It did not take long to do so. Jeremy seemed pleased. “It could be complicated, what with you sending for me and I’m maybe not even here to know it because I’m somewhere for her.”

“We will see if we can keep it from being too complicated.”

Jeremy just looked at him with a half smile on his face. Something amused him, and Chase suspected it was he himself. “What?” he asked, when that gaze continued.

“I’m just thinking how Minerva is the smartest person I know, and you seem to have your wits about you too, but neither of you can see it.”

“See what?”

“Hell, if you are going to share workers and you are going to share a bed, why don’t you just share a business?”

The notion had never entered his mind. Yet it made some sense, especially because their methods complemented each other.

Ridiculous, of course. He could name five reasons why it would never work, and might well ruin too much. Still, he had to give Jeremy some credit for his own wits.

“I will go now. Oh, I had a question on another matter. When you would visit London with the Finleys, where was the house they let?”

“Old Quebec Street. Up a ways off Oxford. It is near Portman Square.”

Chase left Jeremy to go get his breakfast, and let himself out the side portal. The image he had seen when entering the bedchamber held steady in his memory while he mounted his horse. Before Jeremy had pulled on the shirt, while he bent to the basin, marks had been visible as raised lines on his shoulders. He had been beaten at some point. Chase had seen marks like that often enough in the army, only deeper and wider, on men who had been whipped.

These scars had healed better than most. Time had gone far to fade them. That meant they were quite old, and the back on which they were laid had been young. The mere act of growing up had changed them.

Finley had been a brute with more people than his wife, it seemed.

* * *

The caller came two afternoons later. Chase was not expecting anyone, least of all this man.

Mr. Martin Monroe, the card said. Private Inquiries.

Monroe entered the sitting room and looked around, as if taking its measure and assessing its worth. Chase waited for him to do the same thing with the apartment’s owner.

A big smile beamed on Monroe’s florid face. In his early middle years, he had thickened around the middle and a few gray hairs salted his dark hair. The smile made balls form on his cheeks. The blue eyes, however, showed more shrewdness than his bonhomie manner suggested.

“I’ve come on a professional matter,” he said once they had greeted each other and he had sat. “Professional courtesy, actually. I’m told you and I share a calling.”