by L. A. Nisula
“The poodle or Miss X?” I switched to safer topics. “The consulting job would be at a jewelry store called Kleinman and Company. Their insurance company is trying to avoid paying a robbery claim because they say the locking system was too easy to defeat. It uses a combination of keys and hand shapes.”
“Could be interesting. Any particulars I should know? Hand me that spanner, please.”
I took me a moment to translate that into English I understood. “Wainwright’s the detective.”
She took the wrench from me. “Were you trying to discourage me?”
“Just letting you make an informed decision.”
“I’ll come anyway. We open later on Fridays; I could come around 9:30. Would that be all right?”
“Excellent. I’ll let them know.” I tucked Intermediate Vehicular Tinkering back into its paper cover and left through the front of the shop. I noticed the girl examining one of the mechanical kittens, stroking its head with one hand and studying the way the base pivoted as it turned with most of her attention. “But it's so adorable, Daddy.”
“Maybe next time, dear. You have three of those already.”
I adjusted my grip on my typewriter case and prepared for one last Underground journey to Paddington Street.
~ * ~ * ~
The day after the robbery, I woke up with a sore shoulder from lugging my typewriter around London and the firm conviction that jobs to get me out of my flat were unnecessary and an all-around bad idea. I blamed my reluctance to gather up my things and make for the Underground on my shoulder, but I knew my real problem was dreading what I would find when I arrived at Kleinman and Company. I spent my time on the train―where I had managed to find a seat for my case but not myself―debating which I was less enthusiastic about finding: another robbery or Inspector Wainwright. I hadn’t come to a satisfactory answer by the time I reached my stop.
When I got to the back door of Kleinman and Co., I could see there were lights on inside. That had to be a good sign, right? I knocked and Mr. Kleinman opened the door at once. “Good morning, Miss Pengear. We’re in the same display room getting ready. You know the way?”
“Yes, thank you.” As I continued through the entryway, I could see him lean back against the wall and drum his fingers against his arm.
Miss Kleinman was in the display room when I got there. She had already set up the larger table with the forms and arranged the chairs. Now she was sorting pencils by length. She didn’t notice me enter, so I left her to her thoughts and went to the small table to set up my typewriter. It wasn’t until she heard me undo the locks on the case that she looked up and noticed me.
“Good morning, Miss Pengear. I’m afraid I’m a bit distracted this morning.”
“Of course. There was just a robbery here.”
“And yet Daniel still refuses to take insurance on the Heart of Night. I’m hoping Mr. Tolland will convince him, but...” Her voice trailed off. “If you’ll excuse me, we need more paper.”
I smiled and nodded as she left, even though I could see a stack of paper on the chair near her and another under the table.
Mr. Tolland came into the room at precisely 9:00, escorted by Mr. and Miss Kleinman and Miss Fairfield this time. They all took their seats except for Miss Kleinman, who went directly back to the vault. I made certain the first of my forms was in the typewriter and waited.
This morning it was rings. Miss Kleinman put two whole trays down on the table. “I hope you don’t mind. It will save a bit of time if I don’t have to go back and forth.”
“Of course, of course.” Mr. Tolland slid the blue lens in front of his eye and studied the first ring. “Gold, 18 carat,” he said as he scribbled on his notepad. He changed to a green lens. “Garnet, six carat, cabochon cut. Diamond chips, seven, around the base.” They all agreed, and the description was handed to me. I understood that the Kleinmans wanted to get as much done as they could before the insurance man had to leave. It was unlikely that the burglar would strike twice, but I didn’t blame them for wanting the whole matter of insurance squared away, so I typed as quickly as I could, not really looking at the words, only the letters, which was much less fun, but then the robbery had managed to drain all the fun out of this job.
We made it through the tray of semi-precious amethyst and garnet rings, then a tray of art pieces: rings made of tiny interlocking gold gears, some which turned as the wearer moved, causing brass flowers to bloom or in one case a bird hatch out of an egg. I wasn’t quite sure how practical they were for wearing, but someone who could afford the prices I saw on the forms probably didn’t need to move their hands if they didn’t want to. By lunch, we had made it to the trays of precious stones. As Miss Kleinman lined up the last of the emerald rings in the tray, Mr. Tolland put down his pencil. “This seems like a fine place to stop for the day. I’ll return at closing to sign the copies Miss Pengear will be typing up. Will that be satisfactory?”
Mr. Kleinman rose from his chair. “Certainly. I will personally wait until you have returned so we can have this matter settled. Allow me to show you to the door.”
As Mr. Kleinman escorted Mr. Tolland out through the showroom, Miss Kleinman turned to me. “Miss Pengear, would you come back with me before you go to lunch?”
I left my typewriter and followed Miss Kleinman into the vault.
“I just wanted someone to witness me putting all of this away. The inspector seemed to think there was some irregularity in how I did it.”
“He probably didn’t, actually. Inspector Wainwright always seems like that.”
“You’ve worked with him as well? I didn’t see him in your references.”
“Would you list him if you had other choices?”
“I suppose not.”
I watched Miss Kleinman lock up the last of the rings, then followed her back into the display room.
