Gabriel listened, more to her tone than her words. Her devotion sounded clearly-the caring, the commitment. The anxiety. Whatever else the countess was concealing, she couldn't hide that.

Raising the note, he studied the signature of the company's chairman. Composed of bold, harsh strokes, the signature was illegible, certainly not one he knew. "You didn't say why you thought I could help."

His tone was vague-he'd already guessed the answer.

She straightened her shoulders. "We-our agent and I-believe the company is a fraud, a venture undertaken purely to milk funds from gullible investors. The note itself is suspicious in that neither the company's address nor its principals are noted, and there's also the fact that a legitimate speculative company accepting a promissory note for such an amount would have sought some verification that the amount could indeed be paid."

"No check was made?"

"It would have been referred to our agent. As you might imagine, our bank has been in close touch with him for years. We've checked as far as we can without raising suspicions and found nothing to change our view. The Central East Africa Gold Company looks like a fraud." She drew in a tight breath. "And if that's so, then if we can gather enough evidence to prove it and present such evidence in the Chancery Court, the promissory note could be declared invalid. But we must succeed before the note is executed, and it's already over a year since it was signed."

Rerolling the note, Gabriel considered her; despite the veil and cloak, he felt he knew a great deal of her. "Why me?"