Garden of Lies (22 page)

I
t was nearly one-thirty in the morning when they finally gathered in Slater's library.

Ursula sat on the sofa with Lilly. Brice was sprawled in a wingback chair, brandy glass in hand. Slater was the only one on his feet. He was clearly energized by the events of the night. He gripped the mantel and contemplated the fire with a fierceness that sent little frissons of electricity through the room.

She, on the other hand, was dealing with an entirely different kind of tension. Slater had very nearly been murdered tonight—because of her.

“Do you really think the police will find that man who tried to kill you?” she asked.

“Eventually.” Slater looked up from the leaping flames. “I think that they will certainly look very hard because the assault occurred right in front of one of the most exclusive clubs in London and because Brice and I both have some notoriety attached to our names. Between the two of us we were able to give the constable a fairly decent description.”

“Our old archaeological training came in handy,” Brice said. He spoke from the depths of the wingback chair, where he drank brandy in a very methodical manner. “Between the two of us, Slater and I noticed a number of small details. But Slater is right, even without a decent description it would be impossible for a well-dressed killer who speaks with an American accent and who is sporting a broken wrist to conceal himself on the streets for long.”

Lilly brightened. “I see what you mean. In the end, his accent will give him away. He won't be able to go to ground. He will have no colleagues who will feel an obligation to protect him. In fact, I expect there will be any number of members of the criminal class who will be only too happy to do the police a favor.”

“What was that about?” Brice demanded. He swallowed another dose of brandy, loosened his tie and glared uncertainly at Slater. “Why did the American try to murder you?”

“It all goes back to the Olympus Club,” Slater said. “That is why I wanted to talk to you tonight.”

“But I am not a member. I don't see how I can help you.”

“You may not be a member but your social world is a small one. You no doubt know some men who do belong to the club. I've been away from London too long. I don't have the connections I need to get answers.”

Brice reflected. “I've heard one or two mentions of the Olympus. Very secretive.”

“We believe that the management of the club makes a certain drug called ambrosia available to the members,” Slater said. “The killings appear to be linked to the trade in the drug. Lady Fulbrook is evidently growing the plant from which the stuff is derived.”

“Lady Fulbrook?” Brice shook his head. “That makes no sense.”

“It does if one considers that the ambrosia business is apparently quite lucrative—so much so, in fact, that we believe Fulbrook may be in business with an American businessman named Damian Cobb. Thus far three people are dead—a courier, a drug maker and a certain Mrs. Wyatt, the proprietor of a brothel named the Pavilion of Pleasure.”

Brice's expression tightened in a troubled frown. “I've heard talk of that house. Supposed to be very exclusive.”

“When you're talking about brothels the word
exclusive
can have a great many different meanings,” Slater said.

“True,” Brice agreed. “But I seem to recall overhearing someone say that the Pavilion accepts clients by referral only.”

“Whatever the case, Mrs. Wyatt and the other two murdered people all had one thing in common,” Ursula said. “All three were involved in the ambrosia trade.”

Understanding settled on Brice. He switched his attention to Slater. “You believe that little man who attacked you tonight killed those three people?”

“I'm quite certain he murdered Wyatt and Rosemont,” Slater said. “I'm not entirely sure that he killed Anne Clifton. It's possible she died accidentally from an overdose of the drug.”

Ursula clasped her hands very tightly together. “I am certain Anne was murdered.”

Slater let that go without argument.

“Why would anyone commit murder because of a drug?” Brice asked. “It's not as if drugs are illegal.”

“Opium is legal but for centuries wars have been fought over it and fortunes founded on the trade,” Slater said.

Brice grimaced. “I take your point. The opium business has a very violent history. A damned pity, given the great medical benefits of the drug.”

“There's another factor involved here that may explain the violence we are seeing,” Slater continued. “In the past few years the attempts to regulate opium and the products derived from it have started to gain momentum on both sides of the Atlantic. There is talk now of making such drugs illegal altogether. If that happens, the business will be driven underground.”

“Where men like Fulbrook and Cobb stand to make huge profits,” Ursula said. “Assuming they can control the trade.”

Lilly swirled the brandy in her glass. “Viewed from that perspective, the ambrosia offers an unusual business opportunity. Opium is widely available from many sources. It will be impossible for anyone to establish a total monopoly. But as far as we know the ambrosia plant is still quite rare and hard to cultivate. If a strong, ruthless individual can establish control of all ends of the trade, he might be able to establish a very lucrative empire.”

They all looked at her. Lilly smiled sweetly.

“Slater's father always said that I had a head for business,” she said. “Edward wasn't all that interested in such matters. He always took my advice when it came to investing the Roxton fortune.”

There was a short silence.

Ursula cleared her throat. “Evidently you did very well when it came to that sort of thing.”

“Yes,” Lilly said. She swallowed some brandy and set the glass down. “I did very well by the Roxton money. Which is, of course, why Edward was always so generous to me.”

Ursula smiled. “He paid bonuses and commissions, didn't he?”

Lilly raised her brows. “I assure you I earned every penny.”

“If we might return to the matter at hand,” Slater said.

“Yes, of course,” Lilly murmured.

“I am now convinced that Cobb is planning to emerge as the sole winner in this affair,” Slater said. “Evidently he is due to arrive the day after tomorrow. My first assumption was that he sent his assassin ahead to get rid of certain people in the business who were no longer of any use to him—those who knew too much about the trade. Taking care of that end of things before he even set foot on shore would ensure that he never became a suspect in the deaths.”

