Lord Patrick had suggested Mr Hendrickson would be delighted when hearing they had found so many traumatized victims for him to personally interview. He had been correct. When hearing about it, Hendrickson blew a fuse big enough to nearly cause the office lights to go out.

De-lighting people was always such a fun thing to do.

Days passed. Hendrickson, after several days of constant persuasion, prodding and dismissal threats, finally deigned to pay a visit to the empty town house the women and children had been put up in. From what he had reported back to Lord Patrick, however, it would still be a long time before any usable witness reports would result from this. This wasn't like with DeLacey. Some of the women had been held captive by that monster who called himself a duke for over a decade. Patrick was no expert, but did he think they were in a condition for an interrogation? Hardly.

Even if they had all been perfectly fine, interviewing seventy people would have taken a considerable amount of time. In addition, there was no guarantee any evidence they could provide would prove sufficient. What if none of them had ever seen the faces of the men who snatched them off the street? What if they had never heard any names whispered in the dark?

"For now, all we can do about da women is wait," Amy sighed.

"Wait?" Cora put her hands on her substantial hips. "I didn't come all dis way along with ye ta sit on me arse and 'wait'! We should go after da next name on da list!"

"That would not be a smart idea," Patrick said darkly. "As much as I would like to, if I bring back another mysterious batch of victims from a 'corrupt, abusive workhouse', my dear mother will start to ask questions. I will not let her be dragged into this!"

"And besides," Amy added with a smile that promised pain and vengeance, "I just said that, right now, we can't do anything for dose women. I never said we can't do anything period."

She exchanged a meaningful look with Patrick. It had been a long time since they'd discussed this. It had been a long time in coming. But now, it was finally time.

"I know dat look." Lady Weterston grinned. "Ye two are up ta something. Spill!"

"Aye!" The prodigiously pregnant vicar's wife nodded, eyes narrowed. "I wanna know, too. I may not look like it, but I didn't come to dis place ta sit around all day!"

Lady Wetherston nodded. "Neither did I!"

Titus raised a hand. "What if I did? Can I get a drink and a comfortable armchair?"

Everyone ignored him.

"I want to know as well." Karim's voice was hard. "Now that I have started down this road, I shall not stop till the very end."

A momentary silence. Lord Patrick felt all eyes focus on Amy and him.

"None of us will." His voice was just as hard as Karim's had been. "You want to know what we will do now? Very well. But be warned. If any of you wish to take a step back and forget they were ever involved in this matter, this is your last chance."

Karim scoffed. "We've already fought our way through one secret hideout and two dungeons. What could be worse?"

"This. Mark my warning. Last chance to get out. There won't be another after this."

Titus swallowed. And, for a change, not because he had alcohol in his mouth. "Why?"

"Because," Lord Patrick answered his friend, his face darkening, "It's time for the next step. Up until now, we have worked in the light. Now, it's time to plunge into the shadow."

"Plunge into the shadow?" Karim leaned forward, his dark eyes intent. "Care to explain? I'm not quite certain I understand."

"I think I do."

That caused everyone's eyes, Lord Patrick's included, to turn towards Lady Wetherston.

"What do you mean, you know, woman?" Karim demanded.

Her Ladyship, Amy and the vicar's wife exchanged meaningful glances.

Ah. His Lordship gazed at them intently.

Seems they have figured it out.

Considering their background, it did not surprise Lord Patrick in the least.

"Remember what we were collecting witnesses for in da first place?" Amy enquired, glancing around at everyone.

"To find someone who knows who is truly behind all of this, of course." Karim answered. "To discover the name of the gang that dares to snatch people off the streets! Then we are going to take them down!"

"Exactly. But 'ow exactly are we gonna do dat if we can't even find 'em?"

The Mohammedan opened his mouth—then closed it again.

"There's only one thing we can do," Patrick took over. "So far, we've been looking at things from the outside. The rich and powerful, meddling in the business of the underworld. In order for the information that the girls will hopefully give us to truly be of use, in order to achieve anything, we must look at things from the inside. We ourselves must become part of the underworld."

"You mean...enter a gang?" A grin spread over Titus' face. "Patrick, Patrick. Here I am still trying to rope you in for a bit of gambling and drinking, and you've already long overtaken me in my journey into vice and villainy! I applaud your grand ambitions."

