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digested this.
    “What do you want me to do about her?” asked Merrick finally.
    “Nothing. No doubt he thinks she can lead him to me. She’s not important. If her name comes up again, then we’ll take a closer look at her.”
    “And the Standhurst woman?”
    “What do you know of her?”
    “Nothing, so far, except her name.”
    “Then find out if she’s important to Castleton.”
    Merrick cocked his head to one side, studying the other man. Finally, he said, “It’s been two months since you employed my services, Gideon, and apart from that first spectacular kill in Hyde Park, you’ve had me do nothing more than amass a mountain of information on Castleton, his friends, his associates, and his women. I know Castleton is your target, so why are we holding off? Why not simply eliminate him? What’s the point in the delay?”
    “Through no fault of mine, my schedule had to be rearranged. Hence, the delay.”
    “What schedule?”
    Piers smiled and stood up, indicating the interview was over. “What you don’t know can’t hurt you. When the need arises, I’ll tell you. But one thing I want to make absolutely clear. No one touches Castleton. He’s mine, and I’ll deal with him in my own time.”
    After Merrick left, Piers lit a cheroot from the candle on the mantel, and stood there, in front of the fire, idly smoking it. He was reflecting on Merrick’s words: Why are you holding off? Why not simply elimi
nate him?
    Because that would be too easy; because he wanted Castleton to know that Gideon Piers was calling the shots. Their positions were reversed. He was the hunter and the earl was his prey. It had taken him almost three years to recover from the debacle in Spain. He wasn’t interested in a quick kill. He wanted to savor the pleasure of having at his mercy the high-and-mighty Major, Lord Caspar Devere, who had hunted him from pillar to post and cornered him like a rat in the monastery of St. Michel.
    He was, however, a lot more cautious now than he was then. He didn’t want to stir up a hornets’ nest until after he’d made the kill. No one cared about the murder of John Collier. He was a nobody, a mere solicitor’s clerk. Harper, the bodyguard, was different. He was a celebrity, but more important, he was a Special Branch agent. If he’d had Harper killed, Special Branch would move heaven and earth to find the killer of one of their own.
    He looked up when the door opened to admit Joseph, his right-hand man. They’d been together now for more than five years, and Joseph was about the only person Piers trusted. Joseph’s loyalty was unswerving, largely because Piers had rescued him, a Spanish deserter, from a band of Spanish soldiers who were on the point of executing him. And that’s how they’d started out, just the two of them, fending for themselves. And that’s how it had ended.
    Joseph was a good ten years older than Piers. He had the face of an ascetic and gave the impression of being slow-witted, but that was a false impression. In his native tongue, he could be quite voluble when he wanted to be; in English he frequently had to search for words.
    Joseph said, “I watched Merrick leave. No one followed him.”
    Piers was amused. “You worry too much, Joseph. I’m not expecting trouble. If we’d killed Harper, that would be different, though I can’t see how Special Branch could trace us. No, this is between Castleton and me, and he doesn’t know anything.”
    “Trouble comes when you least expect it—isn’t that what you English say? And that English milord, he’s clever that one, like a fox.”
    Piers masked his irritation behind a smile. If Joseph had been anyone else, he would have annihilated him with a few well-chosen words. No one praised the Earl of Castleton in his hearing. But Joseph hated the earl almost as much as he did, hated him and was just as eager to see him suffer and pay for his crimes.
    “If he was as clever as you make out,” he said pleasantly, “he