Timothy had thought that Anthony being kidnapped was the worst possible thing, the scent of his blood lingering in his memory and the sight of his seemingly lifeless body irreparably burnt into his brain. And yet this nothing had proved utterly unbearable. The tautness of Gibbs' expression, the burning fury in the Lady's eyes, Abby's devastation when they returned home without him and the carefully expressionless look Dr Mallard's face which betrayed his deepest fear, that the irreplaceable Mr Anthony might very well be gone forever.

"Why would they not come?" McGee found the courage to enquire of Dr Mallard, as they were making up a tray of tea in the kitchen, the question he not had the heart to ask Gibbs when the man's jaw was constantly clenched so tight Timothy feared he might break a tooth. "We had the money ready."

"I confess, I do not know," Dr Mallard admitted, as he tended to the kettle. "All of the other victims were returned, albeit somewhat the worse for wear, on presentation of the ransom. I can only imagine that somehow the kidnappers deduced Anthony's connection to Gibbs and thus were too afraid to make the rendezvous."

"But surely, they would not therefore dare to see him come to harm?" Timothy clung to hope. He knew without asking that Dr Mallard had quietly checked every Hospital and Mortuary in the immediate area and was grateful for his silence on the matter.

"Not if they know Gibbs' reputation and have the slightest care for their own safety," Dr Mallard nodded. "For his wrath on discovering that Anthony has been taken from him, will pale in comparison to his vengeance if the poor boy is utterly lost to us all."

"I have never seen him like this," Timothy ventured, busying himself with spooning tea into the pot, so as to have a ready excuse not to meet the other man's eyes. "If only Anthony were here, he would be gratified to realise that Gibbs cares so deeply for him."

The old fashioned look that Dr Mallard gave him, suggested that he hadn't quite managed the air of innocence that he had been aiming for. For both men clearly understood that Gibbs held Anthony in far greater esteem than was customary for a mere assistant. And also that Anthony seemed so oblivious of the fondness with which family traditionally regarded one other that he often missed any but the most obvious signs of affection.

"Perhaps, he needs a friend to be of help him in that regard." Dr Mallard raised a brow.

"I would be glad of the opportunity to try," Timothy sighed. For what had previously seemed a topic beyond the bounds of propriety, now seemed nothing more than a simple kindness to a friend in need. "He has been sorely missed."

Indeed, as soon as it was known about town that it was Mr Anthony who had been taken people had begun to stop them in the street, or engineer some sort of private rendezvous. Ordinary men and women, with the ink stained fingers of clerks, or calloused hands of scullery maids, prosperous merchants and industrious seamstresses, even a handful of quality, who had once benefitted from the assistance of Mr Gibbs and Mr Anthony saw an opportunity to repay their debt with any assistance they might offer. It seemed, the kidnappers threats not withstanding, that for every villain who might rejoice at Anthony's demise, there were a dozen honest folk who remembered his timely assistance and had a care for his welfare.

"The word is the young nobleman taken outside Mrs Farrington's the other night called himself Anthony Sheppard which perplexed the kidnappers beyond measure," The doorman at the Adelphi revealed. "For I expect they are not as often at the theatre as Mr Anthony and therefore have never heard of Jack Sheppard and knew not how to react."

"A man with dark hair and a deep scar on his left cheek has been asking questions about a man of quality called Anthony Sheppard and who might own him as his heir," A young woman wearing entirely too much rouge revealed. "None of the girls would speak, for either they did not make the connection and therefore knew not what to say, or they did and therefore could not say for Mr Anthony never talks of any kin beyond his obligation to you."

"I've no doubt they took him for the son of a Duke or an Earl," Anthony's tailor wrung his handkerchief between his hands in his anxiety. "For despite his curious ways, Mr Anthony has the manners of a gentleman and the tastes of a man raised to prefer silk."

"They ain't from London and that's a fact," A cab driver pointed out. "For any local man would know right well the dangers of taking on Mr Anthony and his close connection to you, Mr Gibbs."

"It could simply be an act of revenge," The Lady pointed out to Gibbs during a slight lull in these proceedings. "Somebody who recognised your part in the rescue of the Marquis and realised the taking of Anthony would be the sharpest of blows."

"I had thought of that," Timothy noticed Gibbs did not scruple to correct her assessment of Anthony's importance to him. "But there is nothing in the ransom letter to suggest they knew who Anthony was, nor anything more than having lost their chance with the Marquis they were seeking more funds and he was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

When Inspector Fornell arrived unannounced just as dusk began to fall, they feared the very worst of news. For his countenance was so grave, declining the least part of hospitality, it was instantly clear it was not a social visit. Timothy felt ice cold dread flood his entire body, Dr Mallard visibly paled, The Lady drew herself up to her full height, as if that very action could act as a defence against unwelcome news, Abigail looked positively tearful and although Gibbs expression was set in stone, his eyes were anguished.

"It's not Anthony," The Inspector was quick to reassure. "But we did find a body. It washed up on the banks of the Thames this morning."

"If the body isn't Anthony's why are you here?" Gibbs demanded curtly.

"Because, I recognised the knife sticking out of his chest," Fornell raised a brow, as he produced a familiar object. "It belongs to you."

"It belonged to me," Gibbs corrected, as he accepted the blade and turned it thoughtfully over in his hands. "I gave it to Anthony after he lost his own in pursuit of our quarry."

"Does this mean Anthony's alive?" Timothy's heart leapt with hope.

His imagination was already racing ahead, envisaging Anthony overpowering his dark haired captor and affecting his escape just as Gibbs had originally suggested to Abigail. No doubt to return and regal them all with tales of his daring for days to come. And yet logic argued that Anthony should have been able to find his way back home long before Fornell's men had been able to locate the body and tell them all of its existence.

