He was discomfited; I, Charles Thornfield, Sam Quillfeather, and Cyrus Sneeves had descended on him without warning. Freely do I admit that we brought the treasure he sought, and freely did we give it—expecting at any moment the arrival of another guest.
Mr. Sack, for a man who had been seeking a single prize for so many years, did not seem sufficiently glad to have it in view. Soon, I understood this was due to the fact he had loved tormenting Messrs. Thornfield and Singh with that the same glad viciousness which had caused him to tear my necklace from my throat; in addition, he suspected something amiss with the generous overture.
He was perfectly correct.
“Our demands are entirely reasonable, sir,” my solicitor droned. To Mr. Sneeves’s immense credit, confronting the East India Company sounded as if it were the duller sort of business to conduct on any given Thursday. “You are welcome to this box so long as you never reveal from whence it originated. Mention of the Punjab is acceptable, but this gentleman is to be released from all liability regarding the ownership of these gemstones. To that effect, you shall simply sign this paperwork exonerating Charles Thornfield of any wrongdoing, and I shall have it copied and delivered to any litigators in your employ.”
“Surely you will comply, Mr. Sack?” Mr. Quillfeather pressed. “You now have my full report regarding the unsolved murder of John Clements, and the killer is beyond the punishment of mortals. All this, and a fortune in recovered property—what could be a happier circumstance?”
Charles Thornfield, meanwhile, continued to say nothing. When we had learnt the true intentions of the Company soldiers from Inspector Quillfeather, he had expressed profound relief; the sight of Augustus Sack, however, predictably wreaked havoc with his digestion. He sat expressionless before the political, one finger framing his temple, boring holes into the enemy with his pupils.
“You’ve forgot your gloves, Thornfield,” the Company man hissed.
“Lucky for you, or I would be challenging you to a duel with ’em,” Mr. Thornfield drawled. “Are you ready to steal a little girl’s property, Auggie, or shall we keep gassing? The box sits before you. You’ve won. It’s the last pound of my flesh and Sardar’s you’ll be taking.”
“And exactly how does she come into this, then?” Mr. Sack’s full lips curled in a sneer. “Miss Jane Stone, governess, who claimed to have robbed you of the trunk and then was hauled off in a police wagon. What am I to make of it?”
“A profit, I had presumed,” said I. Footsteps sounded in the hallway outside. Glancing from Mr. Quillfeather to Mr. Thornfield, I could not suppress a tiny pursed smile.
There was no knock. There was no warning. There was simply a tattoo of approaching footsteps and then the door banged open, revealing a half dozen Company soldiers and the man they all referred to as the Director.
“Oh, thank heaven,” Mr. Thornfield sighed, crossing his legs. “I was on the verge of physical violence.”
“Sir,” spluttered Mr. Sack. “I . . . You are most welcome. To what do I owe the honour—er, pleasure—of this visit?”
The soldiers from the previous day, resplendent in their white and red coats, formed a neat file behind their leader. The Director was a tall man, impeccably dressed in sober black with silver trimmings; he carried a cane but seemed not to require its use, and his face called to mind a dignified greyhound, lean and efficient. He tapped twice with his cane upon the carpet.
“Inspector Quillfeather, I offer you my congratulations.” The Director’s voice was high but firm. “Charles Thornfield, it has been too long, too long indeed, sir. It is a pleasure to see you in better health.”
Mr. Sack sank back into his desk chair like a deflated balloon.
“By the Lord, you’re in fine fettle, sir.” Mr. Thornfield offered his hand to the head of the Company. “Thank you for meeting us.”
“You have made it well worth my while.” The Director smiled coldly. “I was informed by Mr. Quillfeather here that you were being . . . how shall I put this . . . meddled with by certain of my staff. I at once launched my own internal investigation, and I have it on good authority that you are a wronged man. Naturally, the happy recovery of the item in question also sparked my keen interest, and I lost no time in sending a small body of troops to your residence after I had