"Good, good. As long as we are in agreement, then, let us see what you can do, eh? Then we can decide how best to use your skills."

He called out for Clarence to bring in Nate the Skate. While they waited, Inspector Dimm explained that Clarence was one of his grandnephews. "Although the devil if I can remember which nevey's son he is. I train up a lot of the family. Letting Bow Street give them a salary is easier than paying their room and board myself. Asides, I always say that if you want to see the job done right, use your own relations. The trustworthy ones, at any rate."

Rex's father would approve. Out of politeness and a little curiosity, Rex asked the inspector if he had a big family.

"More than I can keep track of. It's a mixed blessing, never a Sunday without an invite for supper. Never a moment when some whelp isn't sleeping on my couch or some gal isn't getting wed or giving birth. They always expect gifts, don't you know. What of yourself?"

"I just have my father and two cousins."

"No wife?"

A gleam came to the old man's eyes that reminded Rex of the French soldiers, before they shot at him. "Not yet. I have been off to war."

"Quite right, not leaving a poor lass behind to fret. What of your mother?"

Rex did not count the countess as kin. He shook his head, no. He doubted she cared enough to worry.

Dimm must have misunderstood because he said, "My beloved wife, may she rest in peace, had a score of brothers and sisters herself. So did I, so there is no dearth of new recruits to train every year."

Before Rex had to correct Dimm's assumption, young Clarence came back with a small man in scuffed boots and tattered frieze jacket, his hands cuffed behind his back. Dimm waved Rex to the corner of the room.

"Now Nate, I am going to ask you a few simple questions and I want you to answer honestly."

"I did it."

"Dash it, Nate, I haven't asked the question yet. Did you break into the warehouse on Donegal Street?"

"Yes, sir, I did."

Behind Nate's back, Rex shook his head, no. The man had lied.

"What about the robbery at Lord Peckenham's?"

"I did that one, too. Got a satchel full of silver. Platters, the tea set, spoons."

Rex saw nothing but red. He did not understand why the man confessed to crimes he did not commit.

"Because he'd be on the street otherwise," Dimm said after Nate was led away, "cold and hungry and in constant danger from the other alley dwellers. He comes in once a week, confesses to some crime that made a splash in the newspapers. We give him a hot meal and let him sleep in one of the empty cells. No harm done."

But a lot of kindness. Rex relaxed. "So did I pass the test?"

"That was too easy, I am thinking. Clarence, bring in Butts."

The next suspect was not half as innocent as Nate the Skate. Butts was a surly dockworker with tattoos everywhere his clothes weren't. He spit at Dimm's feet when the inspector asked if the man had killed his partner.

"No."

Rex knew instantly that the man was lying, but tried to appear as if he were studying Butts's mannerisms. There was not much to study in "No."

Dimm helped him by asking more questions. "How did that crate happen to fall off the ladder just when your partner walked by?"

"How should I know? I weren't anywhere near."

Another lie.

Then Dimm asked-an experiment of his own, Rex knew-"Did you kill Sir Frederick Hawley, too?"

"Hell no, why would I? He weren't bedding my wife too, was he? 'Sides, you can't pin that on me. Everyone knows the gentry mort did it."

Now he was telling the truth, and Rex regretted that he wouldn't get to see Butts hang for his partner's murder.

When Butts was dragged out, after his near confession, Dimm asked, "Did the mort-that is, the lady-kill him?"

"No."

"You are certain?"

"As certain as sin."

"Very well. I can get you the files and the evidence as soon as I clear some of these other cases. Are you willing to help?"

Despite the urgency to get back to Miss Carville, Rex found that he was willing. Interested, even. Dimm accepted his judgments on the next two suspects brought in, because they tallied with the evidence and his own instincts, but the Runner was stymied. "I've seen everything in my time, don't you know. This is something beyond my ken. 'Course, I can't convict anyone on your say-so."

"I wish you would not use my name at all."

"Well, I won't admit I listened to your guesses. I might as well say I consulted a gypsy fortune-teller. I still need evidence to make a case. But now the field is a lot smaller. I don't have to look for other suspects, and don't have to accept any more beggars' confessions, instead of looking for the real thieves. Harris was right, you are a very handy man to have around. Another hour, shall we say?"

