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“Yes,” he said quietly. “I can imagine why she might want to go away and not answer any questions, but from everything we’ve learned about her, she would know leaving abruptly would make her family mad with worry.”

Electra thought so too. “That’s the part that doesn’t make sense. She would at least send a letter saying she was alive and well.”

Gideon tapped his fingers against the carriage bench. “If she did not wish to be found, she would have to dispatch such a letter from a different town. And her father would go there seeking her immediately.”

Both of them seemed to get lost in their own ruminations and said nothing more to each other until their carriage rolled to a stop in front of the Delacourt townhouse in Eaton Square.

The Delacourts’ housekeeper let out a bleat of alarm when she saw them at the doorstep again.

“Hello, is Mr. Delacourt in?”

“Yes, Inspector. Come in, sir, and Miss Poole.” Gideon could see the anxiousness in the woman’s eyes, the question of why they’d come in the twitching of her brow.

“May I know your name?” Electra asked. “And how long you have served the Delacourts.”

The housekeeper looked surprised at the question but then gave a polite smile. “Elizabeth Jones, miss. And I’ve been with them a decade as of last month.”

“Thank you,” Electra told her.

“We haven’t found Miss Delacourt yet, Mrs. Jones, but we won’t stop looking until we do,” Gideon informed her quietly.

“Yes, Inspector.”

“But please tell Mr. Delacourt, and Miss Delacourt, if she’s available⁠—”

“Of course, sir.” The housekeeper cut him off, perhaps sensing his urgency and eager to fulfill his request. “Please wait here.”

“And Mrs. Jones?” he called as she began to turn away.

“Yes, sir?”

“Is Dr. Wakefield dining with the family this evening?”

“He did, sir. They have finished dinner and should have gone into the sitting room by now. But as it is you, Mr. Delacourt would wish to be interrupted.”

At that, she finally turned and approached the closed door of the room they’d been led to the first time they’d visited.

“We should speak to him alone, Gideon,” Electra whispered. “I suspect he will be more likely to tell us the truth if he’s away from Violet.”

“Excellent point.”

“In fact,” she added, “he may not be comfortable with me in the room at all.”

Gideon frowned. “Well, he will have to bear it.”

“If he is reticent, I will find a way to touch him or something he has touched,” she vowed.

Before Gideon could respond to that, Roger Delacourt burst from the sitting room. Cigar smoke wafted out behind him and Gideon spotted Violet Delacourt and Wakefield getting to their feet from a settee, where they’d been seated together.

“Detective Inspector, have you found Iris?”

“Not yet, Mr. Delacourt.”

His dark brows bent. “But you have found something, or you would not call at this hour.”

“Potentially. I would like to speak to Dr. Wakefield.”

“To Wakefield?” Delacourt’s whole frame tensed, hands flexing at his sides. “Why on earth do you wish to speak to him?”