

Sir Charles gritted his teeth. "I told you, I don't work for Coyle."

"Then why do your superiors want to fly bombs?"

"If you think I know what my superiors want, you're a fool. I am a small cog in a vast machine. If you want answers to these questions, you have to ask someone higher up than me."

Matt didn't relent. He was determined to get some answers. "What happens now that Pyke failed? Will the scheme be abandoned?"

"Again, I don't know, although I'm flattered that you think I have the ear of the home secretary and prime minister."

"Is that who we should speak to if we want answers?" I asked. "Are they your superiors?"

Sir Charles looked surprised that I'd spoken. He also seemed unsure how to respond at first. "Ultimately, yes, however my immediate superior is the one I answer to directly. His name is Le Grand."

"What's his role?" Matt asked.

"Those of us who work under him call him the spy master. He's the one who inserts spies into situations and gives us our orders. He advises the home secretary and prime minister. You could say he's the brain of the Home Office while the home secretary is its face. If you want to know what will happen next, ask him. But I'd bet my life savings you won't get a direct answer."

Matt stood and buttoned up his jacket. "I don't need an answer. I just need to make it clear to him that my wife is to be left alone. She can't fly a carpet any more than Pyke. She'll be of no use to you."

A lump formed in my throat that I found difficult to swallow. It wasn't just because of Matt's protective nature. It was also out of grave apprehension. How was Matt going to convince the nation's spy master to do anything he didn't want to do? He operated at the highest level of government. If he wanted to force me to make the rug fly, he could. The police couldn't stop him kidnapping me or hurting my family. No one could.

Brockwell also stood, but I remained seated. "I have one more question," I said. "Is this scheme of dropping bombs from flying carpets a priority for the government? Or is it just one of many schemes they concoct on a daily basis?"

Sir Charles stood and put out his hand to me. I took it and rose, as if he were about to lead me onto the dance floor. "Destroying an enemy's military base or arms factory is the single most decisive action in a war. It can change the course of a battle in an instant. But they're heavily fortified and it's impossible to get into them. Until now. Dropping bombs from flying vehicles that can move swiftly to avoid cannon fire from the ground is not only the winning move, it's the only move necessary. It will put an end to any conflict if the enemy has no comparable vehicle. Put simply, this scheme is paramount."

"If it works," Matt growled. "It seems the flying carpet can't carry weight."

Sir Charles didn't take his gaze off me. His fingers tightened around mine before he released me. He knew I'd already made a carpet fly with passengers.

He knew.

We saw ourselves out, and I was grateful for Matt's steadying hand on my lower back. He gave Woodall instructions to drive Brockwell home then return to Park Street.

Once on our way, Duke wanted to know everything that had transpired in Sir Charles's parlor as he'd not been able to hear it all through the door. Cyclops gave an account of the conversation. Afterward, Duke removed his hat and wiped his brow, as if he'd just completed a day of hard physical labor. Sometimes I felt like that too after these interrogations.

"So you reckon Coyle told Whittaker about seeing you fly away on the carpet to Brighton?" he asked.

Matt nodded. "It had to be him. No one else knew except for us and Charbonneau. Not even Pyke saw the flight."

Brockwell agreed. "Coyle told Whittaker, and Whittaker told his superior, this spy master. I'm sure of that."

"But why did Coyle inform Whittaker?" I asked. "What does he gain?"

"Perhaps they paid him," Matt said. "Perhaps Coyle hinted he had something important they'd be interested in and that hint was enough to convince them to buy the information off him. He wouldn't do it for free."

We all agreed with that.

"So what do we do now?" Cyclops asked. "Pyke has been found and should be safe, because he's of no use to Whittaker's superior. We can't confront Coyle because we have no evidence he told Whittaker about the carpet."

"Thank you for pointing that out," Brockwell said with an arched look for Matt, sitting opposite.

"And we have no access to the spy master," Cyclops went on. "Even if we did, what could we do? He ain't going to listen to us about what a bad idea it is to possess a flying vehicle."

"He won't even see it as a bad idea," I said. "You heard Whittaker."

Matt remained silent for the remainder of the journey until we were finally alone in our bedroom. He looked distracted as he undressed, and it took me parading in front of him in my underthings to force him to focus.

