“He can’t do that,” Holte interrupted her. “You don’t work for him, and I don’t think Lowenthal likes it when Old Money tries to tell him what he can and can’t do. He’s not fond of politicians, either, come to think of it.”
Poppy was not so sure about the Old Money. “He went along with Pearse’s demand that he approve what I’ve written, and I’d been civil to Pearse before now.”
“Lowenthal wants the story, but not if it means trouble for you.”
“It bothers me, knowing that Pearse is being so…so pugnacious. If I were a man, he’d probably expect me to fight with him—fisticuffs.”
Holte did his best to sit on the edge of the desk, and so only sunk an inch into its surface. “What does your aunt think about this?”
Poppy looked away from him. “I haven’t told her.”
“Why on earth not?” Holte asked her.
“I don’t want her rallying to my cause,” Poppy said in a small voice. “She’s apt to drive over to the Pearses’ house and give them a piece of her mind, and then the fat would really be in the fire.”
“I can see how that would be unpleasant, but how could it—” He saw the distressed look in her eyes and stopped. “All right. Tell me why that would be a bad thing. You’ve made no secret of your disapproval of Mister Pearse’s behavior, so why would your aunt’s support not help you?”
Poppy flung up one hand. “It’s hard enough doing my job as it is; having my relatives and old friends taking sides would make it even harder. I don’t mind being an oddity, but I have no wish to become an example—good or bad, depending on which side of the issue people chose. It’s bad enough that nearly everyone I know disapproves of what I do. If it meant difficulties for the paper, Lowenthal would be displeased at the least: he says his reporters are supposed to cover the news, not be it.”
“Are you sure of that?” Holte asked calmly.
“Sure enough that I don’t want to take a chance on it,” said Poppy, and retrieved a handkerchief from her pocket to wipe her eyes. “Ye gods, what a ninny I am.”
“Hardly that,” Holte reassured her. “You’re a little on overload, and no wonder.”
Poppy bit back the retort that rose to her lips, and said only, “You may be right.”
There was a knock on the door, and Miss Roth said, “Miss Thornton, you have a visitor. I’ve put him in the parlor, and I’ve offered him coffee and a drink.”
“Who is it?” Poppy asked, trying to adjust her mascara.
“Inspector Loring, Miss,” said Miss Roth.
Poppy gave a little shriek. “I’ll be out in a couple of minutes. Please ask him to wait, if you would.” She turned to Holte. “I should go find out what he wants.”
“Your company would be my guess,” said Holte, obligingly rising toward the ceiling and circling above Maestro. “I’ll come back a little later.”
THIRTY-FIVE
INSPECTOR LORING STOOD UP AS POPPY CAME INTO THE ROOM. “SORRY TO DROP in on you unannounced like this; I hope you don’t mind.” There were circles around his eyes and his shirt, under his tweed jacket, was rumpled, and his tie loosened a bit.
“Looks like you’ve had a long day,” Poppy said, motioning to him to sit down. “Make yourself comfortable, Loring—no need to stand on ceremony with me.” As she said this, she felt a bit embarrassed; she covered this by telling him, “Miss Roth will bring you whatever you asked for, and probably something more, for hospitality’s sake.”
“I gather I caught you working,” he said, a bit apologetically.
“You did, but I’m glad you’re giving me an excuse to stop; I wasn’t doing very well. You’re likely to help me shake the cobwebs out of my thoughts.” She took the far end of the couch from where he sat in the wing-back chair. “What’s been going on? More about the Napier capture?”
Loring shook his head. “The Robbery boys have got a bead on the last man. It’s not my look-out. No, that’s not what’s bothering me.”
“Then what is?” she asked. “Because you do have something on your mind.”
“I do, and I know you can help me figure out how to handle this awkward situation. You know the people better than I do.” Loring sat forward, put his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. “I had a telegram earlier today, and I’ve been trying to confirm what it said. No luck so far, and I’ve been working on it for most of the afternoon and into the evening. I’m at a bit of an impasse.”