"As much as I regret it," rumbled Karim, "I must agree with the walking wine glass. Over the years in Ambrose Sahib's service, I've brushed elbows with a number of gangs in the London underworld. To try and infiltrate one of them...I wouldn't have a single clue how to go about it."

Everyone's eyes went to Patrick.

"I don't know either," he had to admit. "I'm not the expert on the underworld, here, remember?"

His gaze flicked towards Amy—and to the wicked little smile on her face. A sudden trickle of trepidation travelled down his spine as he realized Amy and he had never gotten beyond this point in their plans for the future. Suddenly he got a feeling this might have been a very, very bad idea on his part.

"Well," Amy said lazily, "there is one way we could infiltrate a gang."

"What way?" Titus asked before Patrick could slap a hand over his foolish friend's mouth.

"I'm glad ye asked." Amy's smile widened, and Lord Patrick wanted to thump the back of Titus's head. "Ta get into a gang, dere's only one method: build up some street cred."

"Street...cret?" Lord Patrick blinked. The trepidation in his heart didn't disappear. Instead it tripled. What exactly was she up to? He knew all five hundred thirty-seven thousand, two hundred twenty-three words in the English language, and he was pretty sure that "street cret" was not one of them.

"Yer reputation," Amy translated. "No gang's gonna take ye seriously, let alone let ye in, unless ye've got some serious rep on da streets. Dey don't want no 'armless little puppies. Dey want vicious bastards and cutthroats. Unless ye got street cred, ye'd better forget about getting' in."

"Creating an underworld alias? The persona of a wicked villain without morals or mercy?" Titus's eyes glittered. "Count me in!"

Without looking, Lord Patrick reached out and gave his friend another slap upside the head. His attention, all the while, was fully focused on Amy. "If you do not mind me asking—how exactly are we supposed to get this...street cred? How could we get a criminal's trust? Visit them in prison? Try to reform them?"

His voice sounded hopeful.

Lady Wetherston gave a distinctly unladylike snort. "Ha! Do ye wanna lose yer fingers or get yer 'ead bashed in? Nah, dat ain't da way ta do it."

So much for his hopes. And from the way the corner of her mouth was twitching...

It was clear that there was a way. And he was not going to like it.

"What?" Eyes narrowed, Lord Patrick leaned forward. "What is it?"

The three women exchanged a look again. Lord Patrick had the distinct feeling he was missing something. By now, a simultaneous smile was tugging at the corners of their mouths. Did women from the East End have some secret method of telepathy, or something?

"Well, there is one thing ye can do..."

The pause stretched out ominously.

"And that is...?"

"Well, let me put it dis way..." Amy grinned. It was the kind of grin, with a devious sparkle in her eyes, that made Lord Patrick Day simultaneously want to pull her into his arms and to run away as fast as possible, to get out collateral damage range. "If ye wanna get da attention of a painter, what do ye do?"

"Um...buy a DaVinci for him?"

"Aye, a beautiful painting. If ye wanna get da attention of a cook, what do ye do?"

"Cook a delicious meal?" Lord Patrick suggested, still having no clue where this was going.

"'xactly. And if ye wanna get da attention of a criminal, what do ye do?"

Once again, silence descended over the room. Lord Patrick Day thought he had already seen pretty much everything there was to see of Miss Amy Weston. He'd thought he had known how brazen she could get. Apparently, he'd been mistaken.

"Pardon me...but are you actually suggesting...?"

Amy shrugged, lifting one carefree, casual eyebrow. "Dat's da only way. What do ye think is da first thing a gang would make new members do? Something brutal and bloody, dat's what! Somethin' dat's gonna make darn sure dey ain't dealing with some copper snitch! Rob a store, slit a throat, beat up a copper black and blue...any of it will do."

"I am not going to rob a store!"

Her face brightened. "Ah, so ye'll slit a throat instead?"

He wanted to throttle her—but he couldn't! Firstly, because he knew she wasn't really being serious.

Hopefully.

Secondly, because he knew what was at stake. If they didn't do what was necessary, untold numbers of children were going to suffer. Considering what he had already done...would a robbery truly be such a bad thing? After all, in the eyes of the law, the honourable tradition of dueling was technically manslaughter. Would the step to robbery truly be so terrible?

