“Have a drink, John,” he said, setting them on the desk. “Let us speak as friends.”

Grey had it in mind to refuse, but on second thought, it might be helpful. If Trevelyan felt relaxed, he might divulge more than otherwise—and wine had certainly worked to induce a spirit of cooperation in Nessie.

He gave a small nod of acquiescence, and accepted the cup, though he did not drink from it until Trevelyan was likewise equipped. The Cornishman sat back, looking quite unruffled, and lifted his cup a little.

“What shall we drink to, John?”

The gall of the man was staggering—and rather admirable, he had to admit. He lifted his own cup, unsmiling.

“To the truth, sir.”

“Oh? Oh, by all means—to the truth!” Still smiling, though with a slight expression of wariness, Trevelyan drained his cup.

It was a tawny sherry, and a good one, though it hadn’t settled adequately.

“Just off a ship from Jerez,” Trevelyan said, waving at the jug with an air of apology. “The best I had to hand, I’m afraid.”

“It is very good. Thank you,” Grey said repressively. “Now—”

“Have another?” Not pausing for reply, Trevelyan refilled both cups. He lowered the jug, and at last took notice of the square of discolored velvet, sitting on his desk like a toad. He prodded it gingerly with a forefinger.

“I . . . ah . . . confess that I am at something of a loss, John. Does this object have some significance of which I should be aware?”

Grey cursed himself silently for letting the man leave the room; damn it, he’d had time to think, and had obviously decided that a ploy of determined ignorance was best.

“That bit of cloth was taken from the garment on a corpse,” he said, keeping his voice level. “A murdered woman.”

Sure enough, Trevelyan’s left eye twitched, just slightly, and a small, fierce surge of satisfaction burned in Grey’s heart. He did know!

“God rest her soul, poor creature.” Trevelyan folded the cloth over once, quite gently, so the worst of the blood was hidden. “Who was she? What happened to her?”

“The magistrate is choosing to keep that information private for the moment,” Grey said pleasantly, and was rewarded by the jumping of a muscle in Trevelyan’s jaw at the word “magistrate.” “However, I understand that certain evidence was discovered, suggesting a connexion between this woman and yourself. Given the sordid circumstances, I am afraid that I cannot allow your attachment to my cousin to continue.”

“What evidence?” Trevelyan had got control of himself again, and was exhibiting precisely the right degree of outrage. “There cannot possibly be anything linking . . . whoever this creature is, to me!”