“Oh?” She felt her curiosity awaken. “What about the telegram?”
“It was from Blessing. He’s just leaving Bratislava for Brno, on the night train. He has learned from what he believes is a reliable source that GAD is in jail there.” He heard Poppy gasp. “That’s what I’ve been trying to confirm. Blessing said he’d hold off notifying the Pearses until he can discover if it’s true and, if it is, what can be done about it.”
“Ye gods!” Poppy exclaimed. “In jail? Why? What did GAD do?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out, as a first step; I’ve sent a telegram to our Embassy in Prague, asking if they can verify this claim, but no answer so far. But it’s late there, and I’ll probably have to wait until Monday morning before I hear from them; I had Sergeant Barech, who knows Czech, draft a telegram to the Brno police for me and sent it off around four.” Loring said, and noticed Miss Roth approaching with a tray. “Let’s attend to this after we’re private again.”
Miss Roth brought the tray to the coffee table. “I’ve taken the liberty of providing cognac and rum as well as coffee and some toast with shrimp-paste or potted ham for you; the potted ham is on the rye bread, the shrimp-paste on the white toast. Have what you want.”
The three of them did not notice a faint flicker in the floor-lamp behind the couch.
“Thank you, Miss Roth,” Poppy said, and added, “Will you tell my aunt that Inspector Loring is here?”
“Certainly,” said Miss Roth, adding, “I’ll be going to my quarters after I have a word with Miss Thornton. So if you’ll put the tray in the kitchen when you’re done?” and with that, left them alone.
“So, Inspector, what may I give you?” Poppy said, recalling all her lessons in etiquette; she handed him one of two napkins on the tray.
“It was very nice of Miss Roth to provide rum and cognac,” Loring said with a faint smile. “I’ll have a bit of rum, and after that, I’ll decide about the rest.”
“Coming up.” Poppy obliged him, pouring two fingers of rum into the taller of the two glasses on the tray. “Enough?”
“Fine.”
As she gave this to him, she said, “You’ll let me know when you make up your mind about the sandwiches.”
“I will,” he said as he took the glass from her. “Are you going to join me?”
Poppy reached for the cognac bottle. “I am. Anything to shake up my head. Or, if it puts me to sleep, I’ll know I’ve been pushing too hard.” This was a maladroit confession for her, but she was gratified when she saw Loring actually smile. With that for encouragement, she took her glass and poured in a little over a finger. “There.” She lifted her glass to him. “To good times ahead.”
“Good times,” he echoed. After his first sip, Loring began to relax, more from conviviality than the impact of alcohol. “I stopped sending telegrams around five, and I’ve tried to get hold of someone in our Department of State to find out how to go on from here. There aren’t many about the place on a Saturday afternoon.”
“Have you said anything to the Pearses yet?” Poppy asked, setting her glass down next to the tray.
“No; I don’t want to alarm them if I don’t have to; I should have something from Blessing in the morning, after he gets to Brno and finds out what he can about GAD.” He had another sip. “I hope Blessing knows how to handle situations like this, because I don’t.”
“And you said that Blessing hasn’t sent a telegram to the Pearses; is that right?”
“No, he hasn’t; he’s waiting for my recommendation and
some actual confirmation, which strikes me as sensible, especially dealing with Mister Pearse.” He faltered, coughing a little. “It isn’t easy to break the news—if it is news. I don’t want to pass on information if it turns out to be wrong. Pearse said he didn’t want gossip and rumors, he wanted hard facts, which is why I wired Prague; I hope they can give me something concrete without masses of red tape.” He had a little more rum.
“Don’t you know how to do that? Get the information you want? Surely you had to deal with local governments during the Great War?” Poppy asked.
“I did, and I wasn’t much good at it. Finding and identifying bodies was hard enough in itself, but when there were no certain ways to know who was who, and what army they’d fought for, there are headaches that are beyond anything you can think of.”
