"Still, I did not come here to bemoan our lack of success. As I said, last evening there was a murder not far from here."
Amelia clenched her hands in her lap. "Do you know who she was?"
"A poor woman of the streets, I fear. She came from the stews."
"I see. It is odd that she would be in this neighborhood."
The pale eyes slowly narrowed. "We presume she was lured here rather than being forced.
There was no sign of a struggle."
Amelia did not have to fake her shudder. "Poor maiden."
"Yes." There was a faint pause. "It was quite a brutal attack. For once, however, there was a witness who is willing to speak."
Amelia blinked in genuine shock. "A ... witness?"
The runner leaned forward. "A gentleman in the neighborhood happened to be on his way home when he noticed figures moving in the alley where the body was discovered. He claimed that one was a woman and the other was a large man with dark hair."
A man with dark hair ... it had to be William. But how? Surely they would have noticed this mysterious gentleman if he had been close enough to catch sight of William and herself? Unless ...
Just for a wild moment Amelia considered the possibility of Mr. St. Ives whispering the horrid words into the runner's ear. Perhaps he feared that he would be implicated in the crime and had sought to distract attention. Then, just as swiftly, she was dismissing the ridiculous notion.
It had been Mr. St. Ives who had the good sense to hide William when the Watch had arrived.
And had even risked returning to the dark to ensure that she could slip her brother home so no one would ever suspect he had been out of his home.
No. It could not have been Mr. St. Ives.
But, who?
"Miss Hadwell?" Mr. Ryan at last prompted her out of her tangled thoughts.
With an effort Amelia forced herself to concentrate on the man seated across the room.
Despite his air of boyish good humor, she very much feared he possessed a shrewd mind and tenacious spirit. He was determined to find someone to blame for the murder. I f she were not on her guard, that someone might very well end up being William.
"I fear that I can be of no assistance, Mr. Ryan," she managed at last in reasonably steady tones. "I rarely go out in the evenings. I did not notice anything."
"A pity," he murmured. "And your brother?"
"My ... brother?"
"I am told you have a younger brother by the name of William."
She would not flinch, she told herself sternly. She would not reveal so much as a grimace.
William's very freedom might depend upon the next few moments. She must be strong.
"Yes, I do, but he would know nothing of the murder."
The pale eyes slowly narrowed at her firm words. "Perhaps it would be best if I speak with him myself."
Amelia's thin smile remained staunchly in place. "I fear that is impossible."
"Oh?" Mr. Ryan lifted his brows. "And why is that?"
"He is suffering from a fever. He has rarely left his bed for the past few days."