After serving as Miss Kleinman’s witness, I made for a nearby pub recommended by Miss Henderson and had a quick bite of lunch. When I returned, I went through the showroom rather than the back door, more to be nosy than anything. It was clear I was not the only one who felt that way. There were several customers, all of whom were pretending to look at the cases while craning their necks to try and see through to the back room, even thought the crime scene wasn’t visible from the door. None of them seemed to have any idea what they were shopping for when asked by the clerks. I fancied I felt envious stares as I slipped through the door to the back room. I passed through the foyer outside the vault, but everything seemed back to normal at the scene of the crime, so I went straight through to the display room and started on my typing.
By the time the shop was closing up, I was more than willing to let the envious patrons have my access to the back room if they would also take over the typing. We had worked at such a fast pace during the morning that it took an afternoon of flat-out typing to get the copies finished. But finish them I did and got them locked away in the small safe awaiting Mr. Tolland’s return. I was packing away my typewriter when I heard my name.
“Miss Pengear?”
I looked up from my typewriter and tried to match the woman in the doorway with ever-growing list of names I’d been confronted with over the last three days. It seemed like I’d been here much longer now. “Miss Peters, right?”
She smiled, but nervously. “That’s right. One of the shop assistants. Are you busy?”
“I was just leaving...” I trailed off, leaving myself a little space to deny whatever she was so worried about asking me if it meant I had to stay here too long.
“You live near Paddington Station, right?”
So, something to do on my way home. Might not be too much trouble. “Near enough.”
“You’ve met Emma Crawford, right? She’s the book-keeper.”
“Blonde, wears rather ridiculous heels?”
“That’s her! Well, she hasn’t been in today, and she didn’t send word, and I know her building has a telephone in the lobby, so she would hav
e been able to reach us if there was something, so I’m worried, and I was hoping, you were so good with the police, would you mind coming with me to her flat and just checking to make certain that, well, that nothing happened? It’s just behind Paddington Station, and I’ll pay for a cab there and everything.”
I could tell she was really worried about her friend. “Of course I’ll come. I’m sure we’ll find her in bed with a cold and the telephone out of order.” I lifted my typewriter back into its case.
“I’m sure, but with what’s been going on, I’d like her to have a good alibi.”
I smiled and made myself busy with the clasps on the case so I wouldn’t have to say that, under the circumstances, that was a very good idea.
Chapter 6
MISS CRAWFORD LIVED IN A BRICK BUILDING that had been fitted out with every modern thing that could be done to it. There were steam pipes poking out everywhere: the downspouts and the eaves and small, poorly insulated holes cut in the window glass. Miss Peters sent her card up to Miss Crawford’s flat in the pneumatic tube, and we waited for the latchkey to be sent down to us. It didn’t come.
After I'd checked the tube for what felt like the hundredth time but could really only have been the second or third, I tried reaching up to see if there was something stuck. There wasn’t. “Could she have gone somewhere? Maybe to visit family?”
“She would have said. Miss Kleinman would have given her the time off, and we all have the number to Mr. Kleinman’s home. He has servants; they would have taken the message even if it was late.”
“And they would have told the staff?”
“Miss Kleinman was looking for her this afternoon.”
I examined the call buttons. Miss Crawford’s had a small green dot in the middle. “I suppose that means that she’s in.”
“I think so.”
I was getting tired of standing, and my typewriter was getting heavy again. “Does her landlady live in the building?”
“She does. Miss Pimly.”
“Then she must be the ground-floor flat. We’ll try her and see if she’ll let us up to check.” Before Miss Peters could protest, I scanned the row of buttons and found the one for the ground-floor flat. Instead of being connected to the pneumatic tube system, it connected to a bell that I could hear ringing in the front hall. A few minutes later, there was the sound of heels on a wood floor and the door was opened by a thin woman with a frizzy attempt at a fringe and hair that was falling out of its knot.
“I’m sorry, ladies, no solicitations, no charitable requests. I can’t have my tenants bothered.” She moved to close the door.
I was surprised by Miss Peters’s speed. She had her square-toed boot in the door before Miss Pimly had gotten a firm grip on the knob.
“We’re friends of Miss Crawford, one of your tenants. We’d like to see her.”
“Send up your card. If she’s in, she’ll let you up. Can’t have my tenants bothered.”
I leaned around Miss Peters’s shoulder so she could keep her boot in the door. “We tried that. I’m sure they would be bothered more if she was ill and left in her room with no medical attention. Can we just go up and make certain she’s all right? We’ll only stay a moment and not cause any trouble.”
I could see her weighing the possibility of us causing trouble against the trouble caused by a sick tenant. “How do you know her? You’re not her family.”
“We work at the same shop. Kleinmans'.” I poked Miss Peters in the back until she realized what I wanted and pulled out one of her business cards.
It seemed to convince Miss Pimly. “Very well. But I will walk upstairs with you.”
“Of course.” I gave Miss Peters a little shove to get her through the door before Miss Pimly changed her mind.
