“Why,” Sydney began, “should I tell you anything when you’ve lied to me?”

“I haven’t lied to you.”

“No? You’re not a good liar, Guy. I can see the shape of it.” Sydney pointed at the door. “Is Mr. Smith staying here? He ought to be in a poorhouse if he can’t find work. How do you even know him?” Rounding on Catherine, Sydney continued. “And you, Miss Daly—you’re seeking this timepiece, yes?”

Catherine stood up. “Mr. Mallory, pardon my saying so, but I don’t see how any of this is your business.”

“You’re asking for my help. That makes it my business.” Sydney peered up at the ceiling before looking to Guy, his eyes alight with curiosity. “He was dead, wasn’t he? Mr. Smith. I can’t fathom why else he’s here, all of a sudden, and you’re so keen on finding this timepiece, all of a sudden. It’s worked its magic on him.”

Catherine drew in a breath. “Mr. Mallory—”

“You can’t tell anyone, Sydney.” Guy’s voice took on a pleading edge. “He hasn’t any memory of who he was.”

Catherine said, “Mr. Ainsworth at the Chronicle is the one who wants the timepiece. He thought it was buried in Mr. Smith’s plot.”

Sydney raised an eyebrow. “And it wasn’t?”

“No. But Mr. Smith returned to life, so it’s likely somewhere near there.”

“I see.” Sydney pressed his knuckles to his mouth. He looked between the two of them. “Perhaps you ought to bring Mr. Smith to the university.”

Guy bristled. “To the medical department? Why ever would we do that?”

“They’d want to see him, most assuredly,” said Sydney with a smile. “It’s a strange sort of magic that’s brought him back.”

“Well, it’ll be his decision,” Guy replied. “And I doubt very much he’ll want to step foot there after you spoke of it so horrifically.”

Sydney moved past him to the door, his smile widening. “Ask him. I’ll stop by in the morning—he can give me his answer then.” He set a hand on the doorknob. Turning back around, he added, “And there’s to be a funeral tomorrow at the public cemetery. I’ll need your services come nightfall.”

“No,” Guy snapped. “You haven’t given us any information.”

“For that, you may want to come along to the university.” With a nod at Catherine, Sydney left the room, closing the door behind him.

The bell above the shop door chimed as he headed out.

Guy closed his eyes, releasing a sigh. “That didn’t go as well as I’d hoped,” he said.

Catherine looked away. It wasn’t what she’d hoped for, either.

Guy opened the door, letting in more light, and positioned the chair Sydney had sat in so it was flush against the worktable. Reaching across it, he put out the lamp.

“Miss Daly.” He glanced her way. “Shall we see where he’s gone?”

He meant Owen. She couldn’t hear anything from upstairs, the quiet broken only by the soft, collected ticking of the clocks in the next room. She nodded, and they started for the stairs together.