Chapter Sixteen
Abbishaw was more than displeased; he was disbelieving. “Nonsense!” he snapped. “You’ve confused my sons. It was Giles whom you saw.”
“I know what your sons look like, sir. It was Saintbridge.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Abbishaw made a sharp gesture that swept several papers off his desk. He thrust his chair back angrily and stood. “If this is the best you can do—fabrication and falsehood!—then you may consider yourself dismissed!”
“It was Saintbridge,” Perry repeated. “He’s taller than Giles, and his hair is fairer.”
Abbishaw inhaled an irate breath.
“I saw his face quite clearly, sir.”
Abbishaw’s color heightened, not just his cheeks, but also the wattle under his chin. He shook a fist at Perry. The fist that was clenched around the ruby-and-pearl tiepin. “This belong
