All traces of the previous case involving art theft and hidden codes had been removed, and the blackboard and corkboards were clear. The majority of the space was now taken up by training materials to teach agility and balance and strength. Uncle Bertie practiced his balance by standing on two small blocks while wielding a sword. He mimicked thrusts, parries, and ripostes while staying up on the wooden plinths.

Father belied his breeding and all instruction in proper deportment by lounging in a wingback chair with one leg thrown casually over the arm. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Swann was certain Garfield had been murdered?”

Juliette nodded. “He said Mr. Montgomery had been shot. Viscount Coatsworth was with him when they found the body, and he confirmed it. They both felt Agatha had to be told the whole truth from the beginning.”

“Is there any chance it was not a bullet but something in the explosion that …” Her mother trailed off with a small wave of her hand.

“Unlikely.” Uncle Bertie lowered his sword and hopped off the blocks. He reached for a towel and then shook first one leg, then the other, as if to work out the fatigue his exercise had created. “I imagine our Mr. Swann has seen his fair share of bullet holes. The question is who did it, and why?”

“Exactly.” Juliette tapped the table lightly with her fist. “Whoever did this should answer for his actions. Murder, not just of Mr. Montgomery but also other workers at the mill. Where should we start with our investigation?”

“Our investigation? Jules-girl, there are proper authorities to look into something like this.” Father straightened. “Most likely the magistrate in Hammersmith will request the aid of Bow Street, especially considering a detective was on the scene at the time. This is a matter for the police and court system, not a matter of national security.”

“But, Father, we should look into it ourselves, shouldn’t we? Agatha is my best friend, Mr. Montgomery was your friend, and this could be the work of anarchists.” Juliette gripped her hands together atop the table. “Industrial espionage and anarchy fall under the mantle of the Home Office, do they not?”

“To a certain extent, but we do not choose our assignments. We are directed by our superiors through proper channels. We cannot jump into a case merely because we know some of those affected. We could run afoul of another operation without intending to, things of which we are not aware. The espionage trade is one of compartmentalization, not knowing something until you need to know. At any rate, your mother and I will not be available for some time. We’ve been given another assignment.” He looked to his wife with a smile, then gave an apologetic one to Juliette.

Juliette looked from one parent to the other. “Is it something I can help with?”