"Well, now, if that isn't a dull subject," she muttered to herself. But perhaps she was jaded because she was in the business. She walked to the nearest illuminated display and studied the sculptures of a man and a woman writhing on a bed, engaged in a lustful embrace. The man's face was fierce and intent, almost brutal as he neared his climax. He surged against his partner, the muscles in his buttocks and back straining in a highly realistic manner. The body of the woman had been modeled with a voluptuous abandon that was no doubt guaranteed to interest the average male viewer. Large breasts and well-rounded hips that could have graced an ancient Greek statue were paired with tiny, elegant feet. But it was the woman's face that caught Sally's attention. There was something familiar about the features. She was about to move closer to get a better look when she heard the faint scraping sound in the darkness behind her. She jerked her attention away from the waxwork. "Who's there?" No one spoke or moved in the thick shadows. For no discernible reason, her heart started to pound. Her palms went cold and damp. She knew these signs. She had experienced them from time to time in the old days on the streets. Some of the men who had approached her had triggered this odd reaction. She had always heeded her intuition and declined to service those who made her feel this way, even when it had meant going hungry for a day or two. But this was no stranger trying to lure her into a dark hackney. Surely this was her protector, the man who had paid her rent for the past few months. He had sent for her, asked her to meet him here. There was no need for this anxiety. A small chill went through her. For some reason, she suddenly recalled the old gossip that had circulated in the brothel about his previous mistress having committed suicide. Some of the more romantic among her associates had claimed the woman's heart had been broken and viewed the event as a great tragedy But most had shaken their heads at the foolishness of allowing one's sensibilities to overwhelm common sense. She herself had wondered about it all at the time. She had had a passing acquaintance with his former mistress. Alice had not struck her as the type to make the mistake of falling in love with her protector. She shook off memories of poor, foolish Alice. But another whisper of dread shivered through her. It was the nature of the displays, she thought. They had affected her nerves. There was no call to be alarmed. He was playing one of his games. "I know you're here, my handsome stallion." She forced a coy smile. "I got your message, as you can see. I've missed you." No one stepped out of the shadows. "Did you send word to have me meet you here so we could act out some of these scenes?" She giggled a little, the way he liked. Then she clasped her hands behind her back and started down the aisle between the waxwork tableaux. "How very naughty of you, my stallion. But you know I am always happy to oblige." There was no response. She stopped in front of a dimly lit exhibit of a woman crouched on her knees in front of a man whose member did a great deal of credit to the artist's imagination. She pretended to examine the rigid pole with an air of grave consideration. "Now, in my opinion," she declared, "your cock is even larger than his." It was a lie, of course, but lying to the customer was an essential skill in her profession. "Of course, I may have forgotten the exact dimensions, but I would be delighted to measure it again for you. indeed, I cannot think of a more fascinating way to spend the evening. What do you say to that, my fine stallion?" No one spoke. Her pulse was not slowing. If anything, it had picked up the pace. Her hands were clammy It was impossible to fill her lungs with air. Enough. She could no longer fight the old street fears. Something was very wrong. instinct took over. She stopped resisting the impulse to escape. She no longer cared whether or not her former protector wanted to resume their liaison. She wanted only to escape from this chamber. She whirled and fled back down the aisle. The door was invisible in the heavy darkness at the far end of the gallery, but she knew where it was. There was a sudden stirring in the deep pool of shadows to he.r right. Her first, crazed thought was that one of the waxwork figures had come to life. Then she saw the weak light glint on a length of heavy iron. A scream rose in her throat. She knew now that she would never make it to the door. She turned, raising her hands in a vain attempt to ward off the blow. She stumbled backward. Her foot struck a wooden bucket sitting on the floor. She lost her balance and fell. The bucket tipped over, spilling filthy water across the floor. The killer moved in, the poker raised high for the murderous blow. In that instant, Sally suddenly understood why the waxwork prostitute in the first display had seemed familiar. The figure had Alice's face. The Gryphon was