The smile he gave me was somewhat sad, however, as he settled his hands on my hips. "You have my attention."

"Good." I looped my arms behind his neck and kissed him lightly on the lips. "Because what I have to say is important. I want you to know it'll be all right, Matt. I've been thinking, and I realize all I have to do is pretend I can't make the carpet fly. They only have Coyle's word for it. If it comes to it, I'll tell them he was mistaken. I don't think anything will come of it now, anyway. Pyke's failure will put an end to their scheme."

He pressed his forehead to mine. "I hope you're right." He didn't sound sure, however. There wasn't much more I could say to convince him, but I could at least distract him for a while to help him fall asleep.

I unbuttoned his shirt, parting the fabric, and kissed a trail down his chest. When I reached the waistband of his trousers, he expelled a deep groan and his body relaxed.

I smiled against his flat stomach and felt myself relax too.

* * *

I hadthe devil of a time convincing Matt not to call on the home secretary the following day. Because he'd made a connection with the head of the Home Office through Lord Farnsworth, he wanted to take advantage. Duke and I tried to talk him out of it over breakfast, but the deciding argument came from Cyclops.

"If you go there, all guns blazing as Brockwell called it, the home secretary and his spy master will realize India can make the carpet fly. They'll sense it just by looking at you."

That knocked the wind out of Matt's sails. Indeed, the change in him was dramatic as Cyclops's wisdom sank in. "Very well. I'll read books and play cards with all of you today."

"Not me." Cyclops wiped his mouth with the napkin and rose. "I have to work."

"I'll play," Duke said.

Willie sauntered in, yawning. "Play what?"

"Cards."

"Count me in." She headed straight for the sideboard and poured herself a coffee before surveying the offerings under each of the covers. "Glad to see you and Cyclops didn't eat everything this morning, Duke. I'm starving."

"Did you have a late night?" I asked.

"You could say that."

"Would you care to elaborate?"

"I didn't get home until six this morning. The maid let me in."

"Six!"

She slid a poached egg onto her plate and picked up the tongs for the bacon. "But I slept for a few hours before that."

Duke and I exchanged glances. "Slept where?" I asked.

"In the bed of a woman I met. She joined in our party after her show finished. She's a singer, dancer and actress. Real talented she is, too. She showed me some of her dance moves."

"I'm sure she did," Matt muttered from behind his newspaper.

Willie chuckled as she piled bacon onto her plate.

Duke frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but I put up my finger to silence him. For one thing, I didn't want to encourage intimate talk at the breakfast table in case Aunt Letitia walked in, and for another, I was taking a leaf out of Matt's book. The more we protested over Willie's antics, the more she'd continue. If we wanted her to open up about her recent argument with Brockwell, we had to let her do it in her own time. Not asking her about her overnight affair was just another way of getting her to talk.

But she wasn't prepared to talk yet and certainly not about Brockwell.

Her cheery mood vanished as soon as she thought we'd all left the dining room. She didn't know I lingered in the doorway, watching her. She threw down her knife and fork, pushed her plate away, and rested her elbows on the table. For Willie to reject breakfast, she must be upset indeed.

My patience was rewarded when she joined me a short time later as I read to Aunt Letitia in the sitting room. She did not immediately take a seat, however, and wandered about, skimming her fingers over framed pictures, picking up knickknacks only to put them down again after pretending to study them. It was most distracting, and I stumbled over the words in the book.

Aunt Letitia was too interested in Willie to notice. "You're wearing the carpet thin, Willemina. What is it?"

Willie shrugged and feigned innocence. "What's what?"

"Is it Davide? Are you regretting you didn't try to court his interest more?"

Willie looked genuinely shocked. "No! Why would you think that?"

"You went out with him last night so I assumed. Besides, it is a regretful situation you find yourself in."

"No it ain't. I ain't interested in Farnsworth in that way."

"You could be Lady Farnsworth. Imagine that."

"I don't want his money or title."

Aunt Letitia regarded her with sympathy. "You don't have to maintain a fa?ade with us."

Willie flounced onto the chair. "Anyway, he never asked me to marry him. He's got too much respect for me as I am to ask me to be something I'm not."

"Quite right," I said. "Aunt Letitia, leave Willie alone. She's not upset about Lord Farnsworth."

