“What’s in the packet the Black Cobra wants so desperately?”
As he’d thought-far too quick-witted. He’d hoped to gloss over his mission, conceal the major aspects, but…her moss-hazel gaze was too acute, too intent. And many-she, certainly-would argue she had a right to know, now more than ever given the cult had just demonstrated that it wasn’t inclined to overlook her part in the affair. He inwardly sighed. “I assume you’d prefer I start at the beginning?”
“Indeed.”
“Five of us-Delborough, me, Major Logan Monteith, Captains Rafe Carstairs and James MacFarlane-were sent to Bombay by Governor-General Hastings with specific orders to do whatever was needed to bring the Black Cobra to justice.” He sank back against the cushions, his gaze fixing, unseeing, on the wall opposite. “That was in March. Within a few months, we’d identified the Black Cobra, but the evidence was circumstantial, and given our suspect, our case needed to be beyond question.”
“Who is the Black Cobra?”
He turned his head and regarded her. If he told her…but the cult had just demonstrated it didn’t care if she knew or not, and now she was with him, had been seen with him…“The Black Cobra is Roderick Ferrar.”
“Ferrar? Great heavens! I’ve met him, of course.”
“What did you think of him?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Not a nice man.”
“Indeed not. So we knew it was him, but had no way to prove it conclusively. We kept searching…then, while James was at Poona fetching you, he stumbled on a letter from the Black Cobra to one of the princelings. We’d found similar missives, but this one was different. It was signed by the Black Cobra, but sealed with Ferrar’s personal seal-the ring seal he wears on his little finger and can’t take off. Once you’d brought that letter to us, we had what we needed, and we’d already consulted others back in England, so we knew what we had to do.”