warm and dry but that was about all that could be said in favor of the smoky tavern. Nevertheless, as he made his way through the crowd, Tobias thought those qualities were definite assets on a damp, fog-bound night. The fire on the massive hearth blazed with hellish good cheer, illuminating the establishment with an evil, flaring light. The serving maids were all large, buxom, sturdily built wenches. The similarities in their figures were not a coincidence. Smiling Jack, the proprietor, liked them that way. Tobias had changed his clothes for this venture. Garbed in a dockworker's well-worn trousers, ill-fitting coat, shapeless cap, and heavy boots, he drew little attention as he passed among the rough patrons of The Gryphon. The annoying catch in his stride was a good complement to his disguise, he thought. Most of those around him made their livings in injury-prone ways, not all of which were legal. Limps such as his own were common. So were scars and missing fingers. Eye-patches and wooden legs were also sprinkled liberally about the premises. A broad-bosomed serving maid blocked Tobias's path. She gave him an encouraging grin. "'Ere now, me 'andsome man, what'll ye lave tonight?" "Got business with Smilin'Jack," Tobias muttered. He made it a point to converse as little as possible with the staff and patrons of The Gryphon. The rough, dockside accents he adopted for these visits saw him safely through short exchanges. He was not certain they would hold up in longer, more involved discussions. "Jack's in 'is room at the back." The maid nodded toward the hall that led to the rear of the tavern and winked. "Best knock afore ye open the door." She moved off through the crowd, her tray of mugs held high overhead. I Tobias worked his way along rows of tables and benches. At the far end of the tavern, he found the dingy hall that led to the room Smiling Jack was pleased to call his office. He went down the passage and stopped in front of the door. A muffled shriek of feminine laughter reverberated through the heavy wood paneling. Tobias rapped loudly "Begone, whoever ye are out there." Jack's voice rumbled like a load of coal. "I've got business in here." Tobias wrapped one hand around the knob and twisted. The door swung inward. He lounged against the jamb and looked at SmilingJack. The huge proprietor of The Gryphon was seated behind a battered desk. His face was buried in the large, naked bosom of the woman perched astride his thighs. The wench's skirts were hiked up to her waist, displaying plump buttocks. "I got your message," Tobias said. "is it you then, Tobias?" Smiling Jack raised his head and squinted. "Bit early, aren't ye? "No." Jack groaned and gave his companion a playful pat on her bare backside. "Off with ye, lass. My friend here's in a hurry and I can see he's a mite short of patience tonight." The woman giggled. "Don't mind me, Jack." She wiggled her bottom. "I'll just sit here and carry 11 on with what we started while the two of ye discuss yer business. "Afraid that's not possible, sweetheart." Jack heaved a regretful sigh and gently eased her off his lap. "You're a distraction and that's a fact. I can't concentrate on me business affairs with you workin'yer wiles." The woman laughed again, stood, and shook out her skirts. She winked broadly at Tobias and took her time exiting the room. Her generous hips moved in a rolling motion that held the undivided attention of both men until the door closed behind her. Her laughter echoed in the hall. "A new employee." Jack closed his trousers. "I think she'll do nicely." "She does appear to be possessed of a cheerful disposition." Tobias dropped the dockside accents. He and Jack knew each other too well. Tobias knew, for instance, the tale behind the grotesque scar responsible for the name Smiling Jack. The stitches that had closed the knife wound had been set by a poor seamstress. They had healed into a death's-head grin extending from the corner of jacks mouth to his ear. "Aye, that she does." Jack heaved his bulky frame etect and waved Tobias to one of the ladder-back chairs near the hearth. "Sit down, man. It's a mean night. I'll pour ye some of my good brandy to ward off the chill." Tobias took one of the unforgiving wooden chairs near the hearth, reversed it, and sat down. He folded his arms on the back and tried to ignore the ache in his leg. "The brandy will be welcome," he said. "What news do you have for me?" "There are a couple of matters that may interest you. First, you asked me to look into the backgrounds of some of Neville's women." Jack poured brandy into two glasses. "I have turned up one or two items of interest on that subject." "I'm listening." Jack handed one of the glasses to Tobias and lowered himself back into the chair behind his desk. "You told me Neville is in the habit of selecting his women from the brothels rather than from the ranks of the fashionable high-fiyers. You were right." "What of it?" "I'm not certain why he