"Then what is the matter?" Aunt Letitia asked. "Is it still Detective Inspector Brockwell? Have you two not made up?"

Willie lifted a shoulder in another shrug. After a moment of strained silence, she gave in. "I wanted to ask India if Jasper said anything last night."

I perused the open book on my lap, feigning disinterest as she had done. "He said a lot of things. Was there something in particular you wanted him to say?"

She stretched out her legs and crossed her arms over her chest. "About me. Us."

Aunt Letitia gripped the chair arm and sat forward. When I pretended to think about my answer, she clicked her tongue. "India! What did he say?"

"He was very busy," I said. "We had an eventful evening and there was no time for him to discuss his romantic intentions."

Willie lowered her arms and looked away. "Right. It doesn't matter, anyway. I was too busy to think about him, too."

"I didn't say he wasn't thinking about you. I'm sure he did from time to time."

Her gaze snapped to mine. "Why do you say that?"

"It's just a feeling."

She stared at her fingers, stroking the chair arm back and forth.

"Willie, why don't you speak to him?" I said gently. "He misses you, and you miss him."

"It ain't that simple."

"Whatever happened between you the other night can be resolved."

"You don't know that," she snapped.

"I could be more helpful if you'd tell me what you talked about," I snapped back.

She thrust out her chin. "You wouldn't understand my point of view. You'd take his side."

"I might not."

"I'm quite sure I would," Aunt Letitia piped up.

Willie gave her a flinty glare.

"Well?" I prompted.

Willie seemed to be considering it when Bristow entered carrying a silver tray. "The mail arrived, Mrs. Glass."

"Thank you, Bristow." There was only one letter addressed to me. It was from Lady Rycroft. I opened it and read. When I reached the end, I sighed. "It's addressed to you too, Aunt. We're invited to dine with them tonight."

Aunt Letitia frowned. "That's odd. I wonder what she wants."

"Perhaps she doesn't want anything, just a nice family dinner."

"After we thwarted her attempt to trap Davide with Charity? Hardly. She either wants revenge or a favor. If it's up to my sister-in-law, it will be the former."

"According to this message, Lord Rycroft has returned to London, so perhaps it isn't up to her. Perhaps the dinner is for his benefit and has nothing to do with that incident at the soiree."

"You're optimism is charming, India."

I wasn't sure whether Lord Farnsworth needed to know about the dinner, but Willie informed him anyway when he arrived mid-afternoon in time for tea in the drawing room. He was quite convinced he would be the main topic of conversation tonight.

"I am a very eligible bachelor, India." This declaration was accompanied by a flourish of his hand, as if it was an undisputed fact. "Your aunt won't have given up that easily. She will not go down without a fight."

"It's hardly a battle," I said.

"Clearly you're not familiar with the marriage mart. Just wait until you have a son and see how the mothers swarm around him when he grows up."

Matt grunted into his teacup. "Any children we have will be allowed to choose their partner from among all levels of society."

Aunt Letitia set her teacup down with a loud clink of china. "Do be serious, Matthew. It was quaint with you and India, and everyone accepted your egalitarian behavior because you're an American, but your son will be brought up as an English gentleman."

"And everyone knows there's no such thing as an egalitarian English gentleman or lady," Lord Farnsworth added.

I gave my head a quick shake as Matt opened his mouth to protest. Thankfully, he shut it again. There was no point arguing over the future of a child that did not exist.

Willie, however, never backed away from a fight. "With an attitude like that, nothing will change here."

Both Aunt Letitia and Lord Farnsworth eyed her with a mixture of horror and curiosity. "Who says anything ought to change?" he asked.

Fortunately we were saved by Bristow entering and announcing two more visitors in the form of Fabian and Oscar. I invited them in with enthusiasm, welcoming the distraction from the topic at hand.

It quickly became clear, however, that neither of them were in good spirits. No doubt Fabian wanted to ask us about his stolen carpet, and Oscar was still lamenting the ending of his relationship with Louisa.

Thankfully the always jovial Lord Farnsworth came to the rescue. "How are book sales, Barratt?"

"Excellent. My printer wants to send copies overseas to America, and I'm considering having it translated into French and Italian. The reading public can't seem to get enough of it." Oscar turned to me, "India, will you consider writing an introduction for the reprint?"

