Matthew had dreaded this, but he’d known it was coming. They had to get into number twenty-one and find out whatever they could, and that meant Julian’s penchant for violence might be at free rein.

Their room did have a window that faced a brick wall, but the space was perhaps three times as large as the dairyhouse that Matthew called home in New York. The glow of a trio of oil lamps around the chamber cast merry light and spoke of the care the Mayfair Arms gave to its guests, making sure illumination was available to the gentleman who had booked the room but failed to arrive. Everything but the view was a study in good taste and expensive decoration, from the medieval tapestry that draped one wall to the black leather chairs situated around an oak table, a long black leather sofa and a canopied bed with an ornate carved headboard. The room smelled only faintly of the whale oil, but mostly of clean leather and fresh linens.

“A gold-plated bedpan is in here somewhere, I’m sure,” said Julian as he put the purloined case down on the floor. Matthew put his own stolen case on one of the chairs and then walked to a washstand that held a small mirror on a pedestal, a washbasin, a cake of soap, a handtowel and a straight razor. “I presume the well is down in the lower cellar where the peasants are laboring night and day,” Julian said. He took the saddlebag from his shoulder and tossed it on the bed, followed by his sword.

“Likely,” Matthew answered. “We’ll probably get a servant up here shortly with some water.” He peered into the mirror and saw a weary-looking stranger with four days of beard on his face. Had he ever looked so old before, and so worried?

Julian took his tricorn off. His blonde hair stood up like hay that had been attacked with a pitchfork. He eased down into one of the chairs, removed the small spurs from his boots and put his feet up on the table. When he yawned and stretched a muscle popped in his shoulder. “I could go to sleep right now and remain unconscious until morning, but it’s not to be. I’m interested in that satchel Pellegar was carrying so closely. Holding documents of value, do you think?”

“No idea.” Matthew turned away from the mirror. “You’re not going to have to kill anyone tonight, are you?”

“Absolutely not. Unless I have to.”

“I’m not in this to murder anyone.”

“Ah,” said Julian with a faint smile that Matthew took as mockery, “the man on the high wire. Balanced between his values and his purpose. If murder would save your Berry, would you refuse it? And by not committing murder, thus Berry would be doomed? What do you say?”

“I say that’s a high wire I’ve yet to cross.”