Daring Romance

chapter 14

Ethan went directly from the soiree to the upper-class Belgravia address belonging to Fred Felbrigg, the commissioner of the Metropolitan Police. Taking the stolen evidence to Felbrigg was a logical choice, since he had both the authority and incentive to bring the Home Office conspirators to justice.

When Tatham's and Jenkyn's crimes were brought to light, a great deal of unpleasantness would ensue: arrests, resignations, select committees, hearings, and trials. But if anyone could be trusted to do the right thing, it was Felbrigg, a devoutly religious man who prized order and routine. On top of that, the police commissioner despised Jenkyn. It was no secret at Scotland Yard that Felbrigg was appalled by the spymaster's unauthorized position at the Home Office, and the unsavory intelligence-gathering methods of his handpicked agents.

Disgruntled at having to leave his bed in the middle of the night, Felbrigg came down to his study with a dressing robe thrown over his nightclothes. With his ginger whiskers, short, spindly build, and the flaccid nightcap with a tasseled end dangling over the back of his head, he looked like an elf. An irate elf.

"What's this?" he asked, scowling down at the pages Ethan had set on the desk of his study.

"Proof of an operational link between the Home Office and the Guildhall bombers," Ethan said quietly.

As Felbrigg had sat there in shocked silence, Ethan proceeded to tell him about the Home Secretary's safe and the records of secret government funds diverted to known hostiles and radicals.

"Here's an entry concerning the missing shipment of explosives from Le Havre," Ethan said, nudging one of the pages closer. "The dynamite has been supplied to a group of London-based Fenian activists. They were also given cash money, and an order for admission to the visitors' gallery at the House of Commons."

Pulling off his nightcap, Felbrigg blotted his perspiring face with it. "Why would they want to visit Commons?"

"It's possible they were reconnoitering." At the commissioner's blank look, Ethan added in a matter-of-fact tone, "For a potential attack on Westminster." It was no wonder, he thought privately, that Jenkyn kept outmaneuvering this man over and over again. To call him a plodder wouldn't have been entirely fair, but neither would it have been inaccurate.

Felbrigg bent his head over the pages, reading slowly.

Something nagged at Ethan as he watched the commissioner pore over the evidence. He was certain Felbrigg would never look the other way if he had any inkling that Jenkyn was conspiring to kill the innocent citizens he'd sworn to protect. Felbrigg hated Jenkyn. He'd suffered more than his share of slights and insults from the man. Felbrigg had every reason, personal and professional, to use this information against him.

Still, Ethan's instincts were jangling unpleasantly. Felbrigg was sweating, tense, nervous, and while that could easily be attributed to having been taken by surprise, his reaction didn't feel right. Ethan had expected some clear signs of outrage and perhaps a hint of triumph at being given the instrument of his enemy's downfall. But Felbrigg's white-faced quietness unnerved the hell out of him.

The move had been made, however. There was no way to take it back. Something had been set in motion, and whatever it was, the only choice now was to keep to the shadows until Felbrigg had taken action.

"Where will you be tomorrow?" Felbrigg asked.

"Out and about."

"How will we be able to communicate with you?"

"You have enough evidence for investigations and subpoenas," Ethan said, watching him closely. "I'll communicate with you when it's necessary."

"The account ledgers are still in Lord Tatham's safe?"