Sir Brooke ended up spending the night at the club. This surprised Rip. Actually, several things about the club surprised him.

For one, the sheer size of the building came as an unexpected revelation. They walked into a very large mansion, staffed with butlers and maids and bartenders.

Women were allowed in the public areas on the ground floor, but not upstairs. There, Brooke informed them, various rooms were reserved for private dining, smoking, drinking and so forth.

Another floor up housed overnight rooms that men could let while in the city. Businessmen from all over Umbria came to Ethinium for various reasons, and the club catered to their needs for a place to stay.

Rip and Blair remained downstairs with Sir Brooke in the main dining hall

The main course for their meal was prime rib, and Rip thought it was the best food he had eaten in quite some time.

After they finished, he leaned back in his chair with a contented sigh.

“Do they allow Royal Venture Society members to join?”

Brooke chuckled and said, “So long as you’re with me, you’re welcome to visit as often as you like. I’d appreciate it if you did not abuse my dinner tab, though.”

“I think Nancy can make this, if you really like it,” Blair said. “She’ll balk at the cost, though. Beef is rather expensive.”

“Ha. I think we can afford it.”

Her father tilted his head ever so slightly at Rip’s use of the word “we.” Blair just smiled, though, so he let it drop without comment.

Brooke allowed them the use of his carriage back to Blair’s townhouse, and offered to see them on the morrow at Doctors’ Commons.

The driver seemed rather tired when he dropped them off at 421 Pickle Leigh. Rip decided the man had suffered through a rather long day, and the new horses were still a bit uneasy in their harness.

He slipped the fellow a half-crown after stepping out and murmured a thanks for all his troubles.

This perked the fellow up noticeably, and he drove away with a smile on his face.

“You’re certainly generous,” Blair said, unlocking the wicket gate for them both.

He shrugged as they walked down the path to the door.

“There was a lot of shooting. The man lost his horses to gunfire. He’s out late. He deserves a little extra.”

She frowned a bit at the mention of shot horses while reaching to unlock the door. Before she could insert her key into the lock, Nancy flung it wide open, a dark look of concern on her face.

“I thought I heard you out there! Come in, come in! A man named Inspector Sperry is here to see you.”

“That’s Chief Inspector Sperry,” a voice in the front room called out.

Nancy gave Blair a wide-eyed look full of apprehension. They all walked inside. Sperry put his tea down and stood, along with three men in blue uniforms.

“Chief Inspector,” Blair said, walking forward. “To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit? Especially this time of night?”

“Actually, I’m here to ask your . . . friend, Sergeant Coulter here, a few questions.”

“That’s Sir Coulter, now,” Nancy said with a hint of indignation.

Rip tried to hide his smile. She seemed quick to fire back since Sperry had corrected her earlier.

“Indeed. Good thing, that. I like it when a commoner is knighted. It gives the rest of a ray of hope, eh?”

At this statement, Rip openly smiled, not bothering to hide it any longer.

“Join the RVS, blow up some airships, and maybe you can become one, too.”

“Hm. I do acknowledge your service to the crown. Now, where were you earlier today and tonight?”

Rip raised his eyebrows.

“I was in a factory owned by Sir Winston Brooke all afternoon. Afterward, he brought us to his club for supper. Along the way we were accosted by some Luddites. Some of your men helped us clear that little mess up.”

“Ah, yes. I am aware of that incident. I am most interested in the hours after that event. You were at a club, you say? Which one?”

“The Umbrian Businessmen’s Club, near the intersection of St. James and Pall Mall Street.”

“I see. And were you there all night?”

“Until we left to go home a little while ago, yes.”

“And you did not stop along the way? Lady Brooke, was this man in your sights the entire night?”

“Yes. What’s this about, Chief Inspector?”

Rip sensed her temper flaring. He hoped she would not unleash on the man. He also hoped Sperry would not be stupid enough to be rude to her, in her own home late at night.

Instead, the inspector sighed. He motioned to one of the officers and said, “Show him the pictures.”

A policeman stepped forward carrying a manila folder. He handed it over to Rip with an apology.

Curious, Rip opened the folder. Blair moved closer to see.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you, Lady Brooke.”

She ignored him, then gasped at the photo.

It looked crude, Rip thought. Black and white, and freshly developed maybe less than an hour ago, going by the smell of the chemical wash drifting up from the glossy paper.

The clarity was not that great, either. But what it showed . . .

A woman on a bed, in a cluttered, impoverished room.

Neck slashed, stomach opened.

She had been gutted, with entrails, heart and other organs pulled out and scattered.

Blair turned away, her face white.

To his credit, Sperry did not say anything, but the glance he gave her conveyed an “I told you so” expression.

“This was taken earlier tonight in the room of a known prostitute living in Whitechapel. She might not have been found until morning had a loyal customer not stopped by for his weekly meet. When she didn’t answer the door, he sneaked a peek in. Fortunately, he sounded the alarm.”

Rip nodded, his eyes still roaming the large photograph.

“What led us here tonight was the message the perpetrator left on the wall of her room. Do you see it, Sergeant? It’s written in her blood, using two fingers we believe.”

Rip nodded. Along the far wall, in large capital letters, one word was scrawled: “RIP.”