There was an instant of silence, then Crowley said, "Get it signed? Why can't you sign it now?"
Gerrard looked at him as if he'd admitted to lunacy. "But… my dear man, I can't sign. I'm a minor." Having dropped his bombshell, Gerrard looked from Crowley to Swales and back again. "Didn't you know?"
Crowley's face darkened. "No. We didn't know." Shifting forward, he held out a hand for the note.
Gerrard grinned and held onto it. "Well, there's no need to worry, y'know. M'sister's my main guardian and she'll sign whatever I tell her to. Well, why wouldn't she? She's got no head for business-she leaves that to me."
Crowley hesitated, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on Gerrard's innocent countenance. Then he asked, "Who's your other guardian? Do they have to sign, too?"
"Well, yes-that's how things usually are if there's a female involved, don't y'know. But my other guardian's an old stick-bumbling old fool-my late pater's old solicitor. He lives buried in the country. Once m'sister signs, then he will, too, and all will be right as a trivet."
Crowley glanced at Swales, who shrugged. Crowley looked back at Gerrard, then nodded. "Very well." He stood, slowly bringing his bulk up off the sofa.
Gerrard unfolded his long limbs with the effortless grace of the young and held out his hand. "Right then. I'll get the deed done, the note signed, and get it back to you forthwith."
He shook hands with Crowley, and then with Swales, then accompanied them to the door. As they reached it, Crowley paused. Gabriel and the countess shifted, craning to keep them in sight.
"So when can we expect to get the note back?"
Gerrard grinned, the epitome of foolish vacuity. "Oh, a few weeks should do it."
"Weeks!" Crowley's face darkened again.
Gerrard blinked at him. "Why, yes-didn't I say? The pater's old solicitor lives in Derbyshire." When Crowley continued to glower, Gerrard's brows rose, his expression degenerating to that of a child fearing denial of a promised treat. "Why? There's no tearing rush, is there?"
Crowley studied Gerrard's face, then, very gradually, drew back. "As I said, the company's close to commencing the next phase of operations. Once we reach that point, we won't be accepting any more promissory notes. If you want a share in our profits, you'll need to get the note signed and returned to us-you can send it to Thurlow and Brown, of Lincoln's Inn."
"But if you don't get it to us soon," Swales put in, "you'll miss out."
"Oh, no chance of that! I'll get m'sister to sign and get it off tomorrow. If I send it by rider, it'll be back before we know it, what?"
"Just make sure it is." With one last intimidating glance, Crowley hauled open the door.
Swales followed him into the corridor. Gerrard stopped on the threshold. "Well, thank you, and good-bye."
Crowley's growled farewell rumbled back to them, drowning out Swales's reply.
Gerrard stood at the door, watching them depart, his silly smile still in place, then he stepped back, closed the door, and let his mask fall.
Gabriel closed his hands about the countess's shoulders. She sagged back against him-for one blissful moment, from shoulder to hip, she caressed him-then she remembered herself and stiffly straightened. Smiling in the dark, Gabriel squeezed her shoulders, then released her. Leaving her behind the door, he went out to Gerrard.
He put a finger to his lips as Gerrard faced him. Gerrard dutifully held silent. They both waited, listening, then Gabriel signaled Gerrard to open the door and look out.
Gerrard did, then stepped back and closed the door. "They're gone."
Gabriel nodded, scanning Gerrard's face. "Well done."
Gerrard smiled. "It was the longest performance I've ever given, but he didn't seem to suspect."
"I'm sure he didn't. If he had, he wouldn't have been anywhere near as accommodating." Crossing to the escritoire by the windows, Gabriel drew out paper and pen. "Now to the last act. We need to write down everything we heard, and sign and date it."
Gerrard drew up a chair. Together, they recounted the conversation, noting down names, locations and amounts. With his sharp visual memory, Gerrard was able to review the conversation, verifying Gabriel's recollections and adding further snippets. An hour had passed before they were satisfied.
Gabriel pushed back from the escritoire. "That gives us a lot to check, a lot to verify-more than enough chance to prove fraud." He glanced at Gerrard, just as Gerrard yawned. "Now it's time you were off home."
Gerrard grinned and rose. 'Tiring work, acting, and I'm driving to Brighton with friends tomorrow, so I'd best turn in."
Gabriel followed Gerrard to the door. Gerrard stopped by the sofa. "Here-you'd better take this, too."