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“His memoirs,” the publisher said miserably “Mr Desmond has written his memoirs and I have paid him—partially, I mean, as an incentive to complete the to Rossingley to visit relatives, so I ca them to me”

“Written his memoirs, has he?” Lord Streetham asked as he absently poured lass

“Yes, My Lord I saw them—at least part of them—myself He had written to ask whether I had any interest, and naturally, being familiar with his reputation—as who is not?—I made all haste to examine the work I had to travel all the way to Scotland, but the journey orthto read Devil Desmond’s story We’ll issue it in installments, you see, and—”

“And have you got them?” his lordship asked

Mr Atkins was forced to admit he had not, because Mr Desmond had raised difficulties

“Of course he has,” said the earl “If you know his reputation, you should know better than to give Devil Desoods in your hands You are a fool These meot up for the purpose, and you were cozened”

The publisher protested that the manuscript er to interrupt thewith her father “He’s ready to publish,” Atkins explained, “but she won’t let hi for a husband, you know That’s why Mr Desland”

The earl sneered “Devil Deshter? A husband? The wench must be addled in her wits I suppose she means to find herself a lord—a duke, perhaps?” Lord Streetham chuckled “Silly chit What’s one more scandal to her? As it is—but no, ancient history bores me Still, the public dotes on such sorry tales, and you are correct These memoirs, if they truly exist, are certain to be popular Unfortunately” He paused and lightly druers on the table

“My Lord?”

“People change, Atkins,” said the earl, without looking up “Some of those hom Desmond consorted in his wicked youth have died of their excesses Those who survived are today hly respected They will not take kindly to such an exposure of their youthful follies If you are not careful, you will be sued for libel”

“My Lord, I assure you—”

Lord Streetha, “Furthermore, libellous or not, there may be information that would destroy the peace of innocent families We can’t have that” His lordship sipped his ith an air of piety

Mr Atkins panicked “Oh, My Lord For fear of a few domestic squabbles you are prepared to deprive the world of these recollections? I pro at the doors every ti of you, My Lord, reconsider” Tears formed in the publisher’s eyes

Lord Streetha minutes while Mr Atkins mopped his brow and waited

“Very well,” said the earl at last “It would be wrong to deprive the public He has lived an extraordinary life You may publish, if you can—but on one condition”

“Anything, My Lord”

“Ihere and there will do no harues considerable pain”

Having agreed to accept any condition, Mr Atkins could hardly quarrel with this modest request Some time later, however, as he took hiht Lord Streetham to this accursed inn By the ti” Devil Desmond’s memoirs, they’d look like a book of sermons, and Mr Atkins would consider himself very fortunate if even the Methodists would buy them

Lord Streethaht have known this would be a night of ill omen from the start, when his mistress had failed to appear Then, when Desmond’s chit had entered his private parlour, he’d mistaken her for the tart, and nearly had his claret spilled After that, he’d narrowly escaped certain death at Devil Desdon, the soul of rectitude, a witness to the whole tawdry scene Worst of all were these curst es must surely reveal secrets of his own to the unsympathetic London mob

His lordship was not altogether easy in his mind about the publisher, either The choice between certain success and certain ruin is not a difficult one, and a desperate man is not a patient one Suppose Atkins betrayed him, and made off with the manuscript? Suppose, even if he didn’t, the book was so scurrilous that editing would not be enough? Perhaps it were safest to destroy the work altogether With these and hosts of other, equally unsettling questions did Lord Streethaht

Chapter Two

Hoping once again to avoid his fellow travellers, Jack stole out of his room shortly after dawn As he was about to turn the corner towards the stairs, there calanced back at the precise instant that another gentle around the corner The two collided, and Mr Langdon was sent staggering against the wall

“Drat—so sorr—Jack!” exclaientleman “Is that you, truly?”

He reached out a hand to help, but Jack had swiftly recovered his balance, though he was still rather dazed He glanced up into what el It was a face that ht have been painted by Botticelli, so classically beautiful were its proportions, so finely chiseled every feature, so clear, blue, and innocent its eyes, so golden the halo of curls that crowned it