Chapter Nine
Perry spent the morning visiting pawnshops and dropping hints of a reward if the stolen clocks were recovered. A number of clocks were produced for his perusal. Some were automatous and others had erotic scenes painted upon their faces, but none were the ones he was looking for.
He headed back to Bow Street, but as he was about to set foot inside the door, someone said, “Wintersmith?”
Perry swung around—and halted.
The man who’d spoken came closer. His eyes were narrow and assessing, his expression one of almost-but-not-quite recognition. “Wintersmith?” he said again.
“Lord Thane,” Perry acknowledged reluctantly.
The marquis stared at him. “You look different.”
Perry shrugged. “Ten years.”
Thane looked him up and down, a perplexed crease to his brow, as if he couldn’t