"What did this man look like?" Gibbs' question cut to the heart of the matter.

"He was blond, about 5 feet 7, and as well as the knife wound to the heart there was another older wound to his shoulder. Also, his hands and fingernails were stained with some kind of red dye." Fornell supplied.

"The other kidnapper, the one with the scarf," Timothy realised. "It can only be, the one Anthony winged with his knife and the dye, also, for he must have opened the bag."

"The most pertinent question is, whether Anthony was the one to kill him, or if his demise was the result of an altercation between our two kidnappers." Dr Mallard frowned. "Since, there is clearly little honour between these particular thieves."

"If Anthony was indeed the one to kill him is there any particular reason that he might not have returned home?" Inspector Fornell asked.

"Only if he were not able," Gibbs visibly bristled at the mere suggestion of some rift between him and Anthony. "And there is still the dark haired man with the scar who has been asking questions about Anthony unaccounted for. Or had you forgotten about that, Fornell?"

"Not for a moment," The Inspector gave no ground. "Rest assured, I have my very best men working on Anthony's disappearance. Although, you should look carefully to your part in the matter, for I know Anthony will not thank you, if he returns home just in time to attend your funeral or worse see you sentenced to hang."

Timothy might have been taken aback by the stark warning. If he had not already seen the way his employer would act with such scant regard to his own safety, in the pursuit of justice for their clients. Indeed, Anthony had frequently been bold enough to take Gibbs to task for his tendency to put himself needlessly in the line of fire.

Timothy didn't know which part of the evening had been more terrifying. The cold fear when they realised Gibbs had left the company, the discovery that Anthony could drive just as fast as their employer when he had a mind too, the heart stopping moment, as they saw Gibbs bound hand and foot thrown helpless of f the high stone bridge into the fast moving water far below, the vision of Anthony removing neither shoes nor coat as he dove in after him and they both disappeared into the churning foam or witnessing the full force of Anthony's wrath at such close quarters.

"Pray tell me sir," Freshly changed into dry attire, his face white with rage, Anthony paced up and down in front of the parlour fire, while Gibbs sat, wrapped in an tartan dressing gown which had been a present from Abby, "What were you thinking to go off alone after Wallace and his brigands, without a word to either of us?"

"The matter was my responsibility," Gibbs responded calmly. "There was no cause to involve either of you."

"No cause?" Anthony stopped dead and turned on his heel to give Gibbs the full benefit of his incredulity. "And if I had not have cause to come to your aid? How then might the matter have ended?"

Gibbs pressed his lips together and looked away, his very silence speaking volumes, for Wallace had been more ruthless than they had at first suspected and the network upon which he could call considerably more extensive. Timothy realised that the fact that he did not take Anthony to task for his impudence was as close to an admission that he was in the wrong as Gibbs would allow. Certainly his lack of any defence was sufficient to cool much of Anthony's ire, for all of a sudden he sank into the second armchair, like a marionette whose strings had been abruptly cut, and regarded their employer with a plaintive look.

"I sincerely wish that you would not do such things, sir. For truly my heart cannot stand it and my wardrobe must always suffer besides."

"I will replenish your wardrobe," Gibbs assured him, before offering the aggrieved young man a fond smile. "And perhaps that new silk topper you have set your heart upon besides."

"Truly? Anthony's eyes widened, for that hat was of the highest quality and priced accordingly. Then he shook his head. "I'm grateful, sir. But there is no need. For I would happily live in rags if I may simply continue in your service, which you must admit would be interminably hard to do if you were no longer of this world."

Nothing more had been said on the matter. But the following day a number of boxes had arrived addressed to Mr Anthony. And chief among the wealth of riches, from new leather shoes to a smart velvet waistcoat, was the much converted top hat.

"Are you quite sure that the good Inspector doesn't have something of a point?" Dr Mallard asked as soon as Fornell had made his farewells. "For we both know that Anthony has run further and faster than this when the situation has warranted it."

"Never from me," Gibbs simply brushed that idea aside, as he rose to his feet, ready to venture abroad yet again, in his tireless search to return Anthony to the fold. "McGee, tell Mrs Anderson, I won't be in for dinner."

"And that will be the third night in a row you have missed dinner," Dr Mallard rebuked. "And you will be no use to Anthony when he does return home if you are too weak from lack of nourishment to tend to his needs."

"I've eaten."

Timothy had no doubt that was true for Gibbs was a man who saw food as fuel rather than a pleasure at the best of times. No doubt he had choked down a few slices of cold meat or such from the pantry to keep body and soul together. But the very idea that he might sit down to a snowy white tablecloth set with silverware and crystal glass when Anthony was somewhere out there suffering was completely unacceptable.

"And will the Lady be accompanying you, sir?" Timothy spoke up.

"She is otherwise engaged," Gibbs was already half way to the stairs.

"Then, pray sir, permit me to accompany you, for our quarry has already proved himself to be utterly ruthless."

The words were out of his mouth before he had even considered them. Or indeed quite whom he was offering to protect. And yet even when both Dr Mallard and Gibbs turned to look at him, he stood his ground. He knew Anthony would never forgive himself if anything were to happen to Gibbs when he was not around to watch over him.

"I've already misplaced one assistant McGee I have no wish to lose another."

Gibbs words were neither refusal, nor quite yet acceptance, more an invitation to prove his worth. Taking a deep breath, Timothy remembered Anthony's words of advice, when he had doubted his own ability.

"The villains don't know I have never killed a man, sir. They don't even know that I might not kill them even if I do shoot at them. So, all I need to do is look like I think I can kill them and that will suffice for the time being."

For a long moment, there was silence in the room as Gibbs and Dr Mallard looked at him and then each other, then Gibbs lips quirked in a smile.

"Then you had best fetch your coat, McGee."