The target was the son of an Earl; Master Wallace W. Wallace. Ciel didn't dare to ask what the "W" stood for.
The hooded man had taken Sebastian to a back room, where they had played several rounds of poker. Sebastian won them all.
He probably would have won them all anyway (he was a pretty good card player), but there was something off about the way the hooded man was playing: he was playing specifically to lose.
Sebastian could "see" the cards; as well as knowing his own ones, he knew the cards of his opponent as well as all of the remaining cards in the deck. He could switch them around at will and simultaneously confuse or erase his opponent's mind so that they wouldn't be able to remember that they had the Ace of Spades—a card which was now safely in Sebastian's hand. Even he wasn't entirely sure why he had this ability; perhaps it was because cards were the "Devil's picture book." It was a handy trick; one which had helped him more times than he could count.
But he hadn't had to use his ability in those games in that back room. He saw the hooded man's cards, of course, but he also saw how the man played.
If he could quote Eleanora, he "sucked."
He had gotten a pretty decent hand every now and then, but he always discarded his best cards, kept his worst cards, kept on increasing the pot, and always seemed surprised whenever Sebastian would beat him.
Normally Sebastian would chalk up such a terrible card player to simple human stupidity, but he recalled that the two men who had confessed also said that they had gone to a back room with the hooded man and had played several rounds of cards—all of which the men had won.
The hooded man kept on making light, casual conversation; simple pleasantries which Sebastian had always hated.
"So, what do you do for a living?"
"How's your job?"
"How's your life?"
"Anything exciting happen today?"
"Have any pets?"
Sebastian was so desperate to have the hooded man—again, to quote Eleanora—"shut up" that he spent hour and a half talking about cats, which seemed to seriously disturb him. But still, nothing daunted, he continued asking all sorts of polite, meaningless questions:
"How much are you paid?"
"You have a nice boss?"
"Where are you from?"
"Nice weather over there?"
Sebastian once tried to play badly, just to see how the hooded man would react. He never hesitated; he just kept playing worse than he did. It was all very weird and irritating, but Sebastian was comforted by a thought: the back room wasn't as crowded as the bar, so he was able to see the man's soul: he was human.
Eventually Sebastian said that it was getting late and he really should be getting home. The man said that he would walk him out, and then he slung his hand over Sebastian's shoulders and quickly led him into a dark corner.
"Hey," he said, "now listen closely, because I rarely do favors for other people. But I like your face, and I feel really bad for you—what with your job and your wife and all. How would you like to make an extra pound or two?"
"The deceits humans tell," Sebastian thought, smirking. It was truly obvious that this man was lying to him—so obvious it was almost pitiful. But he masked his amusement and pretended to be as wide-eyed and as drunk as possible.
"Oh, yes! Yes, I would just love that!"
"Well, then, I'll tell you what to do:" the hooded man leaned in closer and shoved some papers into Sebastian's hand. "It's really simple; all you have to do is find a guy, kill him, and make it look like an accident."
"But isn't that murder?" Sebastian asked as innocently as possible. "Won't I be caught?"
"Not if you do your job right," the man said, "and there shall be a big reward for you if you do manage to pull it off!"
"Hmm," Sebastian said, pretending to think. "How stupid can these humans get? So easily tempted into doing evil…" "Of course I'll do it," he said, increasing his slur. "I'd be delighted to."
The man grinned underneath his hood.
"Great! I've already given you all the information. And here's a little something…just to thank you for your help…"
The man shoved some coins into Sebastian's hand.
"Oh, and one more thing:" he leaned in closer, "let's have this be a little secret between us two, shall we?"
"Of course," Sebastian assured. "I wouldn't even think of telling a soul."
Which was yet another loophole, as he wouldn't really "think" of telling anyone; he knew that he was going to tell someone.
The man grinned, slapped him on the back, called him a "good, honest man," and then he had left.
When they had arrived back at Phantomhive, Sebastian had shown the young Master the papers that the man had given him. They detailed the victim and the best place to get him. Ciel hated to admit it, but the hooded man was a real professional. Everything was mapped out, down to the last detail: next Wednesday, Master Wallace W. Wallace would return from out-of-town. He would go through a little wooded area, where there would be a cliff overlooking a ravine. All one had to do was wait for the carriage to pass, stop it, drag out the victim, kill him, and then leave without leaving a trace. The way that the man had suggested was to throw him down into the ravine and make sure he gets properly beat up that way, and then drop him into the creek flowing through the ravine so that he would drown. Plain and simple.
"But we're not going to do that," Ciel told Sebastian. "You're going to kidnap him and take him to Scotland Yard. I'll meet you all there."
"'All,' my Lord? Who's 'all?'"
"Oh," Ciel said, waving his hand aside, "just you and Grell and Agni and Eleanora. The usual."