The first thing I noticed in the entryway was the telephone cabinet. Like the one in my building, it had once been a coat closet and was now fitted up with a telephone and a small ledger for tenants to log their calls and a locked box with a slit in the lid to accept their payment. It appeared to be in working order.
The second thing I noticed was Miss Pimly giving my typewriter case a glare that suggested all the terrible things a carelessly carried case could do to her wallpaper. I took the hint. “May I set this down here?”
“It would be best. Not there; it will crush the carpet. That chair is not as sturdy as you might think. You’ll scratch the finish on the wood there when you pick it up. No–”
I managed to leave it on the small area of uncovered wood floor partially hidden by the staircase where presumably scratches wouldn’t show. With that settled, Miss Pimly led us up to Miss Crawford’s flat, which occupied the back of the second floor.
Miss Pimly made certain she was in front of us as we approached the door. “I’ll just knock and see if she’s able to answer, and then you’ll...” We never did find out what she expected us to do. She raised her hand to knock on the door, but the door swung open as soon as she touched it. Miss Pimly took one look into the room and fainted into Miss Peters’s arms. Miss Peters looked over Miss Pimly’s shoulder and let out a stifled sort of scream.
I pushed around Miss Peters so I could see into the flat. The door opened directly into the main living area that acted as a sitting room and dining room with a small Pullman kitchen shoved in along the side wall. Every chair had been overturned. Every table was on its side. Most of the books and knick-knacks from the shelves were on the floor. I couldn’t tell if the room had been searched or if these were signs of a struggle, but it was definitely far beyond poor housekeeping.
I turned back to Miss Peters. “Put her down on the floor of the landing, then run outside and find a constable. There’s bound to be one around. Bring him back. If you can’t find one fast, the telephone looked like it was working, so you should be able to call Scotland Yard.”
“Right. What will you do?”
“I’m going to look around and make sure she’s not―hurt or unconscious somewhere inside.”
Miss Peters nodded, and I could tell she knew what I wasn’t saying: that I was checking to be sure there was no body inside.
When Miss Peters had gone, I gathered up my skirts so I wouldn’t inadvertently knock anything over and stepped over Miss Pimly into the room.
No blood. That was the first thing I noticed. No blood in the main room or, if there was, it was in too small a quantity to stand out and therefore probably not enough to be fatal. There was a velvet curtain separating the sleeping area from the rest of the room. I used the tip of a finger to push it aside.
The bed was in the middle of the curtained-off area, the sheets ripped off and scattered across the floor. There was a wardrobe against the wall that had been opened and rifled through, but everything was still hanging inside. The same with the large shelf of shoes against the opposite wall. Three shelves of six pairs, one of five. I scanned the floor, but I couldn’t spot the missing pair, and I didn’t want to move the sheet to look under it. From where I stood, I could see there was no blood on the bedding or the mattress, and no lumps under the sheets that were big enough to be a body.
I stepped back into the main room and did a second quick scan. The kitchen cupboards had been emptied, but the boxes and tins were all still closed. The cushions on all the chairs had been tossed on the floor, but none seemed to have been torn. There were hats and a pair of carpet slippers scattered by the door, but no coat. I was considering what all of this meant when a head wearing a custodian helmet poked around the doorframe.
“Miss? Is this your flat?”
The constable was not one I recognized, which probably explained why he didn’t tell me to get out of the flat immediately and stop interfering with his crime scene. “No, I was just making certain she wasn’t here. And I was very careful not to touch anything. She isn’t, by the way.”
Our eyes met, and I could tell he understood what I was saying. “That’s something, then. Kidnapping. Better than murder any day. Now Miss–” He consulted his no
tebook. “Miss Peters is in the flat downstairs waiting for the Yard to send an inspector. I’ll bring―I take it this is Miss Pimly? I’ll bring Miss Pimly down. If you would be so kind as to follow.”
“Of course.” I made my way out of the flat and waited for the constable to pick Miss Pimly up from the landing and precede me down the stairs.
The door to Miss Pimly’s flat was unlocked. Miss Peters held it open for the constable as he brought Miss Pimly in and laid her down on the settee in the front room. He put a cushion under her head and raised her feet on the arm of the couch, then turned to us. “If you ladies would keep an eye on her, I’m going to see if the telephone in the hall works and call the Yard.”
“Of course.” Miss Peters got a crochet afghan from the chair by the fire and covered Mrs. Pimly.
I turned back to the constable. “You may want to ask for Inspector Wainwright. The missing woman worked in the shop where the robbery he’s investigating took place.”
“Thank you, miss. I will do that.” He didn’t sound particularly enthusiastic, and I wondered if he had worked with Inspector Wainwright before.
Miss Peters had finished smoothing out the blanket. “I’m going to make some tea.”
“All right. I’ll go look for some smelling salts.”
I found the powder room off of the bedroom and went through the medicine cupboard. Behind headache powders and digestive aids, I found a vial of sal volatile and brought it back to the sitting room. The salts revived Miss Pimly just as Miss Peters came through with the tea tray.
“Is she...” Miss Pimly gasped.
“I don’t think so,” I reassured her. “Scotland Yard is being called in.”
