Diamonds of Death. Vivian Conroy

hat with the ostrich feathers so she can borrow it from said friend whenever she feels like it.’

      ‘Not as wealthy as you are?’ Jake asked cynically.

      Alkmene smiled. ‘On the contrary. In theory Denise has more money than I will ever have. She is the daughter of Hargrove, the oil magnate, who is also dabbling in aviation.’

      ‘Ah. But what do you mean “in theory she has more money”?’ Jake asked, falling into step with her, his hands folded on his back.

      ‘Well, at the moment she is his only daughter, so she stands to inherit it all. But he is about to change that fact, having married a much younger woman who can no doubt bear him a male heir for all of his fortune. In that case Denise will probably be forced to marry a rich man to have any money to spend.’

      She batted her lashes at him. ‘I thought you knew how that worked.’

      Jake shook his head but said nothing.

      Alkmene swung her arms energetically. Suddenly she halted, grabbing for her head. ‘Oh, dear, now I have left my own hat in the store and…’

      ‘You can go back for it later. I want to talk to you about a friend of mine.’

      He sounded rather insistent, so she could hardly say no. Alkmene sighed. ‘If I don’t go back now, Denise will take my hat home with her and I will be obliged to go visit her to get it back. She is not so bad, but her stepmother is. She is always asking these rather awkward questions about my ancestors. About duels and stuff, you know.’

      Jake grinned. ‘Madness in the family, by any chance?’

      Alkmene cringed. Jake had no idea what a sore spot he touched with that casual remark. She said quickly, ‘Talk about your friend now, will you?’

      He sobered at once and stared ahead. ‘Perhaps you have read about it in the newspapers?’

      Alkmene tilted her head. ‘Let’s see. If it was an engagement, I might have read it, but I don’t recall it, because engagements never stick with me unless they are unconventional, but when they are, they are usually not announced in the papers but handled rather secretly because the family feels mortified. Now if it was business-related, a new venture in something adventurous…’

      Jake halted her with a hand gesture. ‘Robbery gone wrong.’

      Alkmene frowned. ‘I did read something about a theft outside a theatre, a gnarled figure taking off with a lady’s purse. Isn’t he the same one who robbed ladies earlier this year but then outside the church of St Mary of the Humble Heart? Did they not call him the hunchback of the Notre Dame then to make it more sensationalistic?’

      ‘Could be, but that’s not the one. I mean the robbery gone wrong at Lord Winters’ estate.’

      Alkmene froze. Right on top of the remark about madness in the family this was very awkward indeed. She said slowly. ‘Lord Winters, who has returned from India after his father died? The one who is said to have…killed his wife while he was there.’

      She knew full well there was only one Lord Winters and this was the one. But his untimely demise at the hands of a burglar was one violent death she had no intention of getting involved with. It hit too close to home.

      Jake sighed impatiently. ‘If they claim he killed his wife in India, it is probably high society gossip. I am talking about the very real robbery in his country estate that turned sour.’

      Alkmene frowned as if she had dredged it up from her memory. In reality the newspaper article had shocked her to the core. Winters dead, in exactly the same way as his late wife. The one he was rumoured to have murdered. It could not be a coincidence. ‘Oh, you mean the burglar who was caught standing over the dead body? The piece mentioned as an aside that this man is suspected of having perpetrated various daring robberies over the years, but he had never been caught. Until now.’

      ‘One of the finest professionals in his trade,’ Jake said.

      Alkmene shook her head. ‘How professional can he be when he gets caught red-handed? And with a dead body at his feet too.’ She clicked her tongue.

      Then she glanced at Jake. ‘You knew he was also behind the other robberies? I mean, you suspected him earlier? Did you write pieces on the earlier robberies perhaps, and had a hunch he was involved?’

      Jake shook his head. ‘I knew he had committed those robberies. They were all trademark crimes.’

      ‘Trademark?’

      Jake gestured with both hands. ‘Bearing certain identifying traits that mark them as his, like a signature underneath a document. But the police are too stupid to see it. In two cases they even arrested a servant as the culprit, because, and I quote, it was impossible to commit the crime from outside the house. But that is right what Mac did.’

      Alkmene whistled. ‘Impressive. Never once caught and now like this. Kind of sour. But I guess when you stoop to murder, you do deserve to get caught, no matter how wonderful an artist you are.’

      She glanced at him again. ‘Will you cover the trial?’ There was a chance then Anne Winters might come to London for it. She could probably avoid no longer what she had avoided before. But where a meeting with her cousin would have been rather painful in the past, it would now be even more so.

      Jake shrugged. ‘Maybe. Right now I am more concerned with proving Mac’s innocence.’

      ‘Innocence?’ Alkmene’s mind recalled the details she had gleaned from the newspaper coverage. ‘I thought he was caught inside the estate in question? The safe in the room was open and the stones missing, a fortune in diamonds Lord Winters had brought with him from India.’ The infamous gems that had featured in the murder of the wife also.

      Jake nodded. ‘Oh, Mac was there all right to steal the stones. But somebody had gotten to them before him and had killed Winters.’

      ‘You mean…he found Winters dead in the room and his intended loot gone?’

      ‘That is right.’ Jake looked at her. ‘They caught him on the spot, but not a trace of the stones either on his person or outside. He had not dropped them out of the window or anything. They looked everywhere in the garden.’

      Alkmene frowned. ‘So there might be something to his story that he found the dead body after the real thief had left with the stones. Did they look elsewhere in the house for them? Among the servants, the family members, any guests that were staying there?’ Her thoughts raced.

      Jake laughed. ‘Of course not. Like the police always do, they jumped to a conclusion. Burglar caught on the scene. Must be the killer. Where the stones are? Who cares? Lord Winters is dead, and this man can swing for it. Nice and neat, tied up with a red ribbon around it, open and shut from day one.’

      Alkmene rubbed her nose. ‘But you do not believe that?’

      ‘Look, I have known Mac for years. He is a thief, yes, a master cat burglar – one of the finest in his art. But he is not a killer.’

      Alkmene tilted her head. ‘Not even when he was caught out, cornered, when the victim stood between him and freedom? Would he not kill to ensure he could get away and not end up in prison? Most people would do a lot to avoid prison. And on the spur of the moment he might have grabbed something off the desk and struck out with it.’

      Jake was silent.

      Alkmene studied his profile. ‘You are not one hundred per cent sure he is innocent, are you?’

      Jake sighed. ‘Mac loves his freedom. I doubt he will do well in jail. I cannot be sure he would not strike out, if cornered, just to get away. But if he tells me he did not kill Lord Winters, I believe him. I have to.’ He glanced at Alkmene. ‘Mac saved my life once. I owe him.’

      Alkmene held his gaze, waiting for him to tell her more about it. But Jake merely said, ‘Acting on Mac’s behalf I have to start from the assumption that everything he told me is true and ferret out what