In a private room of the gentleman's club Boodle's, Sir Hugo Waverly lounged in a chair, swirling a glass of brandy as he listened to the report from Daniel Shefford. Shefford had been his man for years now. Loyal, highly skilled, and one who would do anything he asked for king, country, or his morepersonal whims. Shefford stood in front of Waverly, calmly narrating the events that transpired the morning before last when Lord Lennox had narrowly escaped death.

"I managed to ...