a copycat crime.”
“The Nightjar is dead; long live the Nightjar,” Seb said wryly.
Alex extracted a yellowed newspaper clipping from the file. He began to read, and his eyebrows rose in surprise. “The man’s identity isn’t the only lead Vidocq’s given us. We have a motive here too. Look at this.”
He angled the page toward Seb. It was an excerpt from La Mercure, the Parisian newspaper, dated April 1800; sixteen years ago. The headline was “J’accuse—!”
The Nightjar had written an open letter to the editor, publicly denouncing revolutionary leader Georges Danton as a traitor to France. He claimed the theft of the French crown jewels from the Louvre had been an inside job, masterminded by Danton himself. The jewels, he said, had been used as bribes to purchase support for the Republique and, later, for the Emperor Napoleon, from foreign powers such as the Austrians and the Prussians.
“I vow to steal back our country’s bounty from those who have received it unjustly,” the Nightjar had written. “The jewels shall be recovered for the glory of France and held secure until the upstart Napoleon has been ousted and the Bourbons are once more restored to their rightful place upon the throne.”
Alex sat back in his chair with a slow exhale. As a declaration of intent, it was certainly impressive.
On the following page Vidocq had compiled a list of the jewels missing from the national archives and correlated them with the gems the Nightjar was known to have stolen. They matched perfectly. The Nightjar had, apparently, been doing exactly as he’d promised.
“The thefts aren’t random at all,” Alex said. “He’s stealing back the crown jewels of France.”
“Exactly.”
Alex pointed at one of the lines on the list. “The diamond taken from Rundell and Bridge must be this one the French call the ‘Regent’s Diamond.’ Which means there are only three major jewels still unaccounted for. The blue diamond they call the ‘Bleu Du Roi,’ a ruby, and a thirty-carat sapphire known as the ‘Ruspoli.’” He flipped through the remaining pages. “Do we know the location of these three jewels?”
Seb leaned back in his chair with a satisfied grin. “As a matter of fact, we do. Vidocq didn’t discover where any of the jewels had gone until Napoleon declared a twenty-year statute of limitations on crimes committed during the Revolution. Since the original theft occurred in 1792, that meant nobody could be prosecuted for the crime after 1812. As the deadline neared, Vidocq told his agents to listen out for information regarding the gems. Sure enough, not two days after the statute of limitations expired, a London jeweler named John Francillon sold a forty-five-carat blue diamond to the diamond merchant Daniel Eliason. Vidocq believes that stone is the ‘Bleu Du Roi,’ cut down and reshaped to disguise its origins.”
“Where is it now?”
Seb tapped another piece of paper. “Eliason failed to find a buyer. Perhaps afraid of having it stolen from his own premises, he decided on what you might call the old ‘hide-in-plain-sight’ tactic. He loaned it to the British Museum. For the past three years, it’s been on public display in their rocks and minerals gallery.”
Alex couldn’t prevent a chuckle. “Clever. And what of the others?”
“The ruby has been incorporated into a necklace that was purchased by Lord Carrington for his wife, Lady Sophia. She’s worn it on numerous occasions in public. During the season, they reside on Park Crescent. The sapphire, according to Vidocq’s sources, is in the possession of a disgraced Italian diplomat named Franco Andretti who now lives in a small village just outside Gravesend.”
Alex took a deep draught of wine. “If this information is correct—and provided this new Nightjar has the same goal as his predecessor—then we have an excellent chance of predicting where he’ll strike next.”
“Indeed we do.”
“All right, then. Tomorrow we’ll investigate the security arrangements at both the British Museum and the Carringtons’ town house. And I want to know more about the family of Louis d’Anvers. Especially his son. Do they ever attend any functions in the ton? Do we have any common acquaintances who might make an introduction?”
Seb shot him a cocky grin. “I knew you’d say that, so I strolled over to visit my great-aunt Dorothea, the Dread Dowager Duchess, this morning. She expressed amazement at seeing me clothed, shaved, and sober before midday. The old battle-ax knows everybody in the ton, and she has the memory of an elephant. Never forgets a thing. She’s like a walking, talking Debrett’s.”
Alex gestured for Seb to get