He walked in, his eyes briefly meeting theirs. He exchanged nods with Letitia, accepted a cup and saucer from her, then she handed the rest of the cups around and they sat and got down to business.

Dalziel spoke first. “I contacted the Bow Street magistrate in charge of the case. He and his minions are convinced Justin did the deed. A warrant for his arrest has indeed been sworn, and a runner, Barton, has been assigned to hunt him down.”

Letitia grimaced but didn’t comment-to the relief of all three men.

Christian quickly, succinctly, listed the facts they knew, establishing the likelihood that Randall was killed by someone he knew, most likely a friend, who’d visited the study between Letitia leaving it and Justin entering.

“It sounds as if he expected his killer.” Tristan glanced at Letitia. “Just to cover the obvious, have you checked his diary?”

Letitia shook her head. “He didn’t keep one.”

Christian frowned. “Not at all? No address book even?”

“Nothing. I don’t know how he managed, but he kept all that sort of thing in his head.”

Dalziel raised his brows. “Not so hard if you don’t have many friends.”

“He must have had some,” Christian said. “We need to learn who.”

“We need to make a list.” Tristan rose and, taking his cup, went to sit at the library desk. He pulled out a sheet of paper, checked the pen, then dipped it in the ink pot. “Friends.” He wrote. “Need to identify.” He looked down at his handiwork. “I’ll ask around the clubs. Given I’m in no way connected with the Vaux, I might learn more than you.” He looked at Christian.

“I’ll see what I can learn via other avenues,” Dalziel put in.

Tristan and Christian exchanged a glance, but forebore to ask what other avenues their ex-commander had in mind.

“With any luck,” Letitia said, “once he’s had time to think of it, Justin might, by the time he reaches here, have remembered something more.”

“That covers the direct approach,” Dalziel said. “For the indirect, what do we know of Randall himself-his background, family?” He looked at Letitia.

She met his gaze. A long moment passed, then she pulled a face. “You’re not going to believe it-in hindsight it seems quite amazing-but I know of no family. None. As for his background…” She raised a helpless hand. “I know our man of business looked into his financial state before our marriage, but other than that…he was educated, well-presented, was established in our circles, was wealthy and personable enough.” She paused, sipped. “I suppose we saw no reason to look further.”

“So…” Dalziel’s voice had grown softer-more intent. “No family known, no school, no university, no connections known.” He raised his brows, met Christian’s gaze. “Our man becomes more and more of a mystery.”

Tristan had been frowning. “Place of birth?”

Letitia shook her head. “Not even that.” She paused, then added, “I can’t even tell you which county he hailed from-he never said, never even dropped a clue that I recall.”

Dalziel looked at Tristan, who obediently dipped the pen and started writing. “So we’ve lots more to learn about Randall’s personal background.” He switched his gaze to Letitia. “What about his financial background? He was wealthy, so where did his money come from? Was he involved in any schemes-investments, developments? You mentioned your family’s man of business had checked earlier.”

She nodded. “I’m sure he’ll have some of those answers, at least as things were eight years ago.”

Christian caught Dalziel’s eye. “If we want to investigate Randall’s finances we should use Montague.”

Dalziel nodded.

“Heathcote Montague,” Letitia stated, “and his father before him, have always handled the Vaux family affairs-it was he who looked into Randall’s financial state.”

“Perfect.” Dalziel set down his empty cup. “We can rely on Montague to ferret out whatever there is to find in Randall’s financial dealings.”

Tristan was busily scribbling. Christian said, “I’ll go and see Montague.”

“I’ll come, too.” Letitia reached for a ginger biscuit. “He’ll want my permission before he speaks of Vaux family business.”

The men all nodded.

“Which brings us to the connected subject of Randall’s will.” Dalziel cocked a brow at Letitia.

She looked taken aback, then frowned, as did Christian. “Yet more oddity-the funeral was days ago and yet we haven’t heard a word of any will. What is going on?”

The three men exchanged glances.

Christian leaned forward, setting down his cup. “Do you know who Randall’s solicitor was?”

To his relief, Letitia nodded. “Griswade, Griswade, Meecham and Tappit. They’re in Lincoln’s Inn Fields.”

“So,” Tristan said, writing, “they’re on our list to be visited, too.”

Letitia brushed crumbs from her fingers, her expression unimpressed. “I’ll inquire about Randall’s will.”