She picked up her glass again. “I can imagine. I know what it took to get my father’s remains back from Belgium. Months and months of forms and telegrams, made more difficult because my father was an American civilian, not a soldier in uniform. But the US wasn’t in the Great War yet when he was killed, so we had to arrange most of it ourselves. My Uncle Regis handled the bulk of it; he had the highest access of any of us.”
“Not very pleasant, all those hurdles to jump over,” Loring said in sympathy.
Poppy shook her head, and shifted the subject. “But it seems GAD is alive, in all likelihood—the Europeans are generally prompt in their death notifications—which ought to be good news for the Pearses. Doesn’t that make a difference?”
“I hope so,” said Loring devoutly. “Seems isn’t good enough, though, not for Pearse.” He had a little more rum. “I have to phone Pearse this evening, to provide his daily report, and I’m at a loss to know how to do it. If I withhold information, Pearse’ll be furious when he finds out, but if I tell him what I know, he’ll—”
“—be furious. You’re right about that.” She reached for the coffee pot and poured some into her cup. “Would you like some?”
“Okay. I guess I’d better,” Loring said. “I don’t want a muddled head.”
“Then have a sandwich or two. That should sop up the rum,” she said. “I’m not very hungry; as I mentioned, dinner was late.”
“Thanks,” he said, setting his glass aside and taking one of the shrimp-paste sandwiches. “I don’t feel hungry, but I probably am; I haven’t eaten since two this afternoon.”
Poppy looked startled. “You must be famished,” she said. “Would you like something more substantial? I could go into the kitchen and make you up a small plate.” She saw his surprised expression. “I know my way around a kitchen. I’m not a great cook, but I do more than boil water.”
“I didn’t mean…” He cleared his throat. “Sorry. Yes, I did. Most women of your…”
Poppy bridled at this. “You mean upper class women don’t always have domestic skills? You’re right about that; many of us don’t. But I was fortunate to have a Suffragette mother who insisted that her daughter be able to fend for herself in such matters; I can do basic cooking, I can handle cleaning and repairing, and I can manage money. It’s all stood me in good stead, and I’m grateful to her in more ways than one.”
Loring was a study in consternation. “Poppy, I didn’t—I apologize.”
Seeing his discomfort, Poppy softened. “You’re right, Loring. Yes, I can cook enough to keep from starving, but Missus Sassoro outdoes me at every turn, and I like it that way. I wish she were here now, but in her place, I can make you up a plate, if you decide you want one.” She put sugar and cream in her coffee and then reclaimed her glass of cognac, which she lifted in his direction. “Eat your sandwich and then we’ll talk about how to approach Sherman Pearse.”
“Cautiously,” he said, before taking his first bite of his sandwich. “I realize the man is demanding.”
“That he is,” Poppy agreed. “I didn’t think so when I was younger and we were visiting the family, but in retrospect, I can see that he had to be in charge of everything, and still does. He must be impossible if there is real disorder in the home. No wonder Isadora is given to emotional outbursts; I’d scream too, if I were married to him. He’s a tyrant at heart. I’m surprised that she is willing to put up with him.”
“Then have you anything to advise me in dealing with him?” He took a second bite of his sandwich, smiling a little.
“You’re right about caution.” Poppy took a little more cognac, and did her best to summon up her opinions. “If I were you, I wouldn’t tell him much; I might say that you are awaiting word from Prague, and you hope to have news for the family on Monday, if not sooner. That should reassure him without giving the impression that you are dragging your feet. Additionally, it might be prudent to say as little as possible about what you’ve heard, and you might, in your telegram to Blessing, mention the same approach for him. Once you inform him of the possibilities, they will become certainties in Mister Pearse’s mind.”
Loring swallowed his third bite of sandwich and said, “If you think that will work. He could insist on knowing the whole.”
“It should be better to tell him that you’re following a few promising leads than telling him too much of what is not verified,” Poppy said, and saw a blur on the far wall; she realized that Holte was observing.
“Okay,” he said again, and had another sip of rum before taking a third bite. “Anything else?”
