“No need,” said Riley, tossing the cuffs to Noble. “I took ’em off back on Piccadilly, while these two were spying on a group of Oriental ladies.”

“I ain’t never seen one before,” mumbled Noble guiltily.

Charismo stepped down onto the footpath. “I shall take delivery of the prisoners, and responsibility, too. Please inform Mr. Malarkey that I am delighted with his service and to await my call on the Farspeak.”

Even the mention of the miraculous Farspeak had the henchmen touching their brims, as though the machine was royalty.

“We will do that, Mr. Charismo, and thank you.”

Suddenly Tibor Charismo stiffened and pressed both forefingers to his temples. “I am getting something from a year hence. I see crowds cheering and I hear hooves galloping. Manifesto, the word Manifesto. Does that have any significance to you gentlemen?”

Noble and Jeeves clutched at each other in a flurry of excitement. Charismo’s tips were famous. He was never wrong. A man could make his fortune on a tip from Mr. Charismo.

“Manifesto,” said Jeeves in hushed tones. “I bet on that beauty last year at Aintree. She won by twenty lengths. I ate beef for a week.”

“She’s going to win it again,” said Noble. “Not a word of this to anyone. No need for the odds to shorten.”

“No. No need whatsoever. Me and you only, Noble.”

Charismo clapped his hands briskly. “Gentlemen, our business is done, and I would feed my guests.”

Jeeves more or less booted Chevie from the carriage, followed by Riley.

Charismo raised his face to the gigantic coach driver, who kept a cudgel on the seat beside him in case of hijack. The driver gave the impression of someone who had seen every horror London had to offer and had probably been responsible for inflicting a good portion of them. His head was completely shaved, with a star-shaped scar above his right ear.

“Barnum, take these two gents wherever they want to go and then come directly back here.”

“Yessir, master,” said the driver, and he whistled to the horses to move along.

“I know,” said Charismo, as the carriage rumbled down the avenue. “Master. It’s so melodramatic, but I get a shiver every time I hear it. Humble beginnings, you see.”

Chevie rubbed the cuff marks on her wrists and wondered when her world would make sense again.

What should I do here? she thought. What does the FBI handbook say about dealing with spiritualists in the past?

The pavement seemed hard and gritty beneath her feet, and she could smell flowers from the window boxes in the evening air.

We have been beaten, drugged, dragged, and beaten some more, she thought. We need rest.