“Five of whom are already dead,” Justin said.
Max listened, but said nothing. This entire scenario seemed highly improbable.
“Who are the three that the prophecy refers to?” Justin traced a line of the prophecy through the glass.
“Justin, as far as I’m aware, very few people know anything about the existence of the prophecy. People have seen my map”—Max shook his head—“but I doubt they notice. It took me a long while to discover it.”
“Perhaps it is printed elsewhere,” Justin offered.
It was plausible, but none of Max’s research had ever suggested that the prophecy was a warning about the future. Granted, he’d never found the exact wording of the prophecy printed anywhere else. Whether or not there was a connection, there were still lives in danger, and Justin was right, their queen needed to be warned.
“Who else would know about any of this?” Justin asked. “Any other Atlantis experts I could question?”
Sabine’s lovely face appeared in Max’s mind. She had arrived out of nowhere asking questions about the map. Did she have something to do with these murders? Max wanted to get answers from her before Justin had the chance. “I’ll see what I can find out for you,” he said.
Justin stepped back around the desk. “They’ll be missing this out of the evidence room.” He pocketed the note. “So I need to get it back. I should be going. My apologies for interrupting you so late this evening.”
Max nodded.
“Let me know if you discover anything,” Justin said.
“There is no time to delay with something such as this,” Max said. “Tomorrow morning, we can try to see her majesty. Meet me at the palace.”
Justin nodded. “Appreciate it.”
Max continued staring at the map long after Justin had left. He would definitely have to pay Sabine another visit. Whether she was ready or not, it was time to share those secrets of hers.
Spencer looked up from his desk to stare at the girl.
She was new, inexperienced and terrified. “What?”
She flinched. “There are two gentlemen here to see her majesty,” the maid said.
“Who are they?” He stood and walked around his desk to lean on it. “You always need to know who they are before you come in here. I know you’ve been told that before.”
Her chin quaked, but she did not cry. “Yes sir, Mr. Cole. It’s an Inspector Salinger from Scotland Yard, and the Marquess of Lindberg.”
“Inspector Salinger.” Cole thought on the name for a moment, but he did not recognize it. “That is not who we normally communicate with at the Yard.” And the marquess. Interesting pair. Spencer knew little about the man other than that he was a member of that ridiculous club, Solomon’s, foolish gentlemen who fancied themselves treasure hunters. But Spencer did know the marquess had the map of Atlantis. Once he had tried to break in and steal that map, but had failed. The security had been rather sophisticated. And he’d been young and foolish and inexperienced then. Everything was different now.
Had the inspector gone to the marquess as an Atlantis expert to consult on the case? “Show them in,” he said.
The maid bobbed a sweet curtsy, then left the room. A moment later, the two men entered the waiting chamber. Just outside her majesty’s offices, it was the closest one could be to the queen.
The inspector appeared to be of a similar age to Spencer, while the marquess had perhaps five years on them. Perhaps if he had been raised in a traditional fashion, they would have shared times at school. “Please sit,” he offered. But the men made no move to take the offered chairs. “It’s my understanding that you requested a visit with her majesty,” he said.
“We did,” the marquess said. “The inspector here”—he motioned to the other man—“has some official business to discuss with her.”
“I am afraid that her majesty is not feeling well today.” Spencer smiled. “Nothing to be alarmed by, though, I can assure you, but she asked that I take her meetings and then report back to her. What is it that I can assist you with today, gentlemen?”
The inspector eyed the marquess cautiously, but the marquess nodded, urging his friend to go forward.
“It would seem that someone is making sport of our military officers,” the inspector said.
Ah, so that was why they were here. The Yard had finally paid attention. Had it been his note to the guardian that had made them take notice? Or perhaps this inspector was more clever than the rest. “Making sport?” Spencer asked, feigning ignorance.
“Killing them, sir. Five of them thus far.” The inspector’s concern clearly showed in his furrowed brow. “I thought it prudent to notify her majesty so that she might take the proper precautions. Alert the officers that they should be on guard,” the inspector said. “Perhaps offer extra protection.”
“You are certain these haven’t been accidents? They are military men, after all,” Spencer countered, merely for his own amusement. “I have heard of countless accidents on the field of battle and even in their own homes. Cleaning a gun, perhaps.” Of course, he, as the Chosen One, would never try to convince them the killings hadn’t been murders. Still, he couldn’t resist toying with these two men, if only for a little while.