She was an excellent actress. The flicker of calculation in her eyes was barely perceptible. ‘I refuse to believe you’re Peregrine Vale. The greatest detective in London wouldn’t just show up in my attic like this. You’re some sort of burglar. I insist that you leave right this minute, or I’ll call the police!’

‘Spare me the breathless histrionics,’ Vale advised. ‘Calling the police would be inconvenient for both of us. A few minutes of conversation would be a great deal more profitable, and then I will leave you in peace to start packing.’

This time the narrowing of her eyes was quite definite, however much she tried to hide it. ‘Packing? Why should I do that?’

‘Claribelle Houndston,’ Vale said, turning away from her to stroll down a narrow path between the lines of herbs and flowers. ‘Or should I call you Lucy Windermere? Or Ethel James? There’s also Percival Felixton, John Brookes and several others – not to mention your foreign aliases. I will address you as madam out of courtesy, but I’m forced to admit that I am uncertain of your original gender or name.’ A fact which galled him. He turned to face her. ‘You are extremely efficient at covering your tracks. I must applaud the fact that you choose your aliases at random, rather than according to some personal theme or preference. Very few people can avoid that – however much they may consciously try.’

She cocked her head thoughtfully, like a bird trying to decide whether a worm would taste as good as it looked. ‘Tell me, Mr Vale, does your sister know I’m living here?’

‘Who do you think gave me your address?’ He hoped his sister would never consider employing this woman, but his sister did work for the British government.

‘Drat,’ Claribelle Houndston said. ‘Very well. Clearly there’s something you want, or you wouldn’t be here. Who’s my new “client”?’

‘I’m not hiring you to assassinate anyone,’ Vale said curtly.

‘No? I’m sure there are a few people in London whose removal would be convenient for you.’

‘Madam, you seem to have misinterpreted my position. I am a detective, not some . . . Napoleon of crime.’

‘In that case, I have absolutely no idea what you’re doing here,’ she said. ‘Do close the window behind you. After all, as you’ve pointed out, I need to start packing if my location is known.’

Vale strolled towards her, ducking under some trailing fronds of wisteria. ‘What I’m after, madam, is information.’

Her face went still, her expression deadly. ‘That’s not something I sell.’

‘I’m quite aware. It’s part of your reputation, after all. You are untraceable, unrecognizable, and you never betray your paymasters. The Secret Gardener, they call you. Morbid, but poetic.’

Claribelle Houndston sighed. ‘If you know all that, then why are you bothering to ask me?’

‘Because I hope I can persuade you otherwise. You are leaving town, after all. Our conversation will remain strictly confidential, with neither the police nor criminals knowing about it. I’m not asking you to provide evidence, madam – merely data for my own use.’

‘I might be able to work with that,’ she mused. ‘But what sort of payment are we discussing here?’

‘Come now,’ Vale chided her, pausing a safe distance away from any unexpected knife thrust. ‘I’ve made you aware that I and my sister know where to find you. Surely that’s payment enough?’

She looked unconvinced, but didn’t argue the point – probably already planning her departure to somewhere he and his sister wouldn’t be able to find her. ‘You’re not making any new friends tonight, Mr Vale.’

‘A fact of little or no significance to me,’ Vale informed her. ‘Let us be brief. My information suggests that you may have been hired for a contract on myself, and certain of my friends, rather than simply cultivating your garden.’ He glanced across the range of flowers and herbs, identifying half a dozen as lethal and most of the rest as extremely dangerous. He spotted datura with its pale trumpet-flowers, black lotus in the tiny artificial pond, aconites and foxgloves along its banks and nightshade twining with the wisteria in an elegant purple backdrop. ‘Is that correct?’

After a moment’s consideration, she reluctantly nodded. ‘I’ll admit that a contract along those lines is currently under discussion. Not actually signed yet, though, so you needn’t threaten to trample my flowers.’

‘Thank you for confirming my suspicions. As it’s not signed – yet – can you give me the details?’

She blinked. ‘You’re really taking this rather well. Are you sure you haven’t been sampling my garden already?’

‘Madam,’ Vale said, ‘I have grown used to attempts to murder me. I no longer view them with the concern that I once did. In some respects, I consider them a badge of honour – especially when undertaken by people such as yourself, or commissioned by the person I believe is behind this.’

‘And who do you think that is?’ she asked. She’d relaxed, and now employed the playful tone of someone trying to coax an indiscretion out of an indulgent uncle.

‘Are you acquainted with the Professor?’

The winsomeness faded like a passing summer’s day, and her mouth snapped shut. This time, she made no attempt to disguise her reaction. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Out. Now.’

‘Thank you for confirming my hypothesis,’ Vale needled her.

She glared at him as though he was an unexploded bomb just discovered on her premises. ‘Why did you bother coming and asking me, if you already knew my employer?’

‘Suspicion is one thing; confirmation is quite another. Such a beautiful specimen of oleander.’ Vale put out a hand as if to touch it, before having second thoughts. ‘I haven’t seen that shade of crimson before. I don’t suppose you would consider selling cuttings? No, perhaps not. Now why are you so averse to the Professor?’

She folded her arms and appeared to be counting silently to ten, or praying for patience. He often inspired this reaction in women – Vale had even seen it in Winters once or twice, however much she denied it. ‘Having a criminal mastermind taking over the local underworld is bad news for independent specialists,’ she said. ‘Sooner or later one is faced with a choice between permanent employment or permanent relocation – either out of the country, or into a grave. I was prepared to consider taking a contract or two before leaving, so as not to end things on bad terms with the Professor. But I’m not in the habit of wasting my breath – and you seem to know all about these developments already.’

‘The flattery is appreciated but unnecessary.’ Vale stepped closer. ‘What else do you know about him?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘I might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb, I suppose . . . He’s new to London, and he’s very secretive. He’s been taking over other organizations from the top down and keeping his own name out of it. Not that I know what his real name is, anyhow. Why bother with a name when you have an alias as good as the Professor?’ She shrugged. ‘And from what I’ve heard, he’s Fae. I’m not interested in working for someone who thinks I should be able to achieve the impossible because it makes for a better story. Sometimes summer plants aren’t supposed to flower in winter.’