Sebastian opened the door and walked into the small shop. The roma of the well-aged tobacco stored in glass cases and in wooden counter. On another counter a selection of small snuffboxes was ar­ranged. Sebastian took a closer look at them but saw none as fine as the one he was investigating.

"How may I serve you, sir?" inquired a raspy voice.

Sebastian looked around and saw a plump, white-haired, heavily whiskered man wearing a green apron and a pair of gold spectacles. The shopkeeper's pudgy fingers were stained yellow from years of handling tobacco.

"I'm trying to discover the name of this particular blend of snuff." Sebastian plucked the snuffbox out of the pocket of his greatcoat and held it out to the shopkeeper. "An acquaintance gave me enough to fill this box, but I shall soon run out and would like to order more. It's quite distinctive. Do you happen to recognize it?"

The shopkeeper examined Sebastian's gleaming boots and ele­gantly tailored clothes as he opened the box. He sniffed cautiously at the snuff, careful not to inhale it. "I certainly do recognize it, my lord. I created this blend myself."

The familiar thrill of discovery flashed through Sebastian. Until Prudence had entered his life, he reflected, he had been forced to rely on these rare moments of fleeting excitement to keep the cold at bay.

Sebastian schooled his features to a mask of polite interest. "It seems I am in luck, then. I suppose it is a popular blend?"

"Might be if I sold it to all and sundry, but the gentleman I make it up for has stipulated that he be the only one who gets it. He makes it worth my while to keep the blend special for him."

"It's not for sale to the general public, then?" Sebastian frowned with what he hoped passed for disappointment. His luck was holding, he thought. He would not have to investigate a long list of snuff pur­chasers. All he needed was the name of the one who had commis­sioned this special mixture for himself.

"Afraid not." The snuff dealer eyed him with a shopkeeper's as­sessing look. He was obviously reluctant to lose the trade. "Mayhap I can blend a speciaj batch for you, m'lord. Something with a bit of Turkish in it, perhaps? Just got a nice shipment of fine tobacco from America. Very mild, it is. I can do you a most distinctive blend that will be the envy of your friends."

"That's very kind of you, but I very much wanted a supply of this particular blend. I am prepared to pay well for it."

The snuff dealer sighed with regret. "I cannot risk offending my

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"Your client?" Sebastian prompted carefully.

"Mr. Fleetwood would be only too likely to take his patronage sewhere if I didn't honor my agreement with him."

Sebastian stared at the dealer, hoping his mouth wasn't hanging sen in astonishment. "Fleetwood?"

"Yes, sir. Mr. Jeremy Fleetwood." The snuff dealer frowned. "You ust know him, sir, if he gave you a sample of his snuff."

"We met in passing at a boxing match," Sebastian said, thinking riftly. "Afraid I didn't catch his name. You know how the crowd is at mill."

"Right you are, sir. Attended an interesting match just last week, rowd nearly rioted when Iron Jones lost. He was the favorite, you low. Lost a packet on him, m'self."

"I heard the outcome of the match was extremely disappointing," ;bastian said as he walked toward the door. "Thank you for Mr. leetwood's name. I shall look him up at once. Perhaps I can prevail jon him to allow you to make up a supply of this blend for me."

"But, sir, if I might suggest another blend—"

Sebastian closed the shop door and walked the short distance to here his groom waited with the phaeton.

What in the name of hell did Jeremy have to do with any of this? ;bastian wondered as he vaulted up onto the seat and took the reins.

Prudence was going to be as startled by this bit of information as i was. He was suddenly impatient to discuss the new twist in the case ith her.

What do you mean, she's not here, Flowers? Where the devil is le?" Sebastian had hurried straight home in order to share with rudence the details of the singular new development in the investiga-on. It was extremely irritating to learn that she was not waiting ea-jrly to applaud his brilliance.

"I believe Lady Angelstone has gone out, my lord."

Sebastian made a bid for his fraying patience. "Where did she go, lowers?"

Flowers gave a small, discreet cough. "To the home of the Misses ingleton in Wellwood Street, sir."

"Who the devil are the Misses Singleton?"

"Lady Angelstone described them as clients." Flowers looked

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They apparently wished to consult with her ladyship about a matter of spectral phenomena. Her ladyship set out almost immediately."