I scoffed. "Who would care what I have to say? The artless don't know who I am."

"They will after you write the introduction."

"It's the sort of notoriety I'd like to avoid, but thank you for asking." I glanced at Matt who'd been sitting silently since exchanging pleasantries upon Oscar and Fabian's arrival. He merely lifted his teacup in salute to me and sipped.

Oscar cleared his throat. "I came here to tell you I'm working at the Gazette again. They've taken me back. After Louisa cost me my job there, I wasn't sure where I stood, but fortunately my editor championed me. He's a good egg."

Fabian frowned at him. "How do you mean, Louisa cost you the job?"

"She saw that I was dismissed. She wanted me to spend more time at home to finish the book."

"Blimey!" Lord Farnsworth said. "That's a little underhanded. But she was quite right in that you shouldn't work. Not if you're going to marry her. She is a lady, after all. It wouldn't be proper. Don't you agree, Letty?"

"I never get involved in the romantic matters of others," she said.

Willie and Duke both snorted into their teacups.

"We are no longer engaged," Oscar told Lord Farnsworth matter-of-factly. "Louisa ended it."

"My dear fellow, that's hard luck! Never mind, another filly will turn up."

"Louisa told me you ended the engagement," Fabian said. "Not her."

Oscar gave him a flat smile. "She clearly thinks of you as a close friend to tell you that."

"Ah, I see. You are a gentleman indeed, Barratt. I do not blame you for breaking off the attachment. Louisa is…forceful. When it comes to magic, she is determined. And we are not that close," he finished.

"She idolizes you, Charbonneau. She talks about you quite a lot and when she does, her voice takes on a different timbre."

"She likes my magic, not me. There is a difference."

Oscar sighed. "You may be right on that score."

Lord Farnsworth frowned at Fabian. "You know, you and Louisa have similar opinions when it comes to magic. You both wish to set it free, as it were. You both want it to flourish and become accepted by the world. You both want the bloodlines of magic to continue."

"No, no. That is not true. Louisa and I are not the same. She is prepared to go to great lengths for magic to flourish, but I am not." Fabian indicated me. "India and Matt have convinced me of the dangers if magic falls into the wrong hands. I do not think Louisa would give in as easily as I have done."

It was a pretty speech, but I wasn't convinced Fabian had given up on his hopes and dreams for magic. I expected him to raise the topic of creating spells again in the future, although hopefully it would be some time away yet.

"You've seen her recently?" Oscar asked somewhat shyly. "Is she well?"

Fabian hesitated before answering carefully. "She is as she always is—determined. The first time she came to my house, I was about to leave. The second time, I was not at home. The third, I could not allow her to dine with me, despite the hour. It would not be proper."

"Quite right," Aunt Letitia said. "It sounds to me like she's attempting to trap you. We know all about young ladies like that, don't we, Davide?"

Lord Farnsworth agreed with a rousing, "Hear, hear. One's bachelorhood is precious. We must protect it and not give it away cheaply. Not even to the prettiest, most eligible, most determined girl in the country. Not until we are ready for the life of a married man, that is."

"And we should not marry someone we don't get along with," Oscar added.

Lord Farnsworth chuckled. "How quaint you are."

Oscar arched his brows but didn't get a word in before Fabian spoke up again.

"Glass, is there any word on my stolen carpet?"

"Somebody stole your carpet?" Aunt Letitia asked. Oscar and Lord Farnsworth also turned their attention to Fabian, curious about the theft of a rug.

It would seem the topic couldn't be avoided anymore. Matt gave them a brief explanation of the events so far, leaving out the part where we'd flown on the carpet ourselves. I suspected that was more for Aunt Letitia's benefit.

"Pyke regained consciousness yesterday and informed us that he attempted to make the carpet fly while it carried him, but he fell off," Matt finished.

"Good lord," Lord Farnsworth murmured. "What a brave fellow. A bit mad, but who isn't these days, eh?"

Fabian said something in French under his breath. "He is a fool. He knew he could not fly it on his own. He could have been killed."

"Then why did he attempt it?" Oscar asked.

"He was given no choice," Matt said. "His wife was threatened.

"By Coyle?"

Matt shook his head.

"Then who?"

Matt didn't say. When Oscar appealed to me, I kept my mouth shut.