Christian made a mental note to go with her.

“Right.” Sitting back, Dalziel steepled his fingers. “We’ve avenues to pursue-facts to assemble. What about motive?”

When Letitia raised her brows, Christian elaborated, “Money, power, or passion-Randall will have been killed for one or the other.”

“Or any combination thereof,” Dalziel added.

“Power seems unlikely,” Tristan suggested. “A prime element of power, at least in our world, is influence. If he had no friends…”

“He liked to meet and be seen with powerful people,” Letitia said, “but I never sensed he had any interest in exploiting such acquaintances. In using them for anything.” She frowned. “He just didn’t seem interested in developing such connections.”

Dalziel caught Christian’s eye and shook his head. “The more we learn of George Randall, the less he seems to conform to any recognizable type. For someone who, as I understand it, presented as unremarkable, he seems to have led a highly eccentric existence.”

Christian nodded. “So if power wasn’t involved, then leaving aside the obvious-money-is there any hint this might be a crime of passion?”

Dalziel snorted. “Other than the Vaux being intricately involved?”

Christian’s lips quirked; he inclined his head “Other than that.”

Letitia narrowed her eyes at them both, but her heart wasn’t in her glare. After a moment she said, “I honestly can’t see Randall being involved in any situation that might have given rise to a grand passion in another-not enough for that other, or even someone associated with them, to kill him.”

Dalziel arched a brow. “Are you sure you’re not biased?”

She shot him another look, but shook her head. “No. I don’t think so. It’s not that…” She frowned at the biscuit plate-now empty-then sighed. “Randall wasn’t…well, like us. While I routinely gave thanks for that, he simply didn’t have the same drive.”

They all knew precisely which drive she was referring to, and given her beauty, her unquestionable desirability-her temper notwithstanding-that, too, rated as odd.

Dalziel rubbed his temple. He glanced at Christian. “You see what I mean-this man, the bits we keep learning of him don’t mesh into any recognizable whole.”

Letitia was still frowning. “Justin might know with more certainty, but I’m almost completely certain Randall never had a mistress-at least not while we were wed. That simply wasn’t where his interests lay.”

“If there’s any long-term connection, it’s likely to be mentioned in his will,” Tristan said, still busily making notes.

“But if his interests didn’t lie in that direction”-Dalziel fixed Letitia with an interrogatory look-“what was his principal focus in life?”

She answered readily. “Business. He was always involved in this or that-even that night, he cried off from a dinner because he wanted to attend to some business.”

Dalziel sat up. “Did he have any business associates?”

Letitia dashed his hopes. “When I say ‘business,’ I mean letters, papers, documents. He was forever in his study poring over some report or proposal. He often worked late into the night, dealing with such things.” She paused, then added, “I think he acted as his own man of business. I never heard of anyone calling who might be such a person.”

“I’ll check with the butler,” Christian said. “He should know.”

Dalziel nodded. “So as far as we can see at present, motive appears to be the most usual, and most obvious-money. In some way or form.”

He glanced around, but no one disagreed.

“So we need to learn who stands to profit from Randall’s death.”

“Even better,” Christian said, “who profits from Randall’s death now.”

“True.” Dalziel nodded. “If money’s the motive, there’s likely some reason he was killed at that time.”

“At that meeting between associates.” Tristan looked up from scanning his list. “So when will we meet again?”

They discussed who would do what, when, and decided to reconvene in two days’ time.

Letitia rose, pulling on her gloves. “Justin should be in London by then, so we’ll be able to see if anything we learn means something more to him.”

“Meanwhile”-Dalziel straightened his long legs and got to his feet-“while we all have our avenues to pursue, the most pertinent aspect is-”

“Who stood to benefit from Randall’s sudden death.” Letitia nodded regally to Dalziel and Tristan. “Gentlemen-I’ll see you in two days.”

She turned to the door and Christian, who struggled to hide a grin; if Dalziel had thought he would be in charge, he was fast learning otherwise. She arched a brow at him. “I thought to go and see Montague tomorrow morning.”

He nodded. “I’ll call for you at ten.”

Airily she replied, “I’ll see you then. My aunts and their families are dining in South Audley Street tonight-I must oversee the preparations.”

With a graceful inclination of her head that included them all, she swept to the door.