Ursula set her brandy glass down very slowly. “But tonight the assassin came after you. I understand that Cobb might have sent a man ahead to murder people like Mrs. Wyatt and Anne Clifton and Rosemont. Cobb must have been aware of their roles in the ambrosia business for months. But you are new on the scene. How would he know about you?”

“An excellent question,” Slater said quietly. “I could envision some complicated scenarios, all of which would involve coded telegrams sent to and from Cobb's ship, but I think it makes sense to go with the simplest and most likely explanation. I suspect that Damian Cobb is already in London.”

“But that telegram he sent to Lady Fulbrook announcing his arrival the day after tomorrow—” Ursula paused. “Right. It could have been sent by someone on Cobb's staff in New York.”

Brice frowned. “Do you really believe that Lady Fulbrook is romantically involved with Cobb?”

“Yes.” Ursula looked at him. “She is desperately unhappy in her marriage.”

“I understand, but still, from the sound of things, Cobb is an American criminal.”

“From the sound of things,” Ursula said evenly, “Fulbrook is a British criminal.”

Brice flushed. “I take your point, madam.”

Lilly reached for the brandy decanter. “I did a little research of my own. Fulbrook and his wife were married a few years ago. One cannot help but notice that there has been no offspring from the union.”

“Hmm,” Ursula said.

Slater looked at Lilly. “What are you getting at?”

“The most important thing a man in Fulbrook's position wants and needs from a wife is an heir,” Lilly said.

A small hush fell on the scene. Ursula noticed that everyone in the room with the sole exception of Slater appeared to be somewhat uncomfortable. Slater, naturally, was amused.

Ursula rushed to fill the vacuum. “Lilly is right. Fulbrook might have his own reasons to be dissatisfied with his marriage.”

“What does that have to do with this situation?” Slater asked.

“Fulbrook has a reputation for being prone to outbursts of violence,” Lilly said. “If he blames his wife for the failure to produce an heir, she might fear for her life.”

“A woman in that situation would have a powerful motive for making herself indispensable, wouldn't she?” Ursula suggested. “If Lady Fulbrook stumbled onto the properties of the ambrosia plant, she may have given her husband the notion of going into the drug trade. In the process she purchased some degree of safety for herself.”

“Because Fulbrook needs her to cultivate the plant,” Slater said. “Yes, I like the logic in that. But if our speculations are correct, Lady Fulbrook may feel she is living on borrowed time. If chemists like Rosemont can produce the drug in large quantities, sooner or later Fulbrook might decide to employ botanists and gardeners to cultivate the plant.”

“At which point,” Lilly said, “he will no longer need his wife. I suspect Lady Fulbrook has already reasoned that out for herself. She is quite probably a terrified woman.”

Brice looked at Slater. “If there was a plan to close down the British side of the ambrosia trade, as you believe, it has been badly disrupted tonight. Cobb's assassin will even now be struggling to survive on London's most inhospitable streets. There will be a great sensation in the press tomorrow because two well-known men were attacked by an American criminal outside an exclusive gentlemen's club. Cobb may well conclude that the situation is on the brink of disaster. What do you think he will do next?”

“Logically, he should cut his losses,” Slater said. “If he is in town, as I believe, he should buy a ticket on the first ship bound for New York. But in my experience, people rarely behave rationally when there is a lot of money at stake.”

“What, exactly, do you want from me?” Brice asked.

“Anything and everything you might have heard about the Olympus Club and its members.”

“That does not amount to much,” Brice warned. “But now that I consider the matter there is something that may or may not have some significance.”

“What is that?” Slater said.

“In the past couple of months, two high-ranking men died. In Mayhew's case the death was reputed to have been a hunting accident but no one believed that. Davies jumped off a bridge.”

“I remember the reports in the press,” Lilly said. “There were rumors of suicide in both cases.”

“For what it's worth, I heard that both men were members of the Olympus Club,” Brice said.

—

A
SHORT
TIME
LATER
Slater escorted Brice outside to the waiting carriage. The rain had stopped but the fog was prowling back into the streets of London. Brice climbed into the cab and sat down. When he did not speak, Slater stepped back and started to close the door.

“Thank you,” he said.

Brice put out a hand to stop the door from swinging shut.

“Did you mean it earlier when you said that you do not blame me for what happened on Fever Island?” he asked.

“None of it was your fault,” Slater said.

“Some people believe I deliberately triggered that trap.”

“I never believed it,” Slater said. “Not for a moment.”

“About the Jeweled Bird,” Brice said.

Slater smiled. “I know it was not stolen. It no longer exists, does it? You took it apart, stone by stone, and sold the gems off very quietly.”

Brice's expression hardened. “The family was bankrupt. I did the only thing I could think of to do in that situation.”

“You did what you had to do for the sake of the family. I understand.”

“Do you?”

“It is what I would have done in the same circumstances,” Slater said.

Brice was quiet for a time.

“I thought it possible that you might not hold me responsible for the disaster on the island,” he said at last. “But I was certain you would never forgive me for destroying what turned out to be the only surviving artifact of an unknown civilization.”

“My perspective on some things changed during that year on Fever Island.”

Brice looked at him. “If I hear anything else about the Olympus Club I will contact you.”

“I appreciate that. But be careful, Brice. This affair has become dangerous.”