Sabine stopped moving as well, but stood a few paces ahead of them.
“What brings you to the museum?” Graeme asked. “I thought there was nothing of value here for your research.”
Max nodded to Sabine. “I was helping a friend. We are trying to locate a specific sword.”
“Or knife,” Sabine added. “Some sort of blade.”
A low whistle escaped from between Graeme’s teeth. “That’s quite specific,” he said, his Scottish brogue lilting on each vowel. Graeme turned and looked at the museum doors. “They have a good armory here, but nothing compared to Mortimer Flynn’s,” Graeme said.
“Flynn,” Max said, “I had forgotten about him. That’s an interesting idea.”
Graeme took a step closer to Max and lowered his voice. “He doesn’t live too far out of London. You might pay him a visit.” Graeme eyed Sabine, then added, “Quietly.”
Max knew what the man meant. Mortimer Flynn was an exiled member of Solomon’s, and chances were, he wouldn’t take too kindly to anyone from the club paying a call on him. They would have to find an alternative means of entry. Not altogether unfamiliar territory for Max.
“Thank you,” Max said.
“You haven’t been by the club in a few days,” Graeme said. He looked at Sabine again. “Busy?”
“Generally speaking. I’ll be by soon enough,” Max said.
“Is that the wee lass who shot you?” Graeme asked.
Sabine burst out laughing, but said nothing.
Graeme held up his hand. “That’s answer enough. I heard at the club that Marcus is nearing the end of his design. Are you really going to ride in that sunken machine?”
Max eyed Sabine before answering. “If I can persuade him, it’s a worthy journey.”
“Good luck then, Max,” Graeme said. “Oh, and should anyone need me, I’ll be in Scotland for a while.” Then he walked away.
“Graeme reminded me of a better collection we should start with. Besides, with the crowd here today, we’d be hard-pressed to truly search as closely as we need to,” Max said. Max and Sabine walked to the carriage, which waited for them across the street.
“What club was he speaking of?” Sabine asked as he lifted her into their rig.
“There is a club here in London specifically for people, like myself, who study and try to find ancient or mythical artifacts.” The carriage rumbled down the street toward his townhome. Max had some investigation to do before they could go to Flynn’s estate.
“That Scotsman is in this club of yours?” she asked.
“He is. As well as many others.”
She sat directly across from him, her eyes wide with curiosity and interest. “Are there others who study Atlantis?” she asked.
“No, I am the only one.”
“What is a sunken vessel?” she asked.
“You shouldn’t eavesdrop on others’ conversations,” he said.
“You should tell your friends not to talk so loudly. What is it?” She smiled sweetly.
“It’s a boat. An underwater boat.”
Her breath caught. “And you could take it to try to find what remains of Atlantis?”
“Something like that.”
A bump in the road shifted the carriage, and she fell forward. He caught her, pulled her close to him, and pressed his mouth to hers. She had once kissed him to create a diversion, and he could bloody well do the same. He would not discuss the submersible boat with her. As she kissed him, his motivation turned into something far more primal. Not to mention more enjoyable.