The Black Mask by Cynthia Bailey Pratt Page B

Lady Fitzmonroe’s, hoping the air would drive Rose from his head. He saw she could easily make a fool of him, bringing him to break his resolutions, now on the point of their completion. He had not thought himself so weak when it came to temptation, but seeing her there alone, he’d been unable to resist talking to her. It would have been pleasant to kiss her, but her aunt’s timely arrival had prevented it.
    Just as well. One did not kiss girls of Rose Spenser’s respectability unless marriage was in one’s mind. And nothing could be farther from his thoughts, no matter what his attorney thought.
    “Enough of compliments,” he said. “Let’s to business.”
    “Good.” Beringer finished his wine as well. “As I indicated in my note, certain facts have come to my attention. Facts which, as a friend, I am happy to hold my tongue about.”
    “I accept.”
    Beringer held up his hand. “I like all my clients to know a few things before they accept my friendship.”
    “All your clients?”
    The heavyset man looked a trifle embarrassed. “Many people have secrets, Sir Niles. No one is perfect. Frequently, as with yourself, these are secrets better kept from society’s ears.”
    “And so you keep the proof secure.”
    “Precisely.”
    “For a price.”
    He spread wide his hands. “What would you? A man must live, and I, unfortunately, did not receive those gifts which enable me to live as I please. I like to live well, as you can see.”
    “I am yearning to know what part you envision for me in your life of leisure.”
    “A few hundred a year. You won’t even miss it. Surely keeping your secret is worth that. Imagine what you would lose if it became known your dearest friend and closest relation died so ignominiously and under such a black cloud.”
    “True. Very well. I shall send you a check in the morning.”
    “Excellent. Now, as to the rest of my... reward?”
    “What else?” Niles sank down again in his chair.
    “Among intimate friends, many secrets are exchanged. Perhaps you know some things I should also know. For instance, why Felicia Sanderling had to retire so suddenly from the Season last year. Dale Sanderling is one of your friends, I believe. And the question of the Countess of Danforth’s pearls has long been exercising my mind. Does her husband know they were exchanged for fakes?”
    “I don’t know those things, and if I did, I shouldn’t tell you. I wouldn’t deliver my friends to your bloodsucking ways.”
    Beringer didn’t flush or show any sensitivity to the insult. He simply went on in the most natural style. “But that is part of the price. Didn’t you understand me? Two secrets a year and five hundred pounds. Then no one need know of Christian’s little fault.”
    “Who told you of it?”
    “Of what?”
    “‘Christian’s little fault.’ Which of my friends is already in your clutches, Beringer?”
    “I don’t wish to create ill feeling, so I shan’t tell you. Rest assured, however, that your secret is safe with me.”
    Niles knew no one except Crenshaw knew the facts in Christian’s case, Crenshaw and the three men who had betrayed him to his doom. He studied Beringer. The once trim officer had run to fat with his civilian ways. Yet Niles didn’t underestimate his opponent. He still retained enough strength and speed to make a stand-up fight a very chancy business. His gray eyes were never still, flicking over Niles, anticipating any move toward violence.
    “Very well,” Niles said, sighing and sitting back as though he’d become boneless. “I’ll find out the answers.”
    “Are you certain you don’t know them already?”
    “You’ll want proof, I’m sure.”
    “Always acceptable. Documentary evidence is so hard to argue against.”
    “You haven’t shown me any evidence.”
    “It is here.” From under the blotter, Beringer pulled out a thin dossier. “All the facts—dates, times, accusations, affidavits. Sworn to by his two dearest friends, who