The servant answered the door of Bengal Hall and looked at the man who stood three steps away. “Yes, sir?”
The tall man held the servant’s gaze. “Good morning! Is this the residence of Mr Peter Gibbins?”
“It is, sir,” the servant confirmed.
“Good.” The visitor was slender, with the scar from the corner of his mouth down his chin seeming only to enhance the smooth handsomeness of his face. “Tell him there is somebody to see him, please?”
“Certainly, sir. Who shall I say is calling?”
“Captain Otway,” the visitor said, tapping his silver-topped cane on the step.
“Come inside, sir, and I shall see if the master is at home.”
“Thank you.” Captain Otway stepped inside the house, where a longcase clock ticked softly in one corner of the modest hall, and a bench ran along the wall beneath a
