“Consider this,” Hudson replied at the door with the nice warm hood up over his head. “If I wished to escape from you, how many times today might I have done that? Of course you were carrying your pistol—an unnecessary weight on you, I believe, that you’re now paying for—and you might’ve shot me right there in broad daylight with a hundred thousand people as witnesses, but the truth is that I could’ve wrested that gun from you at any time and easily escaped. But as I told the professor … why would I want to escape? I’m going along to protect Matthew. It would be folly to turn my back on him, and a disgrace to me. So rest easy, Hugh … I’ll get my drink and come right back. Can I bring you anything?”

“New legs,” Guinnessey said.

Hudson gave a chortle, went out and closed the door.

At the end of the corridor he went down the long curving emerald-green-carpeted staircase into the realm of the rich. A huge fireplace bordered with green and white tiles burned merrily, warming a few swells and their female swellettes who lounged about in the voluptuous chairs. He looked about and saw none of the three others Fell had brought along for this jaunt: Kirby, Sanderson and Dawes, all of them somewhat brighter and harder to deal with than Guinnessey, which was why Hudson had volunteered to share a room with him though the volunteering had to seem to be Hugh’s idea. That bastard Stalker had been left in charge of the village, so God help the village.

As for the village, Hudson considered that Julian Devane had managed a neat vanishing act after putting the blade to Lazarus Firebaugh and destroying the book of potions. He understood that McBray had opened the back gate and allowed Devane to amble down to the harbor. And why wouldn’t he? Devane was no prisoner there, and in fact he was a valued member of the organization. Hudson had heard that Fell took the news in gloomy silence but with the larger prospect of the Italian trip ahead, what was he to do?

Matthew had been interrogated about the incident by Stalker. Did he know anything of it? No, Matthew had said. It must’ve happened while he was having tea with Berry.

Having tea with Berry, Hudson thought with a suppressed grin. In his youth it was called something else.

For his money—all four shillings of it at the moment—Devane was not all bad.

Hudson lowered the hood of his coat and strode directly across the soft heaven of carpet to the clerk’s desk.

“Yes sir?” asked the young man on duty.

“I need a sheet of paper, writing materials and an envelope.”

“At once, sir.”