“No, no,” said Dr. Lightner, “we've been through that, he was in no way involved except that I instructed him to deliver the bodies to you.”

“Since he is a kidnapper,” said Hiram Stratton, “it would not surprise me if he were also a murderer. It is for trial that I bring him back to New York. I spawned a criminal and as a criminal he will be treated.”

The man is happy, thought Camilla. He looks forward to throwing his own child to the jackals. He rejoices at the thought of his son suffering.

Why? Because the son is beautiful while he is gross? Because the son is kind while he believes in cruelty? Or because Hiram Stratton, Sr., is truly evil?

Hiram Stratton could not be allowed to continue. Such verbiage would simply ruin the festivities. Lady Clementine and the ambassador's wife bustled about, tugging here and there to line the guests up for their entry into the dining room.

“My dear Miss Matthews,” said the French ambassador.

I am not evil, thought Camilla, but I am in its neighborhood. Having placed young Stratton in jeopardy, I must now save him. The sandal, in fact, is minor. Kidnapping and assault are not. I cannot let his father have him.

She smiled at the French ambassador, who said, “Might I escort you to the dinner table, my dear, where if you will be so kind, I will seat you next to our guest of honor.”

Camilla's bare arm rubbed against the sleeve of Hiram Stratton's dinner jacket. Her left hand brushed his when she picked up a fork and he a spoon.

She was unable to eat, but in a world where fainting delicate women were prized, failure to eat was much admired. She was unable to speak, but in a world where only the words of men had value, a quiet woman was a jewel.

“My dear Miss Matthews,” said Hiram Stratton, “I detest a woman who babbles and you, dear girl, have a great capacity for silence. What a pleasure. I have never permitted one of my wives to chatter.”

“One of your wives, sir?”

“I am in the midst of divorcing my fourth.”

It was an admission so outrageous, Camilla could not believe he had said it in public. Even to use the word divorce at an elegant gathering like this was vulgar. She trembled at the suffering of those four women, sharing a life and a bed with this monster. “I assume your fourth wife babbled,” she said.

“Precisely.” Hiram Stratton laughed hugely and spilled red wine. “And demanded and whined and argued. A man cannot be expected to put up with that.”

“Of course not,” said Camilla.

“Miss Matthews,” said Hiram Stratton very softly, “you are a fine detective. Nothing escapes you, does it? You should know, my dear, that nothing escapes me either.”

Their eyes met. What could he mean? Had he already discerned that she was making plans for Strat's escape?