It was what he and Sedgewick had talked about time and again—the possibility that the man they were looking for was from the upper classes, someone Richard Winslow would have readily invited into his home, even into his inner sanctum, his study. “A gentleman? Are you sure?” he asked carefully, trying not to give away his excitement. “No,” Jenkins admitted. “Not sure. I’m just saying there’s some suspicion.” “Is there anything beside the slips in his speech?” “Well, I heard that one man got a glimpse of his hand one time, and it looked like a gentleman’s hand, white and uncallused.” Benedict sat back, looking at the man. “How do you know so much? Even Purdle didn’t tell me this.” Jenkins returned his gaze without wavering. “Purdle is a fine man, Mr. Lassiter, but he is not from here. He came to work for the Earl some thirty years ago.
