“And the Blue Medusa offers that enticement?” Tobias asked.
“To some, yes.” Vale walked to a nearby cabinet and removed the iron ring on his left hand. He fitted the small key to the lock and opened the door. “Take this piece of ancient Roman glass, for instance. It is said that men have died because of it.”
He reached inside and removed an intricately carved glass bowl. The object caught the light and glowed a dozen shades of fiery amber in his fingers. Lavinia was riveted. She moved closer to get a better look.
“It’s incredible,” she said. “Was it, too, found here in England?”
“No. I believe that it was brought here from Italy many years ago.”
Joan came to stand beside Lavinia. “Beautiful.”
Vale watched them both with an enigmatic smile.
Lavinia took a closer look at the large cup. Figures had been carved around the vessel in such a way that they stood out from the surface as though attempting to escape the bonds of the delicate net of glass that anchored them.
Lavinia recognized the scene that the artist had caught and frozen in the glass.
“Persephone fleeing Hades,” she whispered. “The Lord of the Underworld pursues her.”
The desperation on the face of the woman and the anguish and loss etched in the god’s features sent a shiver through her.
“It is called the Hades Cup, and some say that it is a dangerous object to own.” Vale smiled wryly. “Not that I believe in such nonsense. Nevertheless, I maintain that I do not actually own the thing. I am merely keeping it safe here in the club’s museum.”
He closed and locked the cabinet door with the tiny ring key.
“I think we have all taken your point,” Tobias said. “Legends develop a strength of their own, and collectors are an odd lot.”
“Indeed.” Vale smiled. “They like nothing better than a good story attached to an antiquity. Some will kill to possess a rare object with a sufficiently compelling legend attached to it.”
Lavinia threw up her hands. “Wonderful. Yet another motive for murder. At this rate, half of London will soon be on our suspect list.”
Chapter Eighteen
Tobias sank into the chair across from Crackenburne and reached for the bottle of brandy that sat on the table between them.
“Leg bothering you again today?” Crackenburne asked without looking up from his newspaper.
“It’s not the leg so much as the conversation I just had with a possible suspect.” Tobias tipped the bottle and poured. The clink of glass against glass brought to mind a fleeting image of the Hades Cup. “What can you tell me about Vale?”
Crackenburne hesitated and then slowly lowered the paper far enough to peer at Tobias over the top. “Wealthy. Widowed. Secretive. He’s the head of a very small, exclusive little club of collectors. Writes scholarly papers for the journals. Has a habit of disappearing for weeks at a time to dig up old Roman ruins in the country.”
“I know that much. I also know that he was a close friend of Fielding Dove.” Tobias took a swallow of the brandy and relaxed into the chair. “Which means that he probably was aware that Dove was the head of the Blue Chamber. Think Vale might have been involved in some of its activities?”
“Never heard anything to indicate that he was connected to that criminal organization.” Crackenburne folded his paper and put it aside. “Which is not to say that he wasn’t, of course. In his own way Vale is just as clever and possibly just as dangerous as Dove was in his time. But I think his interests lie elsewhere.”
“Antiquities.”
“Yes.”
“Do you think he would commit murder to obtain a very special Roman artifact associated with an ancient cult here in England?”
Crackenburne grew thoughtful. “I cannot say for certain. I’ve heard he is somewhat obsessive on the subject of such British-Roman relics. But I will give you my opinion, for what it’s worth.”
“And that is?”
“If Vale did commit murder for it, I very much doubt that you’d ever be able to trace the deed to him. He’s no fool. He would cover his tracks well.”
Tobias turned the brandy glass between his palms. “The murderer we’re after did leave something personal behind. His cravat.”
Crackenburne snorted. “Can’t see Vale being that careless.”
“Unless, of course, he knew that the damned neckcloth would lead us to a dead end. After all, it told us nothing except that Celeste Hudson was probably murdered by a gentleman rather than a poorly dressed footpad.”
Crackenburne shook his head with grave authority. “If Vale had taken pains to leave behind a false clue, you can be certain it would have led you to whoever he wished you to think was the killer. You just said the cravat led you to no one in particular.”
“It led me nowhere and therefore we must assume that Vale is probably not the killer.” Tobias smiled wryly. “The logic is somewhat convoluted, to say the least, but I am inclined to agree. In truth, I never placed too much hope in the possibility that his lordship was guilty. The entire affair is far too murky for such a convenient explanation.”
“Not Vale’s style at all.” Crackenburne picked up the brandy bottle and poured himself a glass. “But there is another reason why I think you can exclude him.”
“What is that?”
Crackenburne sipped brandy with a meditative air. “Can’t see Vale murdering a woman in cold blood. The man’s no saint, of course. I think it’s safe to say that under certain conditions he could be quite dangerous. Not unlike you, to be blunt. But I do not believe that he would strangle a woman to death. Not for a bloody antiquity.”
Tobias recalled the reverential way in which Vale had cradled the Hades Cup in his hands. “Not even if he placed a very high value on that particular antiquity?”
“He’s a shrewd, clever player who generally gets what he wants in the end. But in this sort of situation, I’m quite certain that he would have found other means to his ends.” Crackenburne smiled slightly before taking another swallow of brandy. “Just as you would have done under similar circumstances.”
Tobias watched the flames on the hearth for a time, contemplating what Crackenburne had said.
“Any other news for me?” he asked after a while.
“I did come up with a couple of interesting rumors concerning Gunning and Northampton.”
Tobias cocked a brow. “Yes?”
Crackenburne paused for effect, clearly relishing his moment. “Word has it that the households of both gentlemen may have been burglarized at some point in the past several months.”
Tobias put down his glass with such force that it sounded as if it had cracked on the tabletop. “‘May have been burglarized?”
“There was no evidence of a housebreaker. No smashed windows or broken locks. Nor is there any way to know precisely when the objects disappeared. Some feel the owners, who are both in their dotage, may simply have misplaced the items in question.”
“What sort of items are we talking about?”
“In the case of Lord Gunning, a pair of diamond earrings that belonged to his late wife. Northampton’s household is missing a very fine pearl-and-emerald necklace that was supposed to have gone to his daughter.”
“Bloody hell. The lady was, indeed, a jewel thief. And I’ll wager her recently widowed husband is in the same line.”
“Howard, do come in and sit down.” Lavinia put down the pen she had been using to make notes in the journal and motioned her visitor to a chair. “I believe there is some tea left in the pot. Allow me to pour you a cup.”
“Thank you, my dear.” Howard closed the study door behind him, but he did not sit down. Instead, he came to a halt in front of her desk and stood looking at her. “I was feeling quite restless this afternoon so I decided to take a walk.” He spread his hands. “The next thing I knew, I was standing at your front door.”