She twisted onto her stomach and pushed herself into the room, once again feeling that immense sense of relief at being free from confinement.

I made it , she thought.

A voice above her said, “Well, well, well. What do we have here, a-droppin’ down the chimney? One of Father Christmas’s elves, perhaps?”

If that voice belongs to Barnum, the humongous coach driver, then I am in trouble, thought Chevie.

It did, and she was.

Albert Garrick always felt a little jittery passing through Mayfair. In spite of his dandy getup and his long hair, a style affected by many a lordling, he had the nagging idea that his humble origins somehow shone through his eyes for all to see.

In spite of everything I know, everything I have seen, I cannot make myself comfortable on these streets.

He tried to bolster his own confidence with an inner pep talk: Buck yourself up, Alby. You are no longer a starving urchin combing the cobbles for the scraps from a rich man’s table. Time to scrape that shame off your soul like dog filth from the toe of your boot.

A flower girl actually curtsied as she approached. “A carnation for your buttonhole, m’lord.”

This simple greeting raised Garrick’s spirits more than his own strictures ever could, and he smiled with more sincerity than he had in some time. He reached behind the girl’s ear and found a shiny sovereign.

“This is for you, my dear. Buy something that is as pretty as yourself.”

The maid stammered a thank-you, then stood a-staring at the currency in her hand as though it would melt.

Garrick continued down the north side of Grosvenor Square toward the residence of Tibor Charismo, the man who had hired Otto Malarkey to kill him.

There was a well-tended private park opposite Charismo’s famous dwelling, reserved for residents only and accessible by a heavy, locked gate. Armed with his magician’s tools, Garrick was no more troubled by the gate than a dog would be by a keep off the grass sign. In seconds he was reclining on a clean, varnished bench, admiring the Himalayan rhododendrons, and keeping a close eye over their bobbing heads on the fabulous Charismo residence.

So, now Tibor Charismo wishes me dead, as he once did Riley’s family.

For it had been Tibor Charismo who had contracted Albert Garrick over a decade ago to dispose of Riley’s entire family in their Brighton residence. And now, all this time later, he had obviously discovered Garrick’s deception and decided to settle the affair with some finality.

Could that be the entirety of it? Charismo would pit himself against me over the life of a boy?

Garrick thought that if the situation allowed, he would put this question to Charismo before he killed him.

There was some movement in a window. Garrick’s rejuvenated eyes had no difficulty recognizing the figure, even from this great distance.

Charismo.