Of course it could be that Brazio simply liked Amarone and was planning to get drunk on it after the funeral, but … thirteen years a good age for Amarone? Spoken like someone who understood and valued the aging process.

A vineyard worker? Or a vineyard owner?

“Those are my qualifications,” said Firebaugh. “I hope they suit the purpose.”

Professor Fell again slid his hand back and forth across the book, as if caressing it as Matthew had seen Julian caress the four-barrelled bastard. It was a time before he spoke. “I am going to have this taken to the hospital and locked up. You’ll be given a key. You will note that there are two differing handwritings in this: those of Jonathan Gentry and Gustav Ribbenhoff. The former created the great majority of the potions and the latter added to them. The drug that has afflicted Miss Grigsby was concocted in this fashion, therefore you can follow Ribbenhoff’s scribing to decipher the formula, with the knowledge that Gentry’s handwriting will be by far the predominant.” The amber eyes levelled at Firebaugh. “Are you up to this task, sir?”

“I think I am.”

“Not what I asked. Are you, or are you not?”

Firebaugh lifted the red-bearded chin. “I am, sir.”

“Go to the tavern and get something to eat and drink. Then you also go see Belyard, make your introduction and have your injuries examined. That ear in particular looks in need of attention. I’ll find a house for you and some clothes … if you don’t mind wearing the clothing of someone recently dead?”

“Ribbenhoff, I presume?”

“I believe they would fit you,” said Fell. “He had a very sophisticated wardrobe, as a matter of fact. The Prussians are like that.”

Pah! Matthew thought.

Firebaugh stood up. “I will wear Dr. Ribbenhoff’s clothing for the present, but I would like my own suits tailored for myself. Is that possible?”

“Possible,” Fell answered. “Prove your worth on Miss Grigsby’s behalf, and we shall proceed from that point. Now go back to the square and get a meal. I’ll summon you when your house is ready. Hudson, you may escort him to—”

“He can find his own way,” Hudson said.

“There it is again.” Fell smiled coldly. The feral killer’s gleam in his eyes had returned. “Guest or not … my patience with you is not unlimited.”

“I’m going now. Thank you, sir,” said Firebaugh, who suddenly was in a hurry to get out of the study, down the stairs and out of the house.

When the doctor was gone, Fell laced his blue-veined hands together atop the desk and drew a long, deep breath. “Who was behind the mortar vessel? Someone other than Black, I know.”

“Vice Admiral Samson Lash of the Royal Navy,” Julian replied. “Working in partnership with Black.”

“And they are both dead?”

“I have no doubt Lash is dead. As for Black …” Julian shrugged.