by Amanda Quick
Mrs. Trent pursed her lips, brows wrinkling. “Left, I believe. No, wait, it may have been his right leg that appeared weak. Oh, dear, I’m afraid I can’t be entirely certain on that point.”
“But he identified himself just as Mrs. Toller told us he would, and he offered us a very fine investment,” Miss Brick said eagerly.
“You gave him some money?” Caroline asked, fearing the worst.
“It was a golden opportunity,” Mrs. Trent said cheerfully. “We would have been foolish not to take advantage of it.”
“Oh, dear,” Caroline whispered.
“What sort of investment did this Mr. Jones offer to you?” Adam asked.
For the first time, the ladies hesitated, looking at each other.
Miss Brick cleared her throat in an apologetic manner. “We don’t wish to seem rude or unhelpful, but Mr. Jones made it clear that we were not to discuss the exact nature of the investment.”
“For fear of starting a mad scramble to obtain shares, you see,” Mrs. Trent explained. “He said that if it got out that such an excellent opportunity was available, any number of people would try to take advantage. He said secrecy was imperative.”
“Of course,” Adam said, looking wise. “You must keep the shares in a safe place.”
Miss Brick’s eyes twinkled. “Never fear, we have them well hidden.”
“I’m delighted to hear that.” Adam caught Caroline’s eye. “Well, I think that is enough research for today, don’t you, Mrs. Fordyce? Shall we be on our way?”
Miss Brick and Mrs. Trent stared, stricken.
“But you haven’t had tea yet,” Miss Brick said in a pleading sort of way.
Caroline glared at Adam. “We haven’t had tea, Mr. Grove.”
He drummed his fingers on the marble mantel and gave her a thin, steely grin. “Right. Tea. How could I forget?”
Twenty minutes later, Caroline decided that they could finally take their leave without hurting the ladies’ feelings.
Outside on the street, Adam seized her arm. “Thought we’d never get out of there.”
“Now, Adam, I realize that you are impatient, but it would have been very unkind to rush off. Miss Brick and Mrs. Trent would have been crushed.”
“They are no doubt going to be completely flattened, financially speaking, at least, when they discover that those shares they were issued are worthless.”
She winced. “I was afraid you were going to say that. Do you think there is any chance at all that Mr. Jones offered them a legitimate investment opportunity?”
“No.”
Nothing ambiguous about that response, she noted. “While you spoke with Miss Brick and Mrs. Trent, a question occurred to me.”
“What was it?”
“Stock certificates are printed documents, are they not?”
He glanced at her, curious. “Yes. They are often quite ornate with a good deal of fancy lettering and pictures of the railroad or the mine or whatever project the shares represent. Why do you ask?”
“My publisher, Mr. Spraggett, is a printer who grew up in the business. From my dealings with him, I can assure you that printers take great pride in their art.” She paused. “In fact, Mr. Spraggett told me once that printers often sign their work with something called a printer’s mark.”
Adam halted, forcing her to stop so quickly that she almost stumbled. He looked as if he had just had a revelation.
“What a brilliant notion, madam.” He kissed her quite fiercely, looking very pleased. “Absolutely brilliant. If I could track down the printer who produced the shares, I might be able to learn something about the man who commissioned them.”
Breathless, Caroline blushed and then quickly checked the street to make certain that no one had witnessed the outrageous spectacle of a gentleman kissing a lady in public. She was relieved to see that there was no one about.
Adam glanced back toward the little house shared by Miss Brick and Mrs. Trent. A decidedly calculating expression darkened his features. “I would very much like to take a look at those shares.”
“No, please,” she said hastily. “Adam, every time you search a house, you come across dead bodies.”
“That is very unfair of you, Caroline. It only happened once in the case of Elizabeth Delmont.”
“It very nearly happened again with Irene Toller.” She shuddered. “You had every intention of searching her house. If you had gone there only an hour or two earlier this morning, the police might well have discovered you inside the house. That would have made them a good deal less inclined to believe your alibi.”
“Nonsense. I was perfectly safe so long as I had you to vouch for my whereabouts at the time of the murder. Who could possibly doubt the word of the famous author Mrs. Fordyce?”
A short time later they were ushered into the lodgings of Mr. McDaniel, the elderly sitter who had been promised a financial windfall at Elizabeth Delmont’s last séance.
McDaniel was as delighted with his unexpected company as Miss Brick and Mrs. Trent had been. He proved even more willing to chat about his good fortune.
“Yes, indeed, the man of affairs Mrs. Delmont described showed up, just as the spirit promised. Name of Jones.” He raised his cup using a hand that shook so badly, tea splashed onto his trousers. He did not seem to notice. “Very polite. Very knowledgeable. Pity about the dreadful limp.”
“Do you recall anything else about him, sir?” Adam asked.
“Not really. Too many whiskers. Fellow ought to have a chat with his barber.” Mr. McDaniel hesitated, thinking. “Wore spectacles.” He raised his brows. “Why do you ask?”
“A man very similar to the one you describe approached me with an interesting financial opportunity,” Adam said with the air of one shrewd investor to another. “Mentioned your name. Thought I’d inquire into his references, as it were.”
