That’s enough to make even Prinny’s glitter-loving heart beat faster.” He replaced it and poured out three glasses of brandy from the decanter on the sideboard. He offered the first to Alex. “Drink? You look as if you could do with it. Stayed up all night making sure our little thief didn’t abscond with the goods, did you?”
“Something like that.”
Seb shot him a knowing look. “I’m sure you went above and beyond the call of duty. We all know how conscientious you are, Harland.”
Alex sent him a hard glare and Seb grinned. “While you were enjoying your bucolic interlude with our delightful captive—”
“Recovering stolen property,” Alex amended.
“As I said. While you were showing the lovely Miss Danvers the error of her larcenous ways, we found a witness to the Italian’s murder.”
Alex let out a shocked breath. “You did? Bloody brilliant!”
Seb shrugged, pretending a modesty he most assuredly didn’t possess. The man was as arrogant as they came. “Why, thank you. It was rather well done, if I do say so myself.”
“Tell me everything.”
“Well, when we got to Gravesend, we poked around a bit and heard mention of a servant missing from Andretti’s household. The local constabulary hadn’t been able to find him and assumed he was either party to the murder, or had himself been killed and his body disposed of by the murderer.”
Alex shook his head as he lowered himself into one of the comfy wing armchairs that flanked the fire. “That makes no sense. The black feather at the crime scene points the finger squarely at the Nightjar. Why would he kill the servant and hide his body when he made no attempt to conceal the murder of the Italian?”
“I didn’t say the locals were the sharpest nibs in the inkpot, did I? I begin to see why Conant holds them in such contempt.”
Benedict nodded. “They really were a bunch of amateurs. Couldn’t find a clue if it was tied to their coattails.”
Seb sent him a droll look. “But we digress. We told the locals we didn’t believe in the missing servant’s guilt and let them know that if he ever presented himself at Bow Street, he would receive a fair hearing. I even hinted there would be a financial reward for information.”
Alex nodded. “Good thinking.”
“Yesterday, an Italian by the name of Stefano Mancini sent a message to Bow Street to meet at a tavern down by the East India docks.” Seb’s mouth kicked up in a mocking grin.
“Mancini witnessed the entire thing,” Benedict said. “He was about to deliver his master’s usual post-dinner tipple when an ‘Eenglish gentleman’ arrived and was shown into the study. Mancini, the perfect servant, heard raised voices and decided to listen at the door. Since it was good, solid English oak, he could hear very little, so he sneaked around the side of the house to see what was happening through the study window. It was dark outside, so he was fairly certain he wouldn’t be seen from within.”
“Very commendable,” Alex said snidely.
Seb glared at Benedict for taking over the tale and continued. “He saw his master remove a painting from the wall and open the safe that was hidden behind it. Unfortunately, whatever the English gentleman wanted was not inside. The Englishman grew agitated. Mancini saw him pull a pistol from his cloak and threaten Andretti. Andretti held up his hands and went to his writing desk, one he’d brought over from Italy. He reached inside a drawer, released a secret compartment, and withdrew a large, blue stone.
“This, apparently, was what the Englishman had been after. He pocketed the stone, gestured for Andretti to sit, and calmly shot him in the head. Mancini, quite justifiably, believed he would be next. He ran away and hid in a nearby farmer’s cowshed. When he was certain the murderer had gone, he returned to the house, packed his few belongings, helped himself to the contents of the safe, and hightailed it to London.”
“His plan,” Benedict interrupted again, “was to catch a boat back to his native Genoa, but he was robbed and beaten on the way back to his lodgings. With no money, and no other options, he decided to contact Bow Street and claim the reward for information about Andretti’s killer.”
Alex leaned forward. “Can he positively identify Danton?”
“Without a doubt,” Seb said. “And he’s willing to testify. He’s keen to see his master’s killer brought to justice. Conant’s put him in a safehouse in Whitehall under guard until we catch Danton.”
Alex nodded. “Along