You know, with the most charitable feelings towards him, there are moments when you can't help thinking that young Bingo ought to be in some sort of a home. -- P. G. Wodehouse, The Inimitable Jeeves

As far as her neighbours were concerned, Ophelia Patton was a model of respectability and generosity. Somewhat eccentric, and it was a pity she was becoming an old maid, but that could be politely overlooked. She was always impeccably dressed. She attended church every Sunday. She donated to every charitable cause. She even allowed her sister and brother-in-law to live with her several months out of the year, which — considering that they had a two-year-old, a four-month-old baby, and several dogs, and her sister was considered one of the most pronounced lunatics ever to evade the asylum — practically qualified her as a modern-day Job.

What her neighbours would have thought if they knew about the other side of her life was something she contemplated when she needed a good laugh. Because really, what would they say if they knew she had been a suspect in her aunt's murder? Or that she had voted for a murderer to go free because of his love for another man? Or, most scandalous of all, that she was writing to and in love with her aunt's murderer?

That last one was not something she thought of when she needed a good laugh. It had the exact opposite effect.

Right now Phil was alone in Enniskillen. Vi and Máté had taken Johnny and Ellie to London, where one of Máté's sisters wanted to meet her new niece. The Lennox-Altounian family had been in Armenia for over a year. Mr. Seo was goodness-knew-where, probably outwitting another murderer. And Leopold hadn't answered her most recent letter. She didn't want him to. Not after that article in the newspaper.

She had a routine. In the morning she would review her business correspondence. If any of it needed answered, she would do that before lunch. In the afternoon she would visit some of her neighbours, or they would visit her. In the evening she would read, sketch, write to Vi, or work on the dress she was very slowly altering.

That Wednesday in March began like any other day. Someone had written to complain that the burglar alarm installed in their safe hadn't gone off when the safe was broken open. Phil wrote a summary of the case to her company's lawyer, then wrote to the complainer to tell them Mr. Powell would soon be in touch with them.

The house had a tendency to become stuffy in the spring. Phil opened a window while she wrote. She sealed the envelopes, then decided she might as well walk to the post-box instead of leaving them for the butler to post.

The nearest post-box was only a short walk across the road. Phil hummed to herself as she walked. In the distance she heard a car approaching. Probably the Stewarts at Number 83; they were buying new motorcars like there was an imminent shortage.

Instead of passing her, the car stopped somewhere behind her.

Phil pushed the letters into the post-box. It was in full view of the McFarlands' house, which she had always felt was a bit of maliciousness on the part of the postal service. Sure enough, Mrs. McFarland opened the drawing room window.

"Good morning, Miss Patton!"

Phil sighed internally as she forced a smile. She had often reflected that it was just as well the McFarlands had moved here a few months ago. If they had been here during the Lennox case, people as far away as Belfast would have known the whole story within minutes of Mr. Seo revealing the culprit.

"Good morning, Mrs. McFarland." A mischievous impulse made her add, "I hope your daughter has recovered from her headache."

By now everyone living in Willoughby Place knew that Miss McFarland had pleaded a headache yesterday just to avoid meeting Miss Truman, who had gotten engaged to the man Miss McFarland had wanted to marry. Phil had heard about it from her maid Bessie, who had learnt it from Mrs. McFarland's maid Polly.

Mrs. McFarland's smile flickered. She kept it in place with a tremendous effort. Her next words made Phil regret opening her mouth.

"I didn't know you were expecting visitors. You must introduce us!"

"I'm not," Phil said, puzzled.

Mrs. McFarland raised an eyebrow. "Dear me, then they've gone to the wrong house."

Phil turned. The car she'd heard earlier had stopped outside her house. Even worse, two figures were standing at her front door. Worst of all, they were both men.

She could already hear the story Mrs. McFarland would tell. "Miss Patton entertains male visitors in broad daylight! Unchaperoned!"

"It must be my lawyer," she said with a casual air she didn't feel. The door opened and the two men went inside. Presumably Jones the butler had already let them in. "He told me he had some papers for me to sign. Good day, Mrs. McFarland."

She felt her neighbour's beady eyes fixed on her as she crossed the road.

As she approached her house Phil wondered who the men could be. The car provided no clues. If she had been a detective like Mr. Seo she would have noticed its make, origin, and probably even deduced something about its owner. As it was, she could only call it an ordinary car.

She tried to picture the two men based on her brief glimpse of them. One had been taller than the other. Both were wearing heavy coats. And that was it. Their hats and the distance meant she couldn't even guess at their faces.

Mr. Powell was not one of them; he was short and stout, and walked with a cane. So who? Máté with a friend? Alexander Lennox and Davit Altounian? Mr. Seo investigating another murder? Her cousin John visiting for the first time in his life?