Caroline made a note of the fact that Adam could spin a web of fiction as easily as she did.
McDaniel brightened. “He offered you a similar proposition, I take it? Shares in a mining company?”
“I’m looking into it,” Adam allowed. “But, to be frank, he did not show me any actual stock certificates. That worried me somewhat so I have been reluctant to hand over my money.”
“Odd. He certainly had no hesitation in presenting me with a certificate.”
“I wonder if I might have a look at them,” Adam said. “Just to see if they appear legitimate.”
“Don’t see why not. Jones said not to talk about the project with anyone who was not involved in it. But in view of the fact that you are considering the same investment, I can’t imagine that he would object to me showing you the shares.”
“Thank you,” Adam said.
Mr. McDaniel heaved himself out of his chair with the aid of a cane and tottered to the desk in the corner. He unlocked a drawer and withdrew a sheet of heavy paper. Adam crossed the room to examine it. Caroline followed quickly.
The stock certificate was an impressive-looking document with a light blue background. It was decorated with flamboyantly executed lettering that read Drexford & Co. and featured a vignette of a mine, complete with miners and their tools. The detail was very fine and the printing was superb.
“It certainly looks genuine,” Adam said, casually handing the certificate to Caroline. “What do you think, Mrs. Fordyce? As one who is involved in the world of publishing, you are more expert than I in such matters.”
Mr. McDaniel looked anxious as his precious certificate was passed to a third party. She gave him a reassuring smile and quickly held the document up to the light.
Amid the flourishes, curls and fancy work, she could clearly discern the small figure of a griffin entwined with the letter B.
“The printing is quite elegant,” she said, giving the certificate back to Mr. McDaniel.
“What did Mr. Jones tell you about the firm?” Adam asked.
“The company owns a gold mine somewhere in the American West,” McDaniel said, relax
ing now that the certificate was safely back in his hands. “The founder died before he could begin operations. Left everything to his heir, a young man who is determined to open the mine and make it productive.”
“But the heir requires capital to finance the expenses involved in starting up the mine, correct?” Adam asked.
Caroline could hear the grim edge on the words but McDaniel was oblivious.
“Precisely.” McDaniel bobbed his head with a sage expression. “Can’t go wrong with gold, I always say.”
“Words of wisdom, sir,” Adam said. “I shall certainly give close consideration to the investment. I appreciate your assistance.”
“Not at all, not at all.” McDaniel tucked the certificate securely back into the drawer. “I must say, I was somewhat skeptical when the spirit advised me to be on the lookout for Mr. Jones, but when he showed up the very next day I realized that the medium was the genuine article.”
“As genuine as that stock certificate you just put into that drawer, Mr. McDaniel,” Adam said.
TWENTY-FIVE
It was after five by the time Mr. McDaniel ushered them out of his house. A thick fog was closing in fast, leaching the light from the fading day. Adam could feel the angry tension shimmering through Caroline. Her shoulders were rigid.
“Well?” he prompted. “Did you see a mark on the certificate?”
“Yes. I can describe it to Mr. Spraggett. But he will have left his office for the day. I will not be able to talk to him until tomorrow.”
She fell silent.
“Try not to take this matter to heart,” he said after a while. “It is certainly not your fault. There was nothing you could have done to protect Jones’s victims.”
“All three of them are going to lose their money.”
“Caveat emptor. Anyone who is foolish enough to take financial advice from the Other Side—”
“Rubbish. That is very easy for you to say, sir, but Miss Brick, Mrs. Trent and Mr. McDaniel lack your financial skills. You know very well that none of them can afford to have that gold mine investment fail.”
“It will be a great hardship on them, no question.”
A hansom cab clattered past and disappeared into the fog. Awareness shivered across the nape of Adam’s neck. The sensation was one he recognized all too well. He had experienced it often enough in the old days when he had been in the business of selling other people’s secrets in narrow lanes and dark alleys. The survival instincts that he had learned as a youth persisted within him still. It required a great deal of discipline to fight the urge to look back over his shoulder.
“You saw their homes,” Caroline continued, voice ringing with the force of her feelings. “It is obvious that they are all barely getting by as it is. I do not want to think about what will happen when they discover that they have been duped. They will be devastated.”
“Very likely,” he admitted.
He turned his head partway toward her, bending forward slightly, making it appear that he was paying earnest attention to Caroline’s conversation. Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed a shadowy figure in the fog.
Caroline raised one gloved hand. “We must do something, Adam.”
He almost smiled. “By we, I conclude that you mean I must do something?”
“Ideally, of course, that dreadful Mr. Jones should be forced to reimburse his victims. But if that does not happen, we cannot let those poor people lose everything.”
“Do not concern yourself, Caroline.” He risked another glance and saw that their follower was still there, still maintaining the same distance. “I will see to it that Brick, Trent and McDaniel get their money back, one way or another.”
She tilted her head slightly. Beneath the brim of her clever little hat he could see that she was glowing with approval.
“Thank you, Adam. That is very kind of you.”
“I can only hope that Jones’s list of financial victims is not long.”
