Margot nudged a few boxes over and sat on them. “We haven’t the luxury of that indulgence just now. You’re an officer in His Majesty’s Royal Flying Corp. It’s your duty to do your bit.” She tapped a finger to the papers on the table. “And right now, this is your bit.”

For a long moment, he just sat unmoving, staring at the papers. Probably seeing something far different, far removed from a storage room in the OB. Then he blinked, nodded, and pulled the papers forward. “All right, then. I’ll save the moping for my own time. Show me what I’m doing here, Mademoiselle Codebreaker.”

She smiled, happy enough to get down to business.

20

Drake knew well his sister—and his doctor—would have his head if they could see him now. But that sure knowledge hadn’t stopped him from slipping on his overcoat, planting a hat onto his head, and wishing this building had a lift as he slowly took one step after another until he was on the ground floor, out the back door, and on the blessed street.

Fresh air was a heady thing. For a second, he could do nothing but breathe it in, forgetting his purpose in hobbling down here. Forgetting the way Dot would fret. The way the physician would scold. None of that mattered. It smelled of cold and rain and the exhaust of the car that had just rattled past. Of the bread baking in the shop down the street. It smelled of London and of freedom.

He might never go back inside again.

Or at the very least, he might begin making a trek down here every day, when no one was at home to berate him for it. Assuming, of course, he could get back up the stairs after this outing. Which was probably going to be a bit more difficult than coming down had been, and that was challenging enough.

Blasted gunshot wound.

But he couldn’t sit there anymore, looking out at the same dark-haired man in the grey overcoat who had been there the past two days. He wasn’t quite sure what he intended to discover by investigating from the street, but surely more than he’d been able to glean from Dot’s flat.

Hall had paid him a visit yesterday to tell him that the phone call of the day before had been placed from a coin-operated telephone box a street over from where he now stood. He’d delivered the news with a tight mouth that proclaimed him unhappy with the discovery and with warning flashing in his eyes.

Jaeger had been here. One street over. He knew Dot’s telephone number. He knew where she lived. He knew Drake was there.