She was wild with curiosity by the time she reached the door.

"Visitors in the drawing room, miss," Jones said, with a sniff that suggested he didn't think much of them.

Phil marched up to the drawing room and opened the door. Mr. Seo and his friend stood up when she walked in.

"I apologise for this unexpected visit," Mr. Seo began, at the same time as Phil exclaimed, "So it is you!"

They both paused to let the other speak, then both started to talk again in unison, then laughed rather nervously. Phil could only think of one reason Seo Yo-han could be in her house without warning. He appeared to be thinking the same. He looked over at the other man. Phil followed suit.

She froze.

Her eyes narrowed.

"We would have warned you, but it's a bit of an emergency," the man said. Phil took a hesitant step forward. Then another, and another. "You see, we've had a... very... long... journey..." Phil stopped right in front of him. Leopold Colman managed a sheepish smile. "Hello, Miss Patton."

Phil had never punched a man before in her life.

This felt like as good a time as any to start.

~~~~

Phil turned to Yo-han. In a business-like tone she asked, "All right, why are you here?"

She rubbed her knuckles with a grimace as she spoke. In the background Colman sank down into an armchair with his hand pressed to his jaw.

Yo-han decided there was no point in trying to put it mildly. "We're being chased by a murderer who cuts off his victims' fingers. His latest victims were my cousin and her family. He killed them in a way that cast suspicion on Mr. Colman, which is why he's here."

"Yes, I saw that in the papers," Phil remarked coolly. There was something in her coolness that made Yo-han feel sorry for Colman. At this rate he'd be lucky if a punch in the face was the worse he got. "It's definitely a lie, then? He didn't murder those children?"

"How could you possibly believe I had?" Colman demanded.

"Maybe because you murdered my aunt."

"She was an adult! And honestly not a great loss to society! Anyway, I gave up being an assassin later that year. I got caught when I shot a Brazilian politician. I barely escaped, and I've made my living honestly ever since." He paused. "Well, as honestly as an actor can."

Phil glared at him. "Then please explain how your name ever got dragged into this ghastly business!"

"I truly don't know! I dare say it's because of the Brazilian politician, which I was able to play off as self-defence, combined with your aunt's death. That case never went to trial—"

"I know," Phil said grimly.

"—so technically I was only a suspect, and I was able to bribe a few friends into giving me an unshakeable alibi when the Australian police got the English police to start asking questions. But those cases associated me with death by headshot in the police's mind, and I wasn't in the country to be questioned. So here we are."

"I have another theory," Yo-han said. "One or more people tried to murder me in Seoul, before I ever heard of my cousin's death. It wouldn't be hard for someone to go through my past cases, see that I investigated the Patton murder, and send the police in the wrong direction by imitating that killer's method."

The talk came to an abrupt halt as Bessie brought in the tea-tray. Everyone waited until the door closed behind her.

Now Phil wasn't a detective, but it seemed to her that they had missed the most important question. "Why were the Hastings murdered? Why them specifically? If it was just to get at you, they would have killed only Mrs. Hastings."

Yo-han paused in the middle of dunking a biscuit in his tea. "Not necessarily. It depends on how—" He broke off with a yelp as his biscuit fell apart. "It depends on how insane they are. This man collects fingers. And I know he's targeting me because he sent me my cousin's finger. We're dealing with a monster; it's not surprising he killed the whole family. Although," he added thoughtfully, "Mr. Hastings used to work in the foreign office."

Everyone considered this.

"He might have found out something that someone didn't want him to know," Phil said slowly. "His wife's connection to you might be just a coincidence."

"Or the assassin might have discovered it after committing the murders. He realised he was in danger from me, so he is trying to protect himself. Make himself the hunter instead of the hunted."

Leopold spoke up. "I can help you check that. I know a man who works in the foreign office."

Phil looked at him with a jaundiced eye. "Who is he? Another assassin?"

Leopold laughed nervously. "No, nothing of the sort. He's an earl's son, actually. I think he's a sort of indirect mutual friend. You know Lord Kilskeery?"

"He doesn't work for the foreign office," Phil snapped. If he thought he could fool her that easily...

"I know he doesn't. But his..." Leopold coughed, then cleared his throat. "Er, how much do you know about Kilskeery?"

"He's one of my closest friends," Phil said coolly.

Both Leopold and Yo-han looked stunned.

It was strange how disasters could make people who apparently were nothing alike discover they had some things in common after all. In the ordinary scheme of things, Ophelia Patton, a young woman whose only claim to distinction was inheriting her uncle-by-marriage's business, and Alexander Lennox, a viscount with an interest in theology and church history, would never have spoken to each other. They would have seen each other only in passing, as a result of being technically neighbours. They didn't even go to the same church; Phil was a not-very-devout Methodist and Alec was Anglican in name only.

