“Perhaps Mr. Williams is right.” Guy fidgeted with his glasses. “Perhaps it’s tucked away in a shop someplace.”

From outside the back room, the bell above the front door chimed. And then there was Owen’s voice, saying, “Mr. Nolan? Hello?” He reached the doorway, looking in at them, and evidently he’d been out in the rain. The shoulder cape of his overcoat was damp, the hat in his hands dripping water onto the floor. He winced. “Sorry. I’ll clean that up. Hello, Miss Daly. How did things go at the print shop?”

Guy looked despairingly at the puddle as Owen shrugged off his coat and took a seat beside Catherine on the sofa. She said, “Well, I have my job back. And we visited the morgue. Mr. Ainsworth was poisoned with arsenic.”

“My word, have you two just been sitting here discussing murder?”

Guy grimaced and began tidying his work space. Catherine said, “You seem in a pleasant mood, Mr. Smith. Did you secure an apprenticeship?”

With a sigh, Owen fell back against the cushions. The color was high in his cheeks from the chill air, his hazel eyes dark. “Unfortunately, no one had need of me.” He turned his head to look at her. “What am I to do, Miss Daly? I need direction.”

“You can accompany us to the cemetery, if you like. We’re going to have another look in the church ruins.”

Owen blanched. He looked Guy’s way and stood up, leaning his hands upon the worktable. He gazed over the strewn instruments and pocket watches. “You’re set on this venture as well, Mr. Nolan?”

Guy took the magnifying loupe from his glasses and put it aside. The watch remained suspended in the movement holder, golden gears exposed. “We were rather hoping you’d come with us, Mr. Smith. All the better to have you along—and you might remember something.”

“Watchmen patrol the cemetery, don’t they?” said Owen.

“Sometimes,” Guy said, and then added, “We’ll be careful.”

Owen frowned. “I’ve already been murdered once, thank you very much. I’m not keen on giving someone else a chance.”

Standing up, Catherine placed a hand on his arm. “We won’t be there all night. Mr. Nolan and I already had a look around. We need only search the rest of the church.”

When the three of them reached the cemetery gates, the sun had set. Clouds and coal dust obscured the starlight, and the shadows stretched long across the dirt pathways. The old church looked to be another sepulcher in the darkness, a mass of weathered stone between the trees.

The lantern Guy held was their only light source. Catherine walked beside him, the flame within the glass illuminating the muddy earth and rain-slicked grave markers. They moved off the trail, heading over the wet grass. Owen slipped, and Guy caught him by the arm, hauling him upright.

“I did not think I’d be back here so soon,” said Owen. “After—after that night, I did not want to set foot here again.”