Blake’s name was Harper?
Blake let out a laugh, a cold, humorless sound. “You can think that I’m merely a con man, if it puts your mind at ease.”
A long, quiet moment passed, interrupted only by Berking’s heavy pacing footsteps and inaudible grumbling. Alexander’s mind worked to make sense of what he’d heard. Blake, or Harper, was a con man. Being in charge of the university’s funds must have given him ample opportunity. How much had he swindled from the school?
He heard only their breathing and shifting about. Surely by now, Saffron should have been waking up and getting sick. How long had he been unconscious? How much xolotl infusion had they given her? How strong was it?
Berking was pacing around again, cursing the xolotl and its damned yellow leaves.
“Fine, Berking, wake up Ashton,” Blake said, as though he were telling a child he could have a treat after all. “Wake him up and let’s be done.”
Rough hands grabbed his shirtfront and hauled him upward in a nauseating rush. Alexander opened his eyes and blinked away the sting of the slap Berking had dealt him. He caught sight of Saffron, slumped in the chair and still bound to it. He opened his mouth, but Blake took a step nearer to Saffron and pointed his pistol at her. “Not a word, Ashton, unless you want to see her die right now.”
He wasn’t going to beg for them to see reason, though it appeared Blake wouldn’t give him the chance to, anyway. If Saffron had survived her first dose, then maybe they would both live through this. Resigning himself, Alexander closed his mouth and glared at Blake.
Berking’s fingers dug into his scalp as he forced his head back. Blake poured the liquid down his throat. Alexander’s eyes watered at the bitter, tangy taste. They forced the entire glass down and were just picking Saffron’s unfinished glass up when the lightning strike shot through Alexander. His back arched against the chair and he gasped for breath before falling into darkness.
CHAPTER 21
Elizabeth Hale, Detective Inspector Green was told, had telephoned five times in the past hour and several times the hour before that. He was told she was threatening to come down to the police station at midnight to “raise hell” for all those police officers who were “too good to be bothered about a woman who had helped them far more than they deserved.” The inspector, who had just finished assisting in a large-scale arrest and was trying to complete his paperwork before going home, sighed heavily when the telephone interrupted the relative peace of his office.
He agreed to take the call without enthusiasm. “This is Miss Hale? Saffron Everleigh’s flatmate, I understand,” he said into the receiver.
“Yes, this is Saffron Everleigh’s flatmate. This is the twelfth time I’ve called—”
Her shrill voice sounded especially loud. Stifling a groan, he rubbed a hand over his tired eyes and said, “I apologize for the holdup, Miss Hale, but there is more than one set of criminals to contend with in the city. What can I do for you?”
And so began a lengthy rant about public servants not serving the public unless convenient to them, which then slipped into a one-sided argument about men not taking the concerns of women seriously, during which the inspector completed three forms and said nothing until she paused to draw breath. “Yes, Miss Hale, your concerns are quite valid. What did you need to speak with me about?”
“What I’ve been telling your useless minions, Inspector, is that Saffron hasn’t returned from work. She left quite early this morning and was supposed to come to tell me about a meeting she was having with—”
The inspector withheld a sigh. “Isn’t it possible that she is out with a friend or colleague and lost track of the time? Have you tried telephoning her friends and acquaintances? Perhaps she and Mr. Ashton—”
“Saffron said that she would come right after her meeting, and that’s what she would do. She knew I was waiting for her”—here the inspector was sure he heard a sob, but Miss Hale quickly recovered—“and she would have telephoned me to say if her plans changed. You know she has been investigating this poisoning business on her own because you lot—” Rather than a sob, Miss Hale apparently was refraining from embarking on another rant. Her voice returned with a tone of forced calm. “Now, if you insist again that she is safe and just merely forgetful, I will come down to that police station in my nightgown and wreak utter havoc until someone goes to look for her.”
The inspector, sure by now that this woman was a different kind of touched from Saffron Everleigh, thought she might just do that. “If she’s only been absent a couple of hours, I’m afraid we can’t allocate resources to finding someone who may not be missing.”