She had told him that her family had once been paid to dig up someone they knew, and it hadn’t bothered her father or uncles one bit. Digging up someone they didn’t like would probably be a thrill for them.

How could he answer Fletcher’s question without giving away her actual connection to the resurrection trade? He’d been fortunate that, thus far, no one had pressed for further information on that front. Fletcher was sharp, though; he’d have it sorted if Barnabus offered too much more. If Barnabus’s hypothesis about Stone was accurate, he might already know.

“She did say sometimes the payment for a grave-snatching is settling a debt,” Barnabus said. “I imagine if they felt someone owed them a debt of honor—or dishonor, as the case might be—they wouldn’t hesitate to settle it that way.”

Fletcher looked to Stone. “Most of the churchyards in this area are full-up—don’t take new burials. He’ll be laid to rest farther afield. Let’s sort out where.”

Gemma likely knew the location of every churchyard in London. But he’d avoid asking her if possible. The topic wasn’t a pleasant one for her, and he didn’t like to see her hurting.

The man with the newspaper was no longer watching the smoking embers; he was watching Barnabus. Nothing in his expression looked threatening or fearful. He seemed to be puzzling something out.

That happened now and then. The reason was usually that he had been the person’s doctor at some point, or the one studying him had been present when Barnabus had undertaken a rescue. As there was no anger in the man’s expression, Barnabus felt confident the reason was the former.

Out of the corner of his eye, his attention was caught by the woman who’d been standing at the edge of the alleyway. She was alone now, and she looked anxious. He watched her, trying to ascertain if she was in some sort of trouble.

Stone seemed to notice the same thing. A ray of sunlight lit the woman’s unwashed face. She looked so familiar. Where did he know her from? Was she someone he’d rescued before?

Under his breath, Stone said, “Familiar, ain’t she?”

Barnabus nodded. “But I can’t place her.”

Her eyes met his, and she studied him too. Was he as confusingly familiar to her as she was to him? Quite without warning, her uncertainty turned to fear. She spun about and began to run.

“That’s the woman the DPS has been looking for,” Fletcher said. “Serena. The one being held by the Mastiff.”

In a flash, Barnabus knew he was right. They rushed off in pursuit of Serena.