Williams’s smile bloomed full this time. He nodded his approval and studied his own pieces.

Holmes breathed a laugh. “Enjoy your game, Miss De Wilde. I’ll see you in an hour.”

Das Gespenst sat in the park long after the chill chased everyone else indoors and the gaslights turned on. The clouds had rolled in, bringing damp air. Cold.

He hated every damp breeze of this blasted island, but he was at least learning to control the ever-present cough. It was better if he didn’t try to talk. He could just grunt and let everyone think him an idiot.

His eyes wandered toward the park entrance where the girls had stood two hours ago. The thirst for revenge tickled his lungs, drowning him as surely as the waters of the Boynton had tried to do. He’d have his day. He must. And it could well be the same day he handed over the codebooks to his superiors. How perfect would that be?

Margot De Wilde and Dorothea Elton. He’d hardly been able to believe it when his research had led him back to them—and then when they’d come right up to him. Mother would say it was the hand of God, delivering his enemies to him on a silver platter.

More like a small world, this one of intelligence. Everyone was connected to everyone else. It hadn’t been surprise so much as certainty filling his veins when he’d learned her name. Of course they were connected. They were all connected. And now all he had to do was forge his own connection. To them.

To one of them, at least. One would do. Get one, and he’d have them both, as inseparable as they were.

Margot De Wilde. He traced a finger along the pattern in the iron of the bench. Who’d have thought she’d know how to play Go? It made perfect what had otherwise been sufficient. He could use the game to get to know her. Use her to get at his true enemies.

From what he’d seen, no one else in this part of London knew how to play. It would just be her. And him. A new game.

He had to know what kind of opponent she would be. How many strategies he would need to employ. How many uses he could find for each move, each play.

He’d soon know. With each move, he’d learn more.

He dug his fingers into his leg. His chest ached, all the way down to his soul. But he wouldn’t let it stop him. If anything, it must motivate him. He must succeed. He’d have his revenge, and he’d hand over everything the High Command asked for. Their targets. Their codebooks. And then he’d make a demand of his own—relocation.

He was ready to be finished with this godforsaken island.