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“One week,” Emily said, battling discomfiture. “I have become quite fast, even if the quality of my work has not improved significantly.”

“It’s marvelous.” Henry draped it over his shoulders, the wonder in his eyes attesting to the sincerity of his words. “Truly.”

“It’s lovely, my dear,” Aunt Millward said.

“Thank you. I’m glad you like it.”

Henry wound the scarf around his neck three times and stood with his arms extended. “What do you think?”

“I think you are a very fortunate gentleman,” Aunt Millward said. “And that you will be far too hot if you wear it in a hackney cab all the way home.”

“You are right on both counts.” Henry began unwinding the scarf. “I shall put it in my satchel for safe-keeping and will wear it when I walk to the museum first thing in the morning.”

With the scarf in one hand, he reached for the satchel he’d set beside the sofa with his other. Lifting the flap, he went to put the scarf inside and froze.

“Emily,” he said, “would you hold this for me?”

Puzzled, she stepped closer and took the proffered scarf. Henry reached into his satchel and withdrew something small. Opening his hand, he stared at the wooden object lying on his palm with shock.

“Devil take him!” he said.

Aunt Millward rose from her chair. “What is it, Henry?”

He swung around, extending his hand so that Emily and Aunt Millward could see the polished piece for themselves.

“It’s one of the artifacts that arrived in the shipment from the South Seas today,” he said. “I assume it’s a likeness of one of the indigenous peoples’ gods. This one is part of a set of five.”

“Where are the others?” Emily asked.

“The last time I saw them, they were all in the accessions room at the museum.”

His grim face expressed far more than his words, and Emily’s throat went dry. Henry had not known the piece was in his bag, and she did not need to be a museum employee to know that valuable artifacts did not belong there. “Was it Fernsby?” she asked.

“It must have been. He was the only one in the room after Claridge left.”

“What does that gentleman masquerading as a peacock have to do with this?” Aunt Millward asked.

Henry clenched his jaw. “Everything.”

Aunt Millward’s gaze flitted from Henry’s pale face to Emily’s. “Sit,” she said. “Both of you. I believe an explanation is in order.”

Emily lowered herself onto the sofa, grateful when Henry chose to sit beside her. Aunt Millward reclaimed the chair she’d been using earlier, her posture rigid, obviously waiting for Henry to begin. Henry’s attention remained on the carved object in his hand.

“Look at the stone in the creature’s forehead,” he said, moving it closer to Emily. “Describe it to me.”

“It’s red and lustrous,” Emily said.

He nodded. “Do you see any marbling? Any other colors?”

“No.”

He released a hissing breath. “It’s the ruby. It has to be.”

“Enough enigmatic muttering, Henry.” Aunt Millward’s patience was at an end. “Tell me exactly what is going on.”

“I was informed today that Mr. Watts, the director of the British Museum, did not return to England with the shipment from the South Seas and has decided to step down from his post. An emergency meeting of the board of trustees has been called for tomorrow afternoon at one o’clock at Lord Southbeck’s residence. The chair of the board, Lord Claridge, wishes to choose Watts’s successor from amongst the current curators. Townsend has already refused the position, leaving Fernsby and me as the only contenders.” He tightened his grip on the carving. “It seems that Fernsby wants the job badly enough to place a stolen artifact in my bag, presumably so that he might accuse me of the crime before the board.”

“That is preposterous!”