prefers the less expensive sort, but I will tell you one thing. When women plucked out of the brothels throw themselves into the river, the authorities don't take much notice." Jack grimaced. The expression twisted the scar into a ghastly imitation of amusement. "There are even a few who will say good riddance. One less whore selling her favors." Tobias tightened his fingers around the glass. "Are you telling me that more than one of Neville's light-skirts have ended up in the river?" "I cannot say how many of his women have drowned themselves after he cast them aside, but two, at least, seem to have been unable to endure their broken hearts. A woman named Lizzy Prather killed herself a year and a half ago. Several months back a wench named Alice was also dragged out of the river. There are rumors that three more are dead by their own hand." Tobias sipped the warming brandy "Hard to credit that so many females would succumb to severe melancholia after Neville was through with them." "Aye." Jack's chair squeaked in protest when he leaned back. He ignored the warning and laced his hands on top of his expansive belly. "Make no mistake, it happens now and again. There's always a few foolish girls who actually believe they've found true love with a wealthy man and get their hearts broken. But most of the wenches know what they're about when they get involved with a man from Neville's class. They milk him for all the baubles they can get and move on to the next cove when they find themselves havin' to pay their own bills again." "A business arrangement on both sides." "Aye." Jack took a hefty swallow of brandy, put down the glass, and wiped his mouth. "Listen well now, because here's the most interestin' bit about this particular affair." " Yes? " "Neville's latest doxy, Sally, has also disappeared. No one has seen her since yesterday afternoon." Tobias did not move. "The river?" "Too soon to say I haven't heard of her body being pulled out of the water, but that can take a while. All I can tell ye at this point is that she's gone. And if my sources can't find her, no one can.,, "Damn it to hell." Tobias rubbed his leg. Smiling Jack allowed that news to sink in before he continued. "There's one more thing you might want to know." "About Sally?" "No." Jack lowered his voice even though there was no one else in the room. "It concerns the Blue Chamber. There are some rumors circulating." Tobias stayed very still. "I told you, the Blue Chamber is finished. Azure and Carlisle are both dead. The third man has gone to ground but not for long. I'll have him soon." "What you say may be true enough as far as it goes. But what I'm hearing on the streets is that there's a private little war being waged." "Who is involved?" Jack shrugged. "Can't say But I hear the victor intends to take control of whatever is left of the Blue Chamber. Word is, he plans to rebuild the empire, which fell apart after Azure died." Tobias looked at the fire for a long time, thinking about that. "I owe you for this information," he said eventually. "Aye." Jack smiled his grisly smile. "You do. But I'm not worried. You've always been one to pay your bills." The fog had grown more dense while he had been inside The Gryphon. Tobias paused on the step. The lights of the tavern were reflected by the swirling mist hovering in the street. The eerie orange glow was oddly bright, but it revealed nothing. After a moment he started across the street, resisting the urge to pull the high collar of the ancient coat up around his ears, The thick wool would block some of the chill, but it would also limit his side vision and muffle the small sounds of the night. In this neighborhood it was only prudent to take full advantage of all of one's senses. He moved quickly through the weak glare created by the fog and slipped into the deep darkness beyond. There appeared to be no one else about. Hardly surprising on such a night, he thought. Once free of the weird glow of The Gryphon, he was able to make out a small, dim circle of light suspended high off the ground. judging it to be the lantern of some conveyance, he made for it, staying in the center of the street, well clear of unlit alleys and darkened doorways. Nevertheless, for all his precautions, the only warning he got was the soft, sliding rush of a man coming up very swiftly behind him. Footpad. He fought the instinct to turn and confront the assailant, knowing all too well that this one was probably only a distraction. London footpads; frequently hunted in pairs. He veered to the side, seeking the protection of the nearest wall to put at his back. Pain shafted through his left leg but the sudden change of direction served its purpose. It caught the man behind him by surprise. "Bloody hell, I lost'im." "Light the lantern. Light it, mate. 'Urry or we'll never find 'im in this bloody fog." That settled the question, Tobias thought. There were indeed two footpads; working together here. The angry voices pinpointed