"So she's pursuing an investigation, is she?"

Flowers gave him a woeful look. "Something was said about an electricity machine, my lord."

Sebastian frowned. "Electricity machine?"

"I have reason to believe her ladyship has borrowed one from a Mr. Matthew Hornsby and intends to use it in the course of her inves­tigation today."

Sebastian was momentarily distracted from his own case. "That might prove interesting."

Flowers drew himself up. "I would like to inquire, my lord, whether staff should accustom itself to this sort of behavior on the part of her ladyship?"

"Yes, Flowers, I think you had all better get used to the notion that this will never be a completely normal household."

"You say the strange moaning sounds seem to come from this section of the garret?" Prudence pushed the electricity machine into place in the center of the small dark room directly beneath the roof of the narrow house.

"I think that is about right." Evangeline Singleton, a stout, forth­right woman of indeterminate years, frowned thoughtfully. She turned to her sister for confirmation. "Don't you think that is about right, Iphigenia?"

"I suppose so," Iphigenia, small, frail, and fluttery, eyed the elec­tricity machine with deep dread. "I hear the sounds downstairs in my bedchamber, so they must be coming from somewhere around here. But I really do not know if we should be attempting to find the ghost, Evangeline."

"We cannot allow the thing to continue moaning at all hours of the night," Evangeline said. "You need your rest." She turned back to Prudence. "Now, then, Lady Angelstone, how is this machine going to force our ghost to appear?"

"According to my new theory," Prudence said, "spectral phenom­ena utilize electricity in the atmosphere in order to render themselves visible. I believe that the chief reason they are only rarely seen is because it is uncommon for them to have access to sufficient electric­ity."

Iphigenia's eyes widened in alarm. "You intend to provide our ghost with the electricity it needs to make itself visible?"

"Precisely." Prudence straightened and surveyed the machine she had borrowed from Trevor's friend, Matthew Hornsby.

It was a simple arrangement involving a glass cylinder, a hand crank, a leather pad, and a jar. Matthew had assured her there was no danger involved in the operation of the machine.

"I beg your pardon, Lady Angelstone, but does your husband ap­prove of you carrying out these investigations?" Iphigenia asked cau­tiously.

"Oh, yes." Prudence bustled around the machine, making certain everything was ready. "Angelstone has a very intellectual nature. He is quite interested in my work."

"I see." Iphigenia gave her a strange glance. "One hears that Angelstone is a rather unusual man."

"I suppose he is." Prudence tested the hand crank. It turned easily. The glass cylinder started to rotate beneath the leather pad. "I cer­tainly do not know any other man quite like him."

Iphigenia traded a silent glance with her sister. "One hears that he is somewhat dangerous."

"Not in the least." The cylinder began to rotate faster as Prudence worked the crank. "Would one of you put out the lamp? I doubt we shall be able to see anything if there is too much light."

"Lady Angelstone," Iphigenia began uneasily, "I really do not think this is such a good idea. There are no windows up here and it will be quite dark if we put out the lamp."

"Really, Iphigenia, you must not be so timid." Evangeline went briskly over to the lamp and turned it off.

The room was plunged into complete darkness.

"Excellent," Prudence said. "If there is a ghost up here we shall make him visible in no time." She cranked the handle of the electricity machine as rapidly as possible.

"But I do not actually want to see the thing," Iphigenia whim­pered. "I just want you to get rid of it."

"Get hold of yourself," Evangeline ordered crisply. "Lady Angel­stone knows what she is about, don't you, madam?"

"Certainly," Prudence called above the noise of the whirling cylin­der. "I have great confidence in my latest theory. We should produce sufficient electricity for a ghost very soon now." suited another sort of expert, Evangeline. This whole experience is unsettling my nerves."

"You can take a dose of laudanum when it is over," Evangeline said. "Now do stop fussing. You might scare off the ghost."

Prudence turned the crank faster and faster. "Creating electricity is a bit more difficult than I had thought it would be," she said breath­lessly.

Light flashed suddenly in a white-hot arc that illuminated the room for a few brief seconds. Prudence heard Iphigenia's horrified gasp.