not the worst of it.” Conant gave a disgruntled sniff. “The blighter couldn’t have stolen a worse piece. The diamond he took belongs to the Prince Regent himself. He’d asked Rundell to fashion it into a pendant. Prinny wants it found as soon as possible—and the culprit prosecuted to the full extent of the law.”
Alex’s pulse kicked up at the prospect of a new challenge. Since his return from the continent last summer, he, Benedict, and Seb had helped Bow Street investigate a number of sensitive cases. Two months ago they’d foiled an attempt to rescue Bonaparte from exile on the island of St. Helena via submarine, and the Regent had shown his gratitude by awarding all three of them with titles. Benedict was now the Earl of Ware, Seb had been made the Earl of Mowbray, and Alex the illustrious Earl of Melton.
Not that Sir Nathaniel paid it any heed. He still addressed Alex as Harland.
“Just when everything’s quiet, and I think the sneaky devil’s retired, or dead, he pops up out of nowhere and steals another gem. It’s maddening, Harland. Maddening.”
“What do we know about him?” Alex asked.
“Precious little, to tell the truth.” Conant gestured at the file of papers on the table between them. “Whatever we have, it’s in there. The mode of operation is always the same; he only ever steals one gem at a time, even when he has the chance to take more. The pieces he takes are always jewels of exceptional quality—but so are the ones he leaves. And the cheeky bugger always leaves a solitary black feather in place of the missing item, as a calling card.” Conant took an indignant breath. “He’s been at it for years. His crimes stretch back over a decade, at least. And I’m sure there have been times when his feather’s been overlooked. Those bumbling clodpolls in the provinces aren’t as meticulous as you and I, when it comes to preserving evidence.”
Alex inclined his head in acknowledgment of the gruff compliment. “Presumably he leaves the feather because he wants the thefts to be known as his work?”
Conant scowled. “But why? Are those from whom he steals supposed to congratulate themselves on being members of an exclusive club? Those with the dubious honor of being one of the Nightjar’s victims?”
“Who knows? But at least it gives us a way of linking the crimes. Perhaps there’s a pattern, some logic to them? They’re not opportunistic thefts.”
“I should say not. Each one has to have been meticulously planned. No two are the same. And no evidence is ever left, save for the feather. It’s as if the man’s a wraith.”
Alex’s lips twitched in amusement. “Oh, he’s flesh and blood, I guarantee it. And sooner or later, he’ll make a mistake. Everyone does. Do you think we’re looking for an older man, since he’s been active for so long? Or a group of thieves working together?”
Conant grunted. “That’s what I expect you to find out.” He steepled his fingers, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair. “The odd thing is, the gems he steals are the kind of stones that make jewelers sit up and take notice, but they never reappear on the market. We constantly check the pawn shops, jewelers, auctions, and gem dealers. They just … disappear.”
“Maybe he doesn’t sell them. He could be an avid collector who keeps them in a private collection somewhere for his own pleasure?”
Conant snorted. “Dammed odd thing to find pleasure in, I say. Rocks? What’s wrong with cards and women, eh?” He chuckled heartily.
Alex drummed his fingers on his thigh, his mind already whirring with possibilities. He’d been praying for something to occupy his time, some challenge to enliven his current ennui. Here, at last, was an adversary worth pursuing.
“Maybe they’re being smuggled out of the country? Or maybe money’s not the Nightjar’s primary goal. You say he could steal more but restrains himself? Perhaps he has some moral code about not stealing more than one piece from any individual?”
“Moral code? Ha! A thief like that has no morals, Harland. Nor any honor. Whatever his reasons, he’ll get no mercy when he’s caught, tried, and convicted. The law is the law. We’ll see him hanged from Tyburn tree, you mark my words.”
Conant slapped his palms on the arms of the chair and pushed himself to his feet. “Rundell and Bridge aren’t keen to publicize this, obviously. They want you to investigate quietly, but I’m counting on you to catch the