The murder of Alec's wife and her lover, and Yo-han's investigation, had first introduced them. Afterwards Phil and Vi, occasionally accompanied by Máté, had visited Lennox House. A most unlikely friendship had sprung up between Phil and Alec, and to a lesser degree between Phil and Alec's lover Davit.

On her side it was born from a mixture of sympathy and fellow-feeling. She and Alec were both in love with murderers, after all. The fact she could be sure neither man would ever get the wrong idea about her feelings was an added benefit. On their side it was born from the knowledge that she knew the whole truth about them and wasn't inclined to judge them too harshly.

Phil and Alec continued to write to each other even now that Alec and Davit, and Alec's young sons, were in Armenia. Phil kept him updated on events in Enniskillen, even ones that he would hear about from other sources like his mother's efforts at winning the Best in Show prize for her hydrangeas. Alec told her about Armenia, with occasional interjections from Davit. In-between they debated theology and religion — Phil took the view that if there was a god, he would be merciful; Alec inclined more towards a stricter view of the Bible, which was why he had given up on trying to be Christian at all. He was the only person outside her family who she had told all about Leopold. She was the only person who knew the true nature of his relationship with Davit.

It was a complicated subject and one she didn't feel like explaining now.

"What has he got to do with this?" she asked.

Leopold stumbled over his words. "Well, um, nothing really. It's just... he has a friend," he darted an awkward glance at her, "and my friend is a friend of his friend."

Phil tried to make sense of all these friends. "Let's not try to be discreet. I know Alec is an invert." The look on Leopold's face would have been hilarious under other circumstances. "I suppose by his friend, you mean his lover Davit?"

It took Leopold a minute to recover enough to speak. "Er, yes. My... friend..." A most unpleasant and jarring suspicion struck Phil: was Leopold an invert too? If so, there went her dreams, "...is Louis Gresham, who knew David — I thought his name was David — before he met Lennox."

Phil decided not to explain how Davit Altounian had become David Eames. "I remember Gresham. Davit mentioned him." She thought it wiser not to mention the context. "How do you know him?"

There was a very uncomfortable silence. Leopold looked helplessly over at Yo-han. Yo-han became very interested in the pattern of his teacup. Phil's suspicions became stronger. A stinging and most ridiculous sense of jealousy struck her. She tried to push it away. What was it to her if Leopold was that way? He'd never tried to make her fall in love with him. Not even in his letters. He was sarcastic, kind, biting, oddly endearing, sweet, funny... Phil shook her head, not even caring that she must look odd. She had no one to blame but herself in this case.

"I don't quite know where to begin," Leopold said.

Phil spared him the trouble. "He's your lover."

"Not any more," Leopold said, and Phil's heart broke. He must have guessed something was wrong from her face, because he hurried to add, "I'm not exactly like Louis and Kilskeery. I like women as well as men."

"We seem to have wandered quite far from the point," Yo-han interrupted before Phil could fully comprehend that statement. "Where is Mr. Gresham?"

Leopold shrugged. "In London, last I heard."

"Then you should contact him. I will try to find my cousin's friends. Miss Patton, if you're willing to be dragged into this—"

"I am," Phil said, without even needing to think twice.

Yo-han blinked. "It will mean going to England."

"I can stay with Vi. She's already in London." Too late it dawned on Phil that an uninvited sister was the last thing Vi would want to deal with while meeting her in-laws. Oh well. She could find some other accommodation.

"You can ask around the chemists. We're looking for a Korean man — well, say Chinese. I doubt they'll have heard of Korea. This man bought or tried to buy formaldehyde around the time of the Hastings murders. We'll have to hurry. The murderer is probably in New York right now."

An unpleasant thought began niggling at the back of Phil's mind. It grew and grew. Someone would notice that she had left, unchaperoned, in company with two men. The gossips like Mrs. McFarland would think Christmas had come early. Her reputation would be in tatters before they were finished with her.

"Colman, you'd better send a telegram to your friend right away. Miss Patton, would you show Mr. Colman to the telegraph office?"

It didn't take a genius or a bloodhound to find a telegraph office. Even if Leopold had never been in Enniskillen before, he could have asked for directions. He didn't need a personal guide.

Phil looked very hard at Yo-han. He returned her stare with a bland expression. In the background Leopold gave Yo-han a look of mixed gratitude and suspicion.

~~~~

It wasn't a crime to walk through a town in broad daylight with a strange man, in spite of what Mrs. McFarland might say. Phil kept telling herself that as she and Leopold crossed the bridge into the town itself.

Ahead the hill rose sharply. They walked slowly. Occasionally Phil would point out people she knew. An almost intolerable awkwardness stretched between them.

