Page 18 of The Case of the Missing Dancer
"What if she's not there?" Mills asked. "What if this is just a trap to get you and the evidence?"
"Then we spring our own trap," Robert said. "Either way, we end this tonight."
As evening fell, I found myself back at the Ladies of Distinction Detective Agency, preparing for what might be the most dangerous case of my career. Emma insisted on helping me prepare, despite my protests that she shouldn't be involved.
"Don't be ridiculous, Kitty," she said, checking the small electric torch I'd hidden in my coat. "We're partners. Besides, someone needs to ensure you're properly equipped."
She handed me a small mirror—the kind ladies used for checking their appearance, but positioned cleverly in my handbag where it could be used to see around corners. "And this," she added, producing a hatpin with an unusually sharp and long point, "in case you need to defend yourself."
"Emma, I'm supposed to appear harmless and alone."
"Appearing harmless and being harmless are two entirely different things." She studied me critically. "You look appropriately nervous but determined. Perfect for a woman walking into danger to save someone's life."
At eleven-thirty, Robert's police vehicle dropped me several blocks from the church. The night was cold and damp, with fog beginning to roll in from the Thames. Perfect cover for police movements, but also perfect concealment for Volkov's men.
I walked slowly toward Ennismore Gardens, my footsteps echoing in the quiet residential streets. The Russian Orthodox Church rose before me like something from a fairy tale, its onion domes and ornate architecture creating dramatic silhouettes against the cloudy sky.
The main entrance was locked, as expected. I made my way around to the side entrance through the parish hall, my heart hammering with each step. The door was unlocked. Clearly, I was expected.
Inside, the church was dimly lit by scattered candles, creating pools of golden light separated by deep shadows. The air smelled of incense and old wood, and my footsteps seemed unnaturally loud on the stone floor.
"Miss Worthington." Volkov's voice came from the shadows near the altar. "How punctual. I do appreciate reliability in business matters."
I moved slowly toward the sound of his voice, my eyes adjusting to the candlelight. "Where is Anya?"
"Patience. First, the envelope."
"First, proof that she's alive and unharmed."
A soft sound came from somewhere behind the iconostasis—a muffled cry that was unmistakably female. My heart leaped with relief and fear. Anya was here, but clearly not free.
"Satisfied?" Volkov stepped into the light near the altar. He was dressed in expensive clothes, and he carried himselfwith the confidence of a man on his own territory. "Now, the envelope."
I reached into my handbag, making sure the movement was visible. "Let me see her first."
"I think not. You see, Miss Worthington, you are hardly in a position to make demands." He gestured, and two men emerged from the shadows on either side of the church. I recognized one as the companion from Pemberton's office. Both carried revolvers.
"The envelope," Volkov repeated. "Place it on the altar and step back."
I had no choice but to comply. The decoy envelope looked identical to the original, and I could only hope the fake documents would pass casual inspection. I placed it on the ornate altar cloth and stepped back as instructed.
Volkov moved forward and examined the envelope without opening it. "You will forgive me if I don't trust you completely. Viktor, please search Miss Worthington to ensure she's carrying no weapons or additional documents."
This wasn't part of our plan. As Viktor approached, I realized he would discover not only the hatpin and mirror Emma had given me, but also the small whistle I was supposed to use to signal Robert.
"That's hardly necessary," I said, backing away. "I've given you what you wanted."
"What I wanted, Miss Worthington, was the original evidence. Not copies, not summaries, but the actual photographs and documents that could incriminate me." He opened the envelope and examined the contents by candlelight. "These appear to be genuine, but I've learned not to trust appearances."
He was more careful than we'd anticipated. If he discovered these were copies . . .
"They're exactly what Anya left with Pemberton," I said. "The originals she mentioned hiding are probably somewhere in her lodgings or the theatre."
"Yes, the originals. My dear niece was always cleverer than I gave her credit for." He smiled that cold smile. "Which is why I've spent the past few days persuading her to tell me where she hid them."
The way he said 'persuading' made my blood chill. "If you've hurt her?—"
"Nothing permanent. Yet. But she has been most stubborn about revealing the location of the complete evidence." He nodded to Viktor. "Search her."
