The Vanishing Thief (27 page)

I ripped open the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of expensive paper without a letterhead.

I'm sorry we won't have a chance to meet during my current trip to London, Miss Fenchurch, but business calls me away. You appear to have done well for yourself, moving both your home and your bookshop to better locations in the past few years. I'm sure your parents would be proud of you.

Your move without finding the Gutenberg Bible tells me your father didn't hide my property for Mr. Lupton. While I realize you blame me for your parents' death, it was not my fault. I was simply seeking the return of my property. Instead, blame those who have separated me from my prize possession.

I hope you enjoyed the Duke of Arlington's ball. Perhaps you will tell me about it on my next trip to London.

No. The letter was unsigned, but my racing heartbeat told me I knew.

He couldn't leave. Not now. Not when I finally had a chance to find him. To capture him. And all this time he'd been following me.

London's busyness and traffic faded. I looked around, expecting to see the remembered face as a winter's chill invaded my body. I backed up, putting my shoulders against the glass window of my shop for the feeblest of protection. I felt vulnerable in the midst of the swarm of people along the street.

I looked for the duke's carriage, but it had disappeared into the traffic on Charing Cross Road.

Quickly unlocking the door to the bookshop, I slipped in and flipped over the sign to
Open
. It was time to attempt getting back to normal. To the day before the duke entered my life and the murderer reappeared before me.

I refolded the letter and hid it under the counter, but I couldn't get rid of my desire to look over my shoulder. I knew someday both the Duke of Blackford and the killer would return.

I planned to be ready.