“I wonder how many people he has fleeced with those worthless mining shares.”
“Caroline, we have a small problem.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Someone is following us.”
“What?” She tried to stop and spin around.
“Keep moving.” He used his grip on her arm to force her to continue forward. “Do not give any sign that you are aware of him.”
“Yes, of course.” She continued along the pavement, walking at her usual brisk pace. “Who do you think is back there?”
“I intend to find out.”
He studied the mist-shrouded street for a moment, looking for a place to set a snare. The houses along each side of the pavement were placed side by side with no convenient walks or paths between them. The best option was the small park. The fog would provide a convenient veil.
“Here is what we will do,” he said to Caroline. “Listen closely and do exactly as I say.”
TWENTY-SIX
They walked into the park together. When they reached the first suitable tree, however, Adam signaled Caroline to continue on across the grass alone. He took up a position under the low-hanging boughs and waited.
From his vantage point he could see what the man behind them saw: a woman dressed in a rust-colored gown disappearing eerily into the heavy fog. It was impossible to tell that she was alone, and the follower would have no particular reason to think that the lady’s escort had abandoned her in the park.
That was, at any rate, the line of reason that Adam hoped the man would follow.
He was not disappointed. A few minutes after Caroline walked through the park, Adam heard stealthy footsteps on the pavement. The sounds ceased abruptly when the man moved onto the grass.
A moment later, a figure in a gray coat and a low-crowned hat hurried past the spot where Adam stood, waiting.
Adam took two strides, caught his quarry by the collar of his coat and yanked hard, tugging him off balance. The man squeaked in shock and fear and landed hard on his rear.
Adam looked down and saw a familiar face. “Mr. Otford. What a surprise it is to meet up with you here.”
Gilbert Otford sputtered, red-faced with outrage. “How dare you assault me in this rude fashion?”
“Do you know, Otford, I’m inclined to show you just how ill-mannered I can be.”
Caroline appeared out of the fog, holding her skirts in both hands so that she could run in what Adam suspected was an unladylike manner.
“Mr. Otford,” she exclaimed, halting in front of him. “You were following us, weren’t you? Whatever did you think you were about?”
“I have every right to walk down a public thoroughfare.” Otford climbed awkwardly to his feet, brushing ineffectually at the mud and grass on his coat. “Look what you’ve done to my clothes, Hardesty. You may be able to afford an unlimited number of coats, but I assure you the rest of us are not so fortunate.”
Adam took a step forward. Alarmed, Otford retreated, coming up hard against the tree trunk.
“Don’t touch me,” Otford yelped. “I shall summon a constable if you so much as lay a finger on me.”
“What did you hope to learn by following us?” Adam asked, genuinely curious.
“I told you, I merely happened to be on the same street.” Otford cast a beseeching look at Caroline. “You and I are colleagues of a sort, Mrs. Fordyce. Surely you do not doubt my professional intentions.”
Caroline sighed. “I believe him, Mr. Hardesty. I really do not think that Mr. Otford had any intention of perpetrating mischief.”
“Well, I am not convinced of that.” Adam took another step, deliberately closing the distance. “Furthermore, I have no patience for your lies, Otford. I thought I told you to stay out of my way.”
Otford swallowed several times but he managed to pull away from the support of the tree and stand upright. Adam could see that Caroline’s presence and air of concern had renewed his confidence. The correspondent had concluded that Adam would not do him any grave damage whi
le a lady stood by watching.
“I am a professional, sir,” Otford snapped. “A correspondent has a solemn duty to the public. You and Mrs. Fordyce are involved in a matter of murder. I have an obligation to my readers to ferret out the truth and convey it to them.”
“You work for a newspaper that specializes in sensations of all types,” Adam said. “The truth is the least of your concerns.”
“I resent the implications of that statement, sir. You have no right to abuse me in this manner. I insist on an apology.”
“Really . . . ,” Adam sneered.
Otford took a quick step back, eyes widening. “Now see here, sir.”
“I can see that you are going to continue to plague me, Otford. You leave me little choice.”
Otford panicked. He lurched forward, intent on escape. Adam caught him by his coattails, hauled him back and shoved him hard against the tree.
“Adam,” Caroline said softly. “Please don’t hurt him. I do not deny that he is very irritating, but he is a correspondent and he is right when he claims that he has a job to do.”
“There, you see?” Otford said quickly. “I am a professional going about my business.”
“You call your line a business?” Adam asked. “Very well, I will strike a bargain with you. Answer my questions and I will let you continue on your way in one piece.”
“What questions?” Otford asked, wary.
“How did you obtain your descriptions of the scenes of the Toller and Delmont murders?”
“I have an excellent source for that sort of information,” Otford said, looking smug. “One with whom I have worked on several occasions. I trust him completely.”
Adam tightened his grip on Otford’s lapels. “And what is the name of this trustworthy source?”
Otford hesitated. “A correspondent never reveals his sources.”
Adam looked at him, saying nothing.
Otford coughed. “His name is Inspector J. J. Jackson. Not that it is any of your affair.”
“You say you trust him?”
