“Very good.” Ed clapped Owen on the shoulder. “We’ll make an inspector of you yet.”

Owen beamed at the praise, and Daniel chided himself once more. It would cost him nothing to be nicer to the young man, to encourage him in his pursuit of becoming a Bow Street officer. From what Ed had said, Owen had acquitted himself well during the raid on the rally.

Thomas Fyfe met them outside the interrogation room, his waistcoat straining over his substantial middle and his pipe clamped firmly between his lips even at this early hour of the morning. The bowl of meerschaum, now yellowed with age and use, had been carved into the likeness of Admiral Lord Nelson and was Fyfe’s pride.

“You have something interesting?” Daniel kept his voice low since they were directly outside Sir Michael’s office. He hated feeling as if he had to slink around out of sight of his superior, but at the moment he wasn’t up for another confrontation.

“Fellow says he has plenty of information, and he’ll spill it if we’ll tell the magistrate he helped out.” Fyfe had no such reservations about not lowering his voice, and Daniel winced.

“Let’s see what he has to say, then.”

An hour later Daniel wanted to pound the walls with frustration. The suspect had led them a merry dance, hinting and retreating, afraid or clinging to loyalty or just buying time to come up with more lies.

“Let’s go over this again. Mr. Finch had you recruiting workers at your place of business, gathering men to the cause?” Fyfe blew out a billow of smoke.

Daniel blinked, wishing for a window he could open. The room was stale with smoke, the dregs of their teacups, and the smell of an unwashed, nervous male.

“That’s right.” The man, one Ulrich Reading, turned his empty teacup on the table. “It was all Finch’s idea.”

The moment Reading had named Finch, Ed had gone upstairs for a warrant. At least they had made that much progress.

“What about the morning of the first? Were you in Hammersmith? Was Finch?” Daniel asked, though they had been over this ground once before. He wanted to pin down the details, to determine if the man was lying.

Because everyone lied, especially to the police.

Reading’s face screwed up in noncomprehension. “Hammersmith? I hain’t ever been to Hammersmith in my life. And Finch wasn’t there that morning either. We was … busy elsewhere.” His voice tapered off.

“If you were not in Hammersmith, where were you, what were you doing, and who were you with?” Daniel asked. “Enough of this game playing.”

“But I already told you what I know.”

“I don’t believe you.”