to help himself to whatever valuables he’s had time to reconnoiter.”
“It’s a clever scheme,” Lesley granted. “But having reasoned it out, why does Bow Street need me? Why don’t you plant a few of your number among the guests?”
“We’ve done that, my lord, to no avail,” Fisk replied, a hint of chagrin in his voice. “Apparently, we stick out like bandaged thumbs, and we have been forced to conclude that anyone can masquerade as a footman, but only a gentleman can play the part of a gentleman.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” Lesley agreed, only a bit smugly, “but why, then, don’t you pass yourselves off as footmen?”
“That, too, has been considered, but for two reasons discarded. One, Bow Street lacks sufficient manpower to infiltrate the staff of every Society establishment in London, and second, there is a great pressure being applied to apprehend these thieves. A close friend of the Regent, robbed of over ten thousand pounds in objects d’art, made appeal to His Highness, who has taken an interest in the matter.”
“Poor fellow.” Lesley tsk ed piteously, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “You are in a coil.”
“A bit of one, yes,” Fisk granted, smiling back at him. “But then, my lord, so are you.”
“Yes, well.” Lesley frowned sourly. “We are nearing Mayfair, and you’ve yet to say precisely what it is you want me to do.”
“I want you to appear again as the gentleman in the black mask.”
“To what end?”
“To this end, my lord.” Fisk hunched more eagerly over his cane. “Based on the Baroness Blumfield’s reputation, I’m certain, the story of the man in the black mask will have spread all over London by evening. Her ladyship is convinced he’s the thief who attempted last night’s robbery.”
It hadn’t occurred to Lesley to wonder how the old dragon had heard the tale when Fisk had mentioned her earlier, but he did now. Was the connection his mind instantly made between the baroness, the bruise on his cheek, and the little minx who’d put it there—who had also believed him a thief—as logical as it seemed?
“Did the old besom happen to say how she came to hear the story?”
“No, my lord, she didn’t,” Fisk replied, stifling a grin, “for we were interrupted at that point by morning callers.”
“I should very much like to know how she heard of him,” Lesley said, frowning thoughtfully.
“I intend to question the baroness again and will ask her. Now.” Fisk glanced out the window to check their progress, then continued. “There is among thieves a degree of professional courtesy. Simply, one does not poach on another’s territory; to do so would be considered a serious breach. And here, my lord, is where you enter in. If the thieves hear of the man in the black mask, and thanks to the Baroness Blumfield and her tongue they surely will, and are given to believe he’s encroaching upon their preserve.”
“Good God!” Lesley exploded, so suddenly that Fisk started and nearly dropped his cane. “You intend to use me as bait for your hook!”
“Not in the sense of being swallowed by the fish,” Fisk corrected hurriedly, “but merely as a lure, my lord, an enticement to draw them out.”’
“And what if it does? Draw them out, I mean? Where will you be?”
“Near enough at hand to lend whatever assistance may be required.”
Folding his arms, Lesley eyed the smallish, narrow-framed Runner dubiously. “Forgive my plain speaking, Fisk, but that’s not a great deal of comfort.”
“Appearances sometimes deceive, my lord,” he replied without umbrage. “And I shouldn’t worry if I were you. As neatly as you took Sir Alex, I doubt that a lone thief will cause you much trouble.”
“A moment ago we were dealing with thieves.”
“Oh, we are, my lord, for definitely the man on the inside has outside accomplices, but we have only to apprehend one.” Fisk smiled as the barouche slowed to negotiate a corner.
“It’s a clever scheme,” Lesley granted. “But having reasoned it out, why does Bow Street need me? Why don’t you plant a few of your number among the guests?”
“We’ve done that, my lord, to no avail,” Fisk replied, a hint of chagrin in his voice. “Apparently, we stick out like bandaged thumbs, and we have been forced to conclude that anyone can masquerade as a footman, but only a gentleman can play the part of a gentleman.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” Lesley agreed, only a bit smugly, “but why, then, don’t you pass yourselves off as footmen?”
“That, too, has been considered, but for two reasons discarded. One, Bow Street lacks sufficient manpower to infiltrate the staff of every Society establishment in London, and second, there is a great pressure being applied to apprehend these thieves. A close friend of the Regent, robbed of over ten thousand pounds in objects d’art, made appeal to His Highness, who has taken an interest in the matter.”
“Poor fellow.” Lesley tsk ed piteously, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “You are in a coil.”
“A bit of one, yes,” Fisk granted, smiling back at him. “But then, my lord, so are you.”
“Yes, well.” Lesley frowned sourly. “We are nearing Mayfair, and you’ve yet to say precisely what it is you want me to do.”
“I want you to appear again as the gentleman in the black mask.”
“To what end?”
“To this end, my lord.” Fisk hunched more eagerly over his cane. “Based on the Baroness Blumfield’s reputation, I’m certain, the story of the man in the black mask will have spread all over London by evening. Her ladyship is convinced he’s the thief who attempted last night’s robbery.”
It hadn’t occurred to Lesley to wonder how the old dragon had heard the tale when Fisk had mentioned her earlier, but he did now. Was the connection his mind instantly made between the baroness, the bruise on his cheek, and the little minx who’d put it there—who had also believed him a thief—as logical as it seemed?
“Did the old besom happen to say how she came to hear the story?”
“No, my lord, she didn’t,” Fisk replied, stifling a grin, “for we were interrupted at that point by morning callers.”
“I should very much like to know how she heard of him,” Lesley said, frowning thoughtfully.
“I intend to question the baroness again and will ask her. Now.” Fisk glanced out the window to check their progress, then continued. “There is among thieves a degree of professional courtesy. Simply, one does not poach on another’s territory; to do so would be considered a serious breach. And here, my lord, is where you enter in. If the thieves hear of the man in the black mask, and thanks to the Baroness Blumfield and her tongue they surely will, and are given to believe he’s encroaching upon their preserve.”
“Good God!” Lesley exploded, so suddenly that Fisk started and nearly dropped his cane. “You intend to use me as bait for your hook!”
“Not in the sense of being swallowed by the fish,” Fisk corrected hurriedly, “but merely as a lure, my lord, an enticement to draw them out.”’
“And what if it does? Draw them out, I mean? Where will you be?”
“Near enough at hand to lend whatever assistance may be required.”
Folding his arms, Lesley eyed the smallish, narrow-framed Runner dubiously. “Forgive my plain speaking, Fisk, but that’s not a great deal of comfort.”
“Appearances sometimes deceive, my lord,” he replied without umbrage. “And I shouldn’t worry if I were you. As neatly as you took Sir Alex, I doubt that a lone thief will cause you much trouble.”
“A moment ago we were dealing with thieves.”
“Oh, we are, my lord, for definitely the man on the inside has outside accomplices, but we have only to apprehend one.” Fisk smiled as the barouche slowed to negotiate a corner.
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