Henry retired to bed, and Catherine, Guy, and Owen went down to the shop, into the back room. It was there Catherine told Owen of Ainsworth’s demise.

“And you think it has something to do with the timepiece?” Owen asked. He sat next to her on the sofa, his eyes wide as he regarded her.

“It makes the most sense,” said Catherine. She looked to Guy, sitting in his chair at the worktable. “But we’ll find out for certain.”

“If someone poisoned him,” Guy started, “that person could be at the print shop.”

Catherine swallowed. “I know.”

She didn’t want to think on it, but it was too glaring to overlook. She wondered about Boyd as well, imagining him sitting in Ainsworth’s office, slipping poison into Ainsworth’s tea. He’d gotten ownership of his business—perhaps he knew Ainsworth was in search of the timepiece and wanted the device along with the newspaper.

Guy shifted in his chair. Under the lamplight, he arranged things on the desk, straightening the collection of tools. He said, “Mr. Smith, you might want to head upstairs. Sydney will be here momentarily.”

Owen stood up. “I can… I can come along if you need me to.”

“That’s all right.” Guy smiled. “Miss Daly will be going with us.”

Owen’s shoulders sagged in obvious relief. He bade them good night, leaving the room just as the clocks chimed in the shop.

Guy began rummaging through one of the desk drawers. He took out an old pocket watch, turned it about in his hand, and nodded to himself, placing it on the tabletop.

“Are you quite set on this, Mr. Nolan?”

“Yes.” His eyes shone in the dim light. “I know how it’s done. I’ve seen my father put hours into watches.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Catherine leaned forward. She held his gaze, her hands clasped tight in front of her. “I meant this course of action. Are you quite decided?”

He cast his eyes down to study the floor. “I told you,” he said, and his voice shook. “This is what I have to do. At least… at least for tonight. I agreed to it.” He glanced up at her. “I keep my word, Miss Daly.”

“Very well, then. If you insist on being honorable.”

A knock sounded at the shop entrance. Guy picked up the watch he’d set aside, a small winding key, and a lantern. Catherine followed him out of the back room, taking her coat from the rack as he pulled open the door.

Sydney Mallory was without a spade, and no cart waited on the street. Catherine supposed they were already at the cemetery. He doffed his hat. “Good evening,” he said. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” said Guy.

They headed outside, to where the lamppost in front of the shop glowed, hissing softly, and plumes of factory smoke rose up into the night. Guy closed the door behind him, locking it. And they started off in the direction of the public cemetery.