This was about money? But why? Perhaps Truro wasn’t bringing in enough to pay for a house in London for a Season and perhaps they’d been a bit strapped when they were paying for Morgan’s treatments, but it provided all their needs, didn’t it? And now that they were able to save again, even some of their wants.

“Then it seems we had better strike a quick bargain, sir.” Libby edged back a step too. “You give me more time to find the silver you actually want. No one gets hurt. We leave, you leave. Have we an agreement?”

It wasn’t what they’d been angling for tonight. They’d wanted to arrest this fellow—but then, he wasn’t the fellow they’d expected. And Oliver had a feeling that someone who spoke of the “entertainment” of murder wasn’t the sort to spill to an island constable the details about who he was working for or with.

It would do. He would deem tonight a success if no one else got hurt.

The man apparently agreed. “The original date, then. Or I’ll be back, and I’ll take it out of whoever I must. Your brother. Your grandmother. Your spitfire cousin. Understand?”

“I understand.” She bent low and scooped up the coins again. “I’m going now. We’ll have everyone cleared from the entrance within a few minutes.”

“That’s good. Because if I don’t report in by twelve thirty, the rifleman aiming through dear Grandmama’s window will pull the trigger.”

Libby spun at that, flying over the slippery rocks now at a pace that proved her earlier one had been deliberate. She clasped the hand Oliver held out to her the moment she was near enough, accepted the boost up to the ledge above, and they ran together from the mouth of the cave. “Are they here yet?” she whispered to him. “The constable’s men?”

“They were just approaching. We’d better hurry.”

They ran, hand in hand, up the beach path, and Oliver was a bit surprised to see the entire group still gathered in a knot together. But then, Casek and Mabena had been moving slowly, and the exchange in the cave probably hadn’t taken half as long as it felt like it had. They joined the group within a few minutes, breathlessly sharing what had just happened.

Constable Wendle’s frown was back in place. “I don’t like this. Men like that on Tresco . . . we won’t intercept him, but you can bet we’re going to see if we can spot him. And ask around to see what incomers are here who match the description. First, though, we’ll be visiting any house with a view of yours, Mr. Tremayne. You can rest assured of that. Nothing will happen to your grandmother.”