Rex stayed in the back corner, giving thumbs-up for truth, thumbs-down for a lie. He consulted his notes a time or two to try to look official, if not scientific. He could have come to the same conclusions without seeing the men's faces, but if Inspector Dimm pretended to accept the notion of a learned experiment, Rex was willing to pretend he had a technical system. In fact, he found the experience fascinating.

The French officers and messengers he'd questioned on the Peninsula had to be threatened-and then convinced to cry out as if they were being tortured-rather than let anyone think they had willingly given up their country's secrets. Most crossed themselves when Rex declared he knew they were lying, or threatened to set Daniel on them. After a bit, the cousins' reputation preceded them, and the prisoners needed less prompting.

London's criminal class had less honor. Or less intelligence. Their lies were more creative, but few had the sense to refuse to answer. Many of the suspects were guilty, and Dimm quickly came up with a solution to his dilemma of how to use Rex's pronouncements. He told the ones Rex gave a thumbs-down that there were witnesses to the crime. If they confessed, he'd see they were conscripted into the navy instead of standing trial and taking their chances, which were next to nil.

Rex wasn't so pleased about sending cutthroats to the navy.

"The admirals know how to manage reluctant sailors, and they need every able-bodied man they can get. As for the culprits, they stand a far better chance of surviving the navy than they would facing the noose or the hulks or transport to Botany Bay."

They cleared away a whole stack of open cases without costing the Crown the price of a trial, while filling His Majesty's warships. Dimm freed a handful of others and set various nephews and sons-in-laws to finding support for the few of Rex's judgments where no one confessed.

Dimm was thrilled. "We got more work done in the past three hours than possible in a week."

"It has been three hours already?"

"Aye, and time I got home to my own dinner. Of course you'll be wanting to clear your own case first."

He had Clarence find the murder weapon in the evidence room. "There was fresh powder on it, so the officer in charge declared it definitely the murder weapon. No one looked much further, I am sorry to say. The lady denied the accusation-you saw that they all do, guilty or innocent-but the prosecutor came to Bow Street himself and he was satisfied with the evidence and the witness reports and how everyone knew the victim and his accused killer had argued. He said he wished a speedy conclusion, because the man was a gentleman. He didn't want to give the public the idea that it was anything but a domestic dispute, less'n common folks think they can get away with shooting the swells, like the Frenchies."

"She did not do it."

"I believe you. I've got instincts of my own, and daughters and nieces. But it weren't my case, don't you know." He copied over some names and handed the page to Rex. "Here are addresses for the servants, although I don't know what good they'll do now."

"I can talk to them, get an impression of Sir Frederick, find out who stood to benefit."

"And who's telling the truth, eh?"

"Exactly."

"Well, if you come back tomorrow, I'll try to have warrants for you to search the premises, open the man's records and such."

"Thank you. And I can devote another couple of hours to crime fighting, in return, if you wish."

Dimm relit his pipe. "Be happy to have you. Don't suppose you intend to publish any findings of your experiments? Any way I could teach the young ones to look for your signs of lying?"

"I am afraid not." Rex wished he could explain.

Dimm sent a cloud of smoke into the air. "I watched, you know. You never even looked at their eyes. They say eyes are the windows to the soul. I can usually tell a coldblooded killer by looking at their glims, but I'm never as fast or as confident as you seem to be."

"It's not the eyes, it's the voice." And the colors.

"You must have done a powerful lot of research."

Dimm said, a hint of wistfulness in his own voice mixed with a heavy dose of disbelief. "Bless you."

Rex walked a little jauntier as he made his way back to Royce House. He hardly noticed his bad leg or who was watching him limp. He stopped at a nearby bookseller and asked what the ladies were reading nowadays. He bought two, so Miss Carville could have a choice. Then he bought flowers to bring to her, roses and violets because he could not decide which. Now he had gifts to bring, along with information, the support of two vastly different but powerful men, and the gun.

Chapter Thirteen


He brought her hope.

Amanda felt a warmth she had not known in ages, long before the current disaster. Lord Rexford did not have to bring flowers and books. Gracious, he did not have to do anything at all. He was helping her to satisfy his father's demands, his mother's pleas. But the flowers? They must have been because he wanted to, nothing else. Charles Ashway, her onetime suitor, had sent her a bouquet after a dance, out of politeness. Rexford was not polite by any means. Ashway had never made her feel special-or atingle-not even when he came close to an offer of marriage.