He hesitated, then asked, "Am I to understand that you've taken your late husband's children under your wing?"

"Yes. I consider their welfare my responsibility. It's because of that-them-that I'm seeking your aid."

Gabriel studied her veiled countenance, knowing she was watching his. "You mentioned a promissory note."

"I should explain that my husband had a weakness for engaging in speculative ventures. Over his last years, the family's agent and I endeavored to keep his investments in such schemes to a minimum, in which endeavors we were largely successful. However, three weeks ago, a maid stumbled on a legal paper, tucked away and clearly forgotten. It was a promissory note."

"To which company?"

"The Central East Africa Gold Company. Have you heard of it?"

He shook his head. "Not a whisper."

"Neither has our agent, nor any of his colleagues."

"The company's address should be on the note."

"It's not-just the name of the firm of solicitors who drew up the document."

Gabriel juggled the pieces of the jigsaw she was handing him, aware each piece had been carefully vetted first. "This note-do you have it?"

From beneath her cloak, she drew out a rolled parchment.

Taking it, Gabriel inwardly raised his brows-she'd certainly come prepared. Despite straining his eyes, he'd caught not a glimpse of the gown beneath her voluminous cloak. Her hands, too, were covered, encased in leather gloves long enough to reach the cuffs of her sleeves. Unrolling the parchment, he turned so the light from the street lamps fell on the single page.

The promissor's signature-the first thing he looked at-was covered by a piece of thick paper fixed in place with sealing wax. He looked at the countess.

Calmly, she stated, "You don't need to know the family's name."