may be nothing, but one of the rare jungle plants from New Guinea has also been murdered.”
Cupping his hands to his face, Marco pressed close to the glass and watched to make sure that the flicker of lamplight was not returning.
“Finally,” he muttered under his breath, seeing no sign of movement through the thick foliage. He gave it a few more moments, just to be sure, before easing open the outer door and slipping inside.
The sky was shrouded by a thin scrim of clouds, dimming the glow from the crescent moon. The air was still, and aside from the sound of dripping water close by, the cavernous space was as silent as a grave.
An apt metaphor, he decided. Mist pooled around his ankles as he walked lightly along the mossy bricks, adding to the eerie atmosphere. He half expected to see the spectral figure of Charon glide out from the shadows, ferrying the dead across the silvery River Styx.
Stop seeing ghosts. Marco paused to get his bearings. A cluster of tropical trees loomed large in their terra-cotta pots, their jagged jungle shapes taking on a menacing cast in the gloom.
Phantoms. Figments of his imagination. For the space of several heartbeats, Marco lost track of why he was here.
Helping a damsel in distress?
His inner compass was behaving oddly, he thought ruefully, its needle swinging erratically from east to west, from north to south. No doubt Kate could explain in great detail how magnetic forces within the earth could play havoc with a delicate scientific instrument, he thought glumly.
He didn’t need a technical treatise to define what hidden current was exerting an inexorable pull on him. Kate Woodbridge was a powerful force of nature unto herself, and much as he tried to resist the pull, it was becoming increasingly harder to hold firm.
If only, if only… The tiny back-and-forth ticking of the compass point seemed to mock his innermost feelings, the ones he kept locked deep inside. Be damned with foolish longings that would never be said aloud.
“Damn.” The oath trailed off into the surrounding tangle of leaves. Reversing directions, Marco made his way back to the outer pathway. Moving around the perimeter of the octagonal sanctuary would bring him to the section where Von Seilig’s body had been discovered.
“Murdered?” said Cluyne. “That is not humorous, Lady Fenimore.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.” Charlotte frowned. “I noticed that it was missing and on closer inspection noted that it had been snipped at the roots.”
“You must be mistaken. The head gardener always informs me if any plant dies. Especially a valuable specimen.”
“I am quite certain,” insisted Charlotte. “In fact, Kate and I were examining it just yesterday, and it was in perfect health.”
“You mean to say the Nerilida toxinsis is missing?” she asked.
Charlotte nodded.
“Bloody hell,” she exclaimed, then darted an apologetic look at her grandfather. “Forgive my language. But that is not only an extremely esoteric, exotic plant, it’s an extremely dangerous one.”
“Are you sure?” asked Cluyne in a low voice.
“Yes,” replied Kate. “It’s not common knowledge, but if the beans from the seed pods are boiled with any type of alcoholic liquid, the resulting syrup makes a very potent poison. The native tribes use fermented coconut milk, but brandy or port will also work.” She gave an involuntary shudder. “It is used to coat arrowheads and is far more lethal than South American curare. It’s harmless if ingested, but a tiny nick from a tainted tip or blade can kill a man within a minute. And it leaves no trace—it simply seems that the victim died of heart failure.”
The duke paled. “But only an expert in botany would know that,” he said slowly.
Charlotte looked pensive. “Von Seilig was very interested in plants, wasn’t he?”
“I trust you aren’t suggesting that he murdered himself,” said Kate, more sharply than she intended.
“No, but…” Charlotte shook her head. “I am not quite sure what to think. It’s simply a strange coincidence.”
More than strange, thought Kate. It was sinister. Though, for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why the disappearance of an obscure plant would have any bearing on the colonel’s murder. Feeling a pain begin to pulse against her temples, she turned away from the glare of the wall sconce.
“I confess, it’s sinister. It was a young specimen, and there weren’t many beans. But enough to make a small amount of poison.”
The three of them stood in silence for several long moments before the duke spoke up. “I think we ought to send to Bow