“You might tell him that Blessing is also working to follow his current leads, and will report to Pearse as soon as he has contacted the appropriate Czech authorities, which may take a little time. It reminds Pearse that you and Blessing are working together, not in competition.” She set her cognac aside and picked up her coffee cup. “It would be like Pearse to try to play you off against one another.”
“I thought it might be something like that,” said Loring. “I’ll try to warn Blessing when I send my next telegram.”
“Bear in mind that Mister Pearse likes people he considers beneath him to be deferential, so present what you wish to tell him with respect and modesty, accede to him as much as you can, be acquiescent. The more humble, the better.” She was a bit surprised to hear herself say so, but she decided not to modify her remarks.
“A lot of the upper crust are like that,” said Loring, and nearly choked as he heard laughter from the door; he set his sandwich down and got to his feet. “Good evening, Miss Thornton.”
“Excuse me Inspector,” said Aunt Esther. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, but as Miss Roth mentioned you were here, I thought I’d better come welcome you to the house. Do sit down and eat. You look like you could use some food.”
Loring muttered a kind of thanks, and resumed his place in the chair. “Your niece as I were just discussing the latest developments in the GAD Pearse investigation.”
“So I gathered,” said Esther, coming into the parlor. “Don’t worry; I won’t stay long.”
“You’re busy?” Poppy asked.
“I’m starting to make lists for the Amazon trip. I have a lot to do before I can depart, which I want to do in fewer than twenty days, if possible.” She came in and pulled up the ottoman for a seat. “I have to budget my journey for the National Geographic Society and submit it by next Wednesday. They don’t like writing blank checks.”
“Hardly unusual,” said Poppy, indicating the two bottles on the tray. “May I pour you some of your excellent drink, Aunt Esther?”
“No thank you, not just at present. I indulged earlier, and now I’d rather devote myself to doing calculations and such, which requires that I try to keep my head clear, more’s the pity. I may have something later, as a nightcap. But that needn’t stop either of you from having a nip or two. You both go ahead and enjoy yourselves.” She moved to study Loring. “You look weary, Inspector.”
“I am weary Miss Thornton.”
“Then let me advise you to have another sandwich when you finish the one you’re working on. And have more coffee than rum, if you intend to work tonight.” That sai
d, she shifted her attention to Poppy. “I had a call from Denton North today, about a rumor that Stacy has been seen in Venezuela. Is there any truth in that?”
Poppy told herself that she should have anticipated that the Department of State would be in touch with Philadelphia’s District Attorney. “I don’t know, yet. I may be able to be specific by Tuesday.”
“So there has been some progress,” Esther said. “About time.”
“There may be some progress, but that depends on a proper identification,” Poppy corrected her. “I don’t know what Denton has heard, but so far all there is, that I’m aware of, is supposition, and that’s the problem the Department of State would like to solve.”
Esther regarded Poppy narrowly. “Is this something new, or did you know about it this afternoon?”
Poppy took on the question directly. “Yes, I did know about it, but I didn’t want to bring it up. You were concerned with other matters.”
“So I was. Pardon me for being…preoccupied,” Esther said somberly.
“When I find out one way or another whether or not Stacy has been seen, I’ll let you know,” Poppy vowed. “I may even inform Aunt Jo.”
Aunt Esther shook her head. “Best let me do it; she won’t want to hear it from you.” She turned toward Loring. “How does this appear to you, Inspector? Do you think that Denton North is on to something at last?”
“If Stacy is identified, then it might prove helpful, although from what I little I’ve heard of this, I’m not getting my hopes up; South America is a very big place, and there are a vast number of bolt-holes to hide in,” Loring said before taking a last bite of his sandwich. “If Stacy is moving about, then it will be hard to get on his trail.”
“It would be like Stacy to lead you on a merry dance all over South America, I’m afraid.” Esther said, and added, “He would enjoy that.”
Poppy offered the plate with the potted ham sandwiches. “Have another. I don’t think I have room for any of them.”
“Yes, please do,” Esther seconded. “I hate seeing food go to waste, and I don’t think the cat likes sandwiches.”
Living Spectres: a Chesterton Holte, Gentleman Haunt Mystery Page 41