"And where is my carpet now?" Fabian asked.

"The police burned it," Matt said.

"Burned! But I did not authorize that. It is my carpet. The inspector cannot do this!"

"It wasn't Brockwell's idea. It was mine."

The muscles in Fabian's jaw bunched as he clenched his back teeth. He drew in deep breaths as he glared at Matt.

"It was the right thing to do after what happened to Pyke," Matt went on. "It attracted dangerous people; people prepared to use magicians to make the carpet fly again. You must see that it was a magnet for people like Coyle."

Fabian lowered his head. "You are right, of course." He heaved a deep sigh. "And yet, it was a marvel to see it fly. Wonderous."

"Magical," I added with a lopsided smile. "I know, Fabian, and I understand. But the dangers outweigh the beauty of it."

Fabian returned my smile with an unconvincing one of his own.

Oscar reached for a biscuit from the plate and pointed it at Matt as he sat back. "You're fighting a losing battle, you know. Flight will happen. Within a few years, I'd wager. Not the flight of carpets, of course, but there's a German engineer who claims to be almost ready to launch a glider. And we already have hot air balloons."

"A balloon is slow and difficult to maneuver," Matt said. "A glider is better but also limited in speed and the level of control the pilot can exert."

Fabian made a sound of derision in his throat. "Glass is right. Nothing the artless make will be as good as a magician's creation."

"That's not what I said."

Oscar gave a small shrug. "I think this is one area where you will have to eat your words, Charbonneau. If I'm right, then whoever wanted Pyke to fly the carpet will merely need to wait a little longer for the artless inventors to catch up. Aviation will change the world in the way rail once did, mark my words."

I suspected he would be proved right, but that day was years away, and I doubted the government, or Coyle for that matter, were fond of waiting. His words offered me no real comfort.

Our three visitors didn't stay much longer and decided to leave all at once. Lord Farnsworth positioned himself beside Oscar and me as we walked out together, and kept his voice low and his gaze on Fabian up ahead. "Say, Barratt, would you mind terribly if I made a play for your former fiancée?"

Oscar blinked at him. "You wish to court her?"

"Yes, why not. She's the right sort, good breeding and all that. She is a little intense, but that will balance me nicely. Some call me frivolous, but a serious wife will negate my excesses. So what say you? Would it trouble you?"

Oscar looked taken aback and quite unable to answer as he considered the notion.

I came to his rescue. "I thought you said you must protect your bachelorhood and not throw it away, Davide."

Lord Farnsworth winked at me. "Oh, that was just for Charbonneau's benefit. I didn't want him having second thoughts about Louisa when I've suddenly realized how suited we are. I rather think I'd lose to him. The French know how to seduce when they put their mind to it."

Oscar clapped Lord Farnsworth on the shoulder. "If you feel that way, then you're welcome to court her. Although I should warn you that the danger from that quarter doesn't come from him being French or handsome, it's due to him being a magician. She's intent on having magician children, you see."

"Ah, now I understand why she was with you."

Oscar took the barb with a good humored chuckle.

Once they were gone, Matt and I walked back up the stairs arm in arm. "Did you really tell Brockwell to destroy the carpet?" I asked.

"No. I would have asked you first before giving such an order. I simply told Charbonneau it was my decision because I didn't want him getting angry with Brockwell. The carpet was burned, though. I received a message from Brockwell to that effect just before our guests arrived. He ordered its destruction last night. While he didn't say why, I suspect he wanted to destroy it before it was removed from the evidence room without his knowledge."

"It's the right thing to do, given the interest in it."

We rejoined Aunt Letitia, Duke and Willie in the drawing room. They'd decided to start a game of cards, although Willie declined to help make up the numbers. I worried that the conversation about Louisa had troubled her. While she claimed not to be interested in Lord Farnsworth in that way, it wouldn't surprise me if she was jealous on some level. Perhaps not in a romantic way, but she might be afraid of losing a friend.

I was forming the right words to ask her when she suddenly piped up. "How do you reckon I'd get the address of that German engineer Oscar mentioned?"

Matt picked up the cards to shuffle them. "There must be an aviation society here in England that could put you in touch with their German counterpart who would then forward a letter to him. Why?"

"I want to offer myself as a volunteer to fly his glider."