Eun was blinking away tears now, having regained the ability to see after using the second capsule. "In a fair fight, I think I could take you," he muttered.
"Maybe," The Peregrine said, trying to make a peace offering. "But I’d rather not find out."
Lazarus stepped around the table, his eyes flicking toward the clock mounted on the wall. It was late, nearing midnight, but he didn’t feel they had any time to waste. "Morgan, I want you and Eun to pay a visit to Mr. Melvin. I’m fairly certain that he’ll keep his secretary close to him at all times so they should be in adjoining rooms at their hotel. Samantha, please remain here to coordinate our efforts."
The Peregrine caught a nod from Lazarus, who was heading toward the door. Falling into step alongside the enigmatic founder of Assistance Unlimited, The Peregrine lowered his voice and asked, "Where are we going?"
Lazarus led the masked man toward an elevator at the end of the hall. "Our first stop will be the medical lab downstairs. I don’t think your wounds warrant calling in a physician but you need some patching up. It should take no more than five minutes. I hate to waste even that amount of time, but we may need to be at full strength."
"And then?"
"Then we’re going to look for Mr. Hansome."
"I don’t have any clue where Devil Face has taken him!" The Peregrine muttered. "What are you proposing? That we drive around town in hopes of spotting them somewhere?"
"Not quite," Lazarus answered. "All of my aides regularly ingest a radioactive isotope that allows me to easily trace them should they vanish while performing their duties. It’s quite harmless. Earlier today, I took action to ensure that all of the men on our list of suspects ingested those same isotopes."
The Peregrine stopped just inside the fully stocked medical lab. "Including me?"
"Including you."
"How in the world-?"
"It was different for each of you — but for you, I slipped it into the scotch you poured back at your hotel room. You barely sipped any of it, but you still managed to swallow enough for me to trace you."
The Peregrine’s lips spread into a grin. "I just realized you just tricked me into revealing my identity."
"It wasn’t hard to figure out," Lazarus said in all honesty, leading The Peregrine toward a chair. After the vigilante was seated and Lazarus had begun treating his injuries, he continued, "The authorities in Boston have nearly uncovered your dual identities on several occasions. You’ve been so sloppy that it almost seems like you want to be caught."
The Peregrine winced as Lazarus dabbed antiseptic into his knife wound. "Yeah, I’ve been told that before. It’s just so hard to balance a personal life with my private war… Considering how my father was killed because his enemies knew who he was, I thought it was important to keep my own identity secret. But when push has come to shove, I’ve erred on the side of catching bad guys, even when it meant that my identity might be compromised."
"I understand about the nature of dual lives," Lazarus admitted. He was normally a taciturn individual, but he sensed that Max Davies was someone who could fully understand the difficulties he faced. "Not long ago, I was a man named Richard Winthrop. I was a member of an international cartel with their fingers in every occult conspiracy you can think of. When I turned against them, I was killed… but here in Sovereign City, I was reborn. Now I find elements of my old life encroaching upon the new with disturbing regularity."
The Peregrine seemed to sense that he was being honored with this show of familiarity. He reached out and squeezed the other man’s arm. "Maybe we can help each other. You can give me advice when it looks like I’m skating on thin ice with my secret identity… and I can offer you assistance in dealing with those old friends of yours."
Lazarus pulled away, reaching under a counter where he retrieved a gauze bandage. "I just might take you up on that."
"I don’t like him," Eun said for about the fifteenth time. He glanced over at Morgan, who was leading the way down the hotel lobby. They had used their status as members of Assistance Unlimited to convince the desk clerk downstairs to tell them what rooms belonged to Mr. Melvin and his secretary. To Morgan’s surprise, Melvin wasn’t in the penthouse — rather, he was in one of the rooms on the fourth floor. Smithson, as Lazarus had surmised, was in an adjoining suite.
Morgan reached up and rubbed his fingertips over the slicked pencil-thin moustache that covered his upper lip. "Eun, give it a rest. The Peregrine is on our side."
"He’s wanted for murder."
"I’ve killed more men than I care to remember," Morgan pointed out. "Most of them were back in my criminal days but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m a murderer. At least The Peregrine supposedly hasn’t offed anyone who didn’t deserve it."
Eun didn’t bother responding but from the sour look on his face, there was no need to. Morgan knew he was smarting more from his hurt pride than anything else. Hoping that the younger man would get past his distrust of The Peregrine, Morgan stopped outside Melvin’s door and gave it a hard rap.
There was movement from within and the door opened and revealed Melvin, dressed in a smoking jacket and slippers. He seemed alert, despite the hour. "Yes?" he asked.
"My name’s Morgan Watts. I work for Assistance Unlimited. You’ve heard of us?"
"Of course. Who hasn’t?" Understanding seemed to dawn in the old man’s eyes and he stepped back, allowing them entrance. "This is about that horrible murder, isn’t it? The Schuller girl?"
Morgan stepped inside but Eun hung back. "My friend’s going to speak to your secretary. He’s next door?"
"Yes. But I can access his room with our adjoining door."
"We’d rather speak to each of you separately." Morgan nodded at Eun, who moved toward Smithson’s room. Morgan took the door from Melvin and shut it. "You’re right about us being here about the murder. I wanted to ask you how well you know Mr. Smithson."
"I’d trust him with my life. If you’re going to accuse him of some wrongdoing, you’re just going to end up with egg on your face. He’s morally upstanding." Melvin took several steps toward a table where a half empty bottle of vodka sat next to an empty glass. Morgan had thought he’d detected the smell of alcohol on Melvin’s breath and now he knew his senses had been correct. "Can I get you a drink?" Melvin asked, sitting down with creaking knees.
"Normally, I’d like nothing better, but I can’t afford that right now. I’m working." Morgan sat down across from Melvin, his eyes flicking toward the door that led into the adjoining room. If The Peregrine was correct and Smithson was the murderer, Eun might be in grave danger. At the first sign of danger, Morgan would burst into that room, guns blazing.
"What makes you think that Smithson is the murderer?" Melvin asked, pouring himself a glass. He tilted the bottle until the liquid reached the lip of the glass, threatening to overflow.
"We’re not accusing anyone," Morgan said. "As a matter of fact, Smithson’s name wasn’t one of those found on the dead girl’s body. But most of the others either have alibis or have other elements to their lives that preclude them from being part of the killings."
"Killings?" Melvin asked, his eyes shining. "There’s been more than one?"
"Yes. The press and the local police don’t seem to have noticed, but Schuller wasn’t the first girl to be killed. There have been several over the past few years, mostly prostitutes and the like. We think we’re dealing with a modern day Jack the Ripper."