Micky had pretended to be calm in front of Edward and Augusta but in fact he was desperately worried about Tonio's article appearing in The Times. He had put so much effort into getting Pilasters to launch the Santamaria railroad. He had even married that bitch Rachel for the sake of the damn bonds. His entire career depended on its success. If he let his family down over this, his father would be not only raging but vengeful. Papa had the power to get Micky fired as minister. With no money and no position he could hardly stay in London: he would have to return home and face humiliation and disgrace. Either way, the life he had enjoyed for so many years would be over.
Rachel had demanded to know where he was planning to spend this evening. He had laughed at her. "Never try to question me," he had said.
She had surprised him by saying: "Then I shall go out for the evening, too."
"Where?"
"Never try to question me."
Micky had locked her in the bedroom.
When he got home she would be incandescent with wrath, but that had happened before. On previous occasions when she had raged at him he had thrown her on the bed and torn off her clothes, and she had always submitted to him eagerly. She would do it yet again tonight, he felt sure.
He wished he could feel as sure of Tonio.
He was not even certain the man was still living at this hotel, but he could not go in and ask without arousing suspicion.
He had moved as quickly as possible, but still it had taken forty-eight hours to locate and hire two ruthless toughs, reconnoiter the location and set up the ambush. In that time Tonio might have moved. Then Micky would be in trouble.
A careful man would move hotels every few days. But a careful man would not use notepaper that bore an address. Tonio was not the cautious type. On the contrary, he had always been reckless. In all probability he was still at this hotel, Micky thought.
He was right.
A few minutes after midnight, Tonio appeared.