For five minutes, the only movement on the street came from everyone else bustling by. No one paused to question him, no one seemed to even notice he was there. Then, at just the time the chap had vanished each previous day, he moved. Folded his paper and tucked it into his overcoat’s inner pocket.

He kept his face down, so that an observer from the windows above wouldn’t see his features. But Drake was now at the perfect angle for that. Thanks to the mirror, that tucking of his chin actually presented his face to him.

Familiar . . . maybe. Drake frowned and tried to memorize each angle and plane. It wasn’t Jaeger—of that much he was certain. But some chord of memory still jangled. Another of the blokes Charles the Bold had provided photographs of, perhaps? He couldn’t be sure. He hadn’t paid close enough attention to any of them but the one he’d identified as his opposite number.

But he was paying attention now. Whoever he was, Drake would be able to identify him in an instant if they crossed paths anywhere else.

Dark hair, long enough to brush his ears on the sides and collar in back. A trim beard that hid a nearly delicate mouth. Brows with an inquisitive slant to them.

The chap strode away, his pace just fast enough to blend in with most other pedestrians going about their business. Drake had no hope of keeping up with him, and frankly, he didn’t intend to follow just now anyway. He’d only wanted to see him.

And now he had. The next step, which would be considerably trickier, would be to discover whether he had anything to do with Jaeger.

He sat for another few minutes, working it out in his mind. How could he learn the man’s identity? Following him was certainly his best recourse, and it would be made easier thanks to the man leaving his post at the exact same time every day. Drake himself couldn’t keep up, but . . . Red could. The changes he’d made to his prosthetic recently had been ingenious. His stride now was sure and smooth, and he could walk at a normal pace.

Red had done a bit of sleuthing for Margot, right? Maybe he’d be willing to do a bit more for Drake. Heaven knew the money he’d pay him for it would be welcome.

He should be coming by soon. They’d have tea, and Drake would pretend he needed the break from his work. He pushed himself off the bench, admitting another rather unwelcome truth to himself—he’d only dared come down here because he knew that help would be arriving soon, should he need it to get back up the stairs.