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Guilt washed over Adam—along with an unexpected dose of gratitude. He had needed the reminder of where his priorities should lie. “You are a good man, Hugh Toole.”

The runner gave a crooked smile. “Honesty gets me into trouble more often than not, my lord, but I can’t seem to rid myself of it.”

They continued toward the bank. People had gathered on the steps, their murmured words growing louder as Adam and Toole approached. Mr. Hadford separated himself from the group closest to the door and hurried down the stairs to meet them.

“What happened?”

“He hailed a hackney and got away,” Adam said.

Mr. Hadford’s shoulders dropped. “I knew I would be of no use to you in a foot race, so I stayed back to help the poor woman whom he tossed aside. But I really hoped . . .” His words trailed off.

“Yes. We all did.”

Adam worked to keep the bitterness out of his voice. It would do no good to dwell on how close they had come this time. There would be another. And if Toole were right, it would come sooner rather than later.

“How is the lady who fell?” Toole asked.

“She has recovered from her initial shock. There will be bruises, no doubt, but as far as can be ascertained without a doctor examining her, no bones are broken.”

That, at least, was good news.

“I am relieved to hear it,” Adam said.

Toole eyed the crowd standing outside the bank with a frown. The numbers were growing.

“Am I correct in thinking your banking work is complete, sir?” he asked.

“It is,” Mr. Hadford said. “Thankfully, the manager, Mr. Potts, took down all the particulars before Payne made a dash for it.”

“Then might I suggest that you and Lord Dunsbourne make a hasty retreat? At this point, the fewer people who know exactly what happened or who was involved, the better. I can speak with those in authority at the bank, but I think we all have more important things to do than to linger here.”

“Agreed.” Adam wanted Toole and his colleagues searching for Joe Lambeth and following whatever clues the old driver may have regarding Payne’s whereabouts as quickly as possible. And the sooner he was back working in the cart shed the better. He had learned long ago that physical labor was his best medicine for disappointment.

Mr. Hadford’s eyebrows rose a fraction. It was the only indication he gave of surprise at Adam’s compliant response. “Very well. We can go directly from here to my carriage.” He inclined his head toward the Bow Street runner. “Under different circumstances, it would have been a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Toole.”

“Likewise, Mr. Hadford.”

“Keep me informed, Toole,” Adam said.

“You may count on it, my lord.”

Adam gave a reluctant smile. It was true. And that is why he could leave and let the runner continue to follow the clues without him. Adam knew he could fully rely on Hugh Toole.

Chapter 26

“Phoebe, I forbid you from circling this room one more time.” Phoebe’s mother pressed her fingers to her temples. “You are making my head spin.”

“I am sorry, Mother.”

Phoebe dropped into the nearest chair and began smoothing out her gown around her. It was a futile exercise. The pale blue muslin would be wrinkled by evening regardless of how she treated it, but the repetitive action gave her something mindless to do. And that was all she was good for this afternoon.

She had not even been aware that she was pacing the room. Her thoughts had been far away from the Charwell Park drawing room. They had been in London with her father and Adam. All night and all day, she had kept a silent prayer in her heart that nothing untoward would happen to the gentlemen, and that they would reach the bank in time to stop Freddie Payne from following through with his dastardly plan.

Not wanting to burden her mother unduly, Phoebe had told her only that her father and Lord Dunsbourne had been called away on urgent business. If her mother thought it strange that the gentlemen had left together, she did not mention it. Phoebe had been similarly vague in the letter she had sent to Emily this morning. But her friend knew that only the direst need would take Adam from the cart shed this week, and Phoebe could not help but believe that Emily would worry over his sudden and unexpected departure.

“I do not know what has come over you today.” Her mother was not yet ready to put Phoebe’s distracted behavior behind her. “It’s not like you to completely ignore your stitchery or your magazines.”

Phoebe’s stomach clenched. She could no more concentrate on intricate stitches now than on learning a new language. And the thought of spending her time on something so trivial as studying the latest fashion plates made her feel ill. Why had she ever thought that activity was a good use of her time?