Dark eyes filtered into his mind, full of intelligence that begged many a question. What was she called? No doubt he could discover that easily when next he went to London. His sister would be able to tell him. But more to the point—would she perhaps have dinner with him? Give him another taste of that wit of hers?

He sighed around the cigar. Even if she did, what then? Unless the war was over by the time he reached London, he’d just be sent away again in a week. Hardly enough time to get to know someone.

Besides, compelling dark eyes and a quick tongue didn’t make a girl someone he’d actually like. For all he knew, a longer conversation might prove her the type he couldn’t stand—another Ada. Which, come to think of it, confirmation of such would convince his mind to stop throwing the memory of her eyes before him at all hours of day and night.

Yet another reason to try to meet her.

Cigars burned slowly enough that he could amble a few feet closer to the door without it looking odd. There was no one stationed outside the warehouse—a good sign or bad?—but he’d bet there’d be someone inside somewhere.

He catalogued all he’d been able to discover about the building from out here. There was a back door—locked. He’d tested it. A front door, which was near him now. And a loading bay with a large rolling door that moved upward. He’d spent a couple of hopeful minutes examining the few inches it had been up today, calculating whether he could slip underneath.

Perhaps, if he didn’t breathe and could angle his head correctly. But it was risky. He could get stuck, and it would likely take quite a bit of maneuvering, which could draw the attention of any workers inside the warehouse.

“Al pie. Al pie, Barto.”

Drake’s gaze flicked up, over. Across the street, an aged man walked, a cane in one hand and a dog straining at a leash in the other. Upon the command, the dog came to a halt. But it whimpered and looked back at its master, tail wagging. The old man paused, patted a pocket, and felt around the ground with his toe. “Where did it land, Barto? Eh?”

The dog whined a response, and the old man muttered a mild curse. “Come, dog, I heard the coin fall, and we need it if you’re to have a bone tonight. Where is it? Coin? Eh?”

The dog wagged its tail again.

Pushing off from the building, Drake jogged across the street. “Can I help you find something?”

The man looked around, his gaze skimming over Drake. When his eyes rested not on Drake’s face but on his shoulder, Drake realized he was blind.