“I have to speak to Geoffrey Rourke there anyway, so I can introduce you. You said you are getting nowhere in your search for your brother-in-law.” “Ah, but Charlie March’s friends are eating better.” Browne gathered up his notes. “That is something, I suppose, but is no closer to finding your diamonds any time soon.” The viscount was no longer in such a rush. Finding Martin or the diamonds, destroyed or not, meant the demise of his London visit. Likewise, if Harry handed the case to Bow Street, he had no good excuse not to return to the country, and no practical reason whatsoever to remain in town. Except that leaving might be like ripping his innards out. At home he had spring planting to plan, all the new lambs and calves and foals to count, swamps to drain, cottage roofs to repair. He had an honest, competent land steward, of course, but in the country Harry would be busy from dawn to dusk or later. Once he called at Bow Street, Harry had nothing whatsoever that he had to do in the city.