They passed the hospital, a square white building at the top of the hill. Beside it was the Methodist church with the four pillars supporting its roof.

"Looks more like a court than a church," Leopold observed.

Phil had often thought that herself. "Yes. I suppose it does."

She wanted to hurry on and get back to the house as quickly as possible. A murderous lunatic was on his way across the Atlantic; this was no time for dilly-dallying! But Leopold stopped to stare at the church. She reluctantly stood still too.

At least this would make him look more convincingly like a tourist she was showing around. If Mrs. McFarland heard about it, Phil would claim Leopold was her cousin.

"Why did you write to me?" Leopold asked suddenly.

A good question. If only there was a good answer. Phil knew perfectly well that "I'm in love with you" was not a good answer. Not in this situation.

"I wondered what had happened to you," she said, which was true enough. "And I asked my sister to find you."

Leopold laughed at that. "Yes, I suppose I did a terrible job of covering my tracks."

He leant against the railings. They smiled awkwardly at each other. The tense atmosphere still lingered between them, but something about it changed.

Phil didn't really want to know the answer. She asked anyway. "Do you love... your friend?"

"No," Leopold said. "Not in that way. I broke it off after I got your first letter."

Phil refused to let herself read anything into that. "Then why...?"

"Was I with," he glanced around to make sure no one was close enough to hear, "that person? It's hard to explain." He gave her a quizzical look. "You seem to be taking this very calmly. Most women would be scandalised."

The Phil of a few years ago would have been appalled by this conversation. The current Phil was just trying to work out if she should give up her dreams forever. "As I said earlier, my best friend is Alexander Lennox." A silly impulse made her add in an undertone, "There are more things in heaven and earth[1]..." Louder she said, "I think I'll understand it if you explain."

She wouldn't necessarily like it, but that was her business.

"Well," Leo stared up at a bird perched on the church's roof, "like I said, I like both. But I... there's a woman. Who I'm in love with. And who's out of my reach."

If Phil listened very carefully she was sure she could have heard her heart break.

Leo continued, "So I like Louis as a friend, but I don't love him."

"Who is she?" Phil forced herself to sound almost casual. Leo had never mentioned another woman in any of his letters. But then, he'd never mentioned any men either. "An actress?"

"No. No, she's... she's someone I wronged very badly years ago. I realised I loved her too late." Leo became very interested in the church's noticeboard. "I caused her a great deal of misery. I nearly got her arrested for a crime I committed, and I didn't speak up to save her."

Phil listened in a mixture of bewilderment and growing hope. She tried her damnedest to keep the hope back. It would only hurt more when she was proved wrong. "Does she know about this?"

Leo laughed, a nervous and almost strangled sound. "She does now."

"Does she forgive you?"

He looked up. Their eyes met. Phil saw her own fears and hopes reflected in his.

"I don't know," he whispered.

"And does she love you?"

"How could she?" Leo turned almost angrily. He leant his back against the railings and glared at the undertaker's shop across the road. "She knows my worst sins now. What sane woman would love me?"

Phil had scandalised some proper-minded ladies by reading the complete works of Shakespeare. She hadn't admitted why. Even to herself she had to admit it was a very good way of passing a few months, but a silly way to feel closer to the man she loved. It stood her in good stead now.

"She has you, if she has you, at your worst. And she will have you, if she has you, better and better[2]."

Silence stretched between them. Leo's eyebrows made a spirited attempt to disappear into his hairline. He made several attempts to speak.

Phil had come this far. If she was going to make a fool of herself, she might as well do it thoroughly. "If I can love you for this, take me. If not, to say to thee I shall die is true, but not for your love. Yet I love you too[3]. And therefore tell me..."

She hesitated, trying to work out whether she should adapt "most fair Katharine" as "most fair Leopold" or leave it out entirely.

Leo took the decision out of her hands. "And therefore tell me, most fair," he reached out hesitantly and brushed a strand of hair back from her face, "will you have me?"

His fingers skated down to her cheek, his touch so feather-light she could scarcely feel it.

Phil's knowledge of Shakespeare failed her.

"Yes," she said simply.

Chapter Footnotes:

[1] "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,/Than are dreamt of in your philosophy." -- Hamlet, Act I Scene 5

[2] Adapted from Henry V, Act V Scene 2: "...thou hast me, if thou hast me, at the worst; and thou shalt wear me, if thou wear me, better and better...". (Henry means his physical appearance will improve with age; Phil misremembers it as referring to his morals improving.)

[3] Phil gets her speeches out of order here; "If I can love..." to "Yet I love you too" are adapted from the same scene in Henry V but are much earlier than the rest of the lines quoted. (The proper quotation is "If thou canst love me for this, take me: if not, to say to thee that I shall die, is true; but for thy love, by the Lord, no; yet I love thee too.")