Lord Patrick Day, what are you thinking? Your ancestors would turn over in their graves!

Although, after all the things he'd done recently, they probably were rotating like spinning tops already.

That's not the point!

The mere thought of actually, literally committing a crime made his honourable gentlemanly stomach turn. If only there were some store conveniently volunteering to be robbed, or some nice masochistic policeman willing to be beaten up...

Ding-dong!

Abruptly, His Lordship's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.

Frowning, he got to his feet. "Who could that be? Who would come at this time of the day?"

"Well, let's go and check, shall we?" Amy suggested.

Nodding, Lord Patrick strode out of the room and down the corridor. Maybe Hendrickson had already uncovered something during his interviews. Unlatching the front door, he pulled it open, and revealed the figure of...

He blinked.

"What are you doing here?"

Inspector Ian Pritchard's eyes narrowed his eyes at His Lordship. "Don't make me regret coming here."

"Why not?" Amy's cool voice enquired from behind Lord Patrick's back. "Then ye'd leave, wouldn't ye?"

Lord Patrick's lips twitched.

She's such a charming lady. Can't say I entirely disagree with her, though.

Shifting, His Lordship filled the doorway, blocking the detective from her vengeful gaze. His eyes narrowed at the corpulent policeman. "My apologies, Inspector. I was simply expressing my surprise regarding your presence here. Last time we met, you seemed...less than pleased with me. Even less likely to wish to meet me again."

The inspector shifted uncomfortably, chewing on his pipe. "Well, ehem, about that...about what I said back then..."

"Yes?"

His Lordship raised an eyebrow. Well now...this was new. Was that a trace of embarrassment in the tone of Inspector Ian Pritchard? That seemed about as likely as a naked mole-rat feeling shy. And yet, here he was, shuffling his feet like a naughty school boy. What was going on?

The inspector chewed on his pipe. "Err...well...after careful consideration, I have come to the conclusion that I, ehem...might have spoken somewhat hastily."

"Oh really, you did, did you?" Lord Patrick's noble eyebrow rose a little higher in faux surprise. "When could you have possibly done that?"

The inspector's squirming increased.

"Well, ehem..."

"Ah!" His Lordship snapped his fingers. "Now I remember! It was when you dismissed the horrifying fate of dozens of victims of the underground slave trade as silly rumours in order to protect the reputation of the police force, wasn't it?"

He heard a distinctly Amy-ish snort coming from behind his back and, without meaning to, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. All the while, a voice at the back of his mind was shouting, What are you doing? How are you speaking to representatives of law and order in the realm? The keepers of Her Majesty's Peace? This is outrageous!

Oh yes? And how well had they been doing, keeping that peace, recently?

This is all that emerald-eyed seductress's fault! She has bewitched you! She has changed you!

Yes...maybe she had. For the better.

"I do admit," Pritchard squeezed out between clenched teeth that had very nearly bitten through his pipe by now, "I should have chosen my words more carefu—I mean, I may have been misinform—I...I...dammit!"

Growling, he slammed his fist against the wall of the house and then, for the first time, raised his head that had been lowered all this while and looked Lord Patrick straight in the eye.

"I was wrong! Is that what you want to hear? I was wrong, dammit! And on top of that, I was a complete and utter arse! After what you said...I made some enquiries. You...you were right. You were right this entire time!"

A shudder wracked the sturdy man's body. "All this time...this has been going on right under my nose, and I wasn't even willing to see it when someone slapped me in the face with it!" His gaze turning fierce, the inspector reached out and grabbed Lord Patrick's shoulder. "I know I don't deserve it, but...let me help! Let me help bring those bastards to justice and redeem the good name of the Metropolitan Police Force! I swear, I can help, somehow!"

A policeman.

Volunteering.

Lord Patrick Day suddenly was in a very, very good mood. A beatific smile spread over his face, and he took the inspector's hand, grasping it in a firm handshake.

"Wonderful! I look forward to cooperating with you, Inspector! As it happens, there is actually something I need help with right now."

Pritchard's face instantly brightened. "Really? What? I'll do anything!"

Patrick smile widened. From behind him came the sound of several people trying not to choke on their laughter. "Splendid. Then I have just the right job for you..."