by L. A. Nisula
Chapter 20
IT DID COME TO ME IN THE MIDDLE of the night. I knew who Mr. Broome was, or I thought I did. Not someone I had interviewed or even seen, but someone who had been described to me. Really, now that I thought about it, it seemed so ludicrously obvious. And Miss Crawford would know. I dragged myself out of bed and dressed and had tea and toast while I watched the clock. As soon as it was a respectable hour, or at least something resembling one, I tucked the photograph in my handbag and hurried to the Underground station.
The street was almost empty at this hour of the morning; everyone either at church or still abed. I hoped Miss Crawford would be in, but when I looked for her button, I could see the indicator was black, meaning she was away. Perhaps she’d gotten out of the city and was staying with friends somewhere. Miss Pimly would know. Miss Crawford wouldn’t leave without telling her landlady where she was, especially not after her recent adventures. I pressed the button for the ground floor flat and waited. When there was no answer, I rang again. When there was still no answer, I checked the ground floor button, but it was showing brass, so Miss Pimly was in.
Now that I was examining it, I realized Miss Crawford’s button looked odd. Upon closer inspection, I saw that a piece of black card had been wedged in the mechanism so it would look like she was out no matter what. I filed the trick away for when I wanted to be left alone and went back down the steps and around the side of the building.
I spotted the window to Miss Pimly’s sitting room and tapped on the glass. Miss Pimly came through from the kitchen on the second tapping, looking irritated and ready to snap at me. Clearly the story of Miss Crawford’s disappearance and recovery had been in the press more than I had known. I waved through the window. I could tell when she recognized me as she relaxed and pointed towards the front door.
This time when I went up the front steps, I knocked on the door, and it opened at once. Miss Pimly kept glancing down the block as she ushered me inside.
“You have no idea, Miss Pengear. Reporters and policemen, all wanting to talk to Miss Crawford. Stomping all over my steps and disturbing all the tenants. I’m afraid to show my face outside anymore. One of them followed me all the way to the market yesterday trying to get a comment. Do you know one reporter had the audacity to try and interview my other tenants, and some of them were polite enough to actually talk to him? Shocking.”
“Indeed.” I wondered how many of her tenants were thrilled to be quoted in the newspaper. “Is Miss Crawford in? I wanted to see how she was doing.”
“Yes, you can go and see her. I have to be careful who I let up there.”
“I am flattered that you trust me. And how are you doing? It must be very difficult being thrust into the middle of all this.”
“My sister tells me I should go to visit her in Birmingham and get away from it. I’m sure it’s kindly meant, but she has four children, and the oldest is six. And she does tell them to try and entertain me while I’m there, but they can be so exhausting. I think I’m better off here.”
“I quite understand.” I thought I’d rather face a barrage of reporters than a gaggle of unsupervised under-sixes myself. “Shall I just go up?”
“You remember the way? Of course you do. If you need anything, just call.”
I climbed the stairs to Miss Crawford’s flat and tapped on the door. There was no answer, but I heard movement inside so I called, “It’s Miss Pengear.”
The door opened at once. “Hello. We’ve been having a small problem with the press. Miss Pimly’s been doing a grand job, but... But please, come inside.”
She ushered me into the sitting room, which had been put to rights since I’d been there. “Miss Pimly got some of her friends from church to tidy the place up while I was in hospital. I heard it looked much different last time you were here.”
“She did a wonderful job. Was anything stolen?”
“No, and surprisingly very little was broken. Would you like some tea?”
She seemed a bit lonely, so I said, “That would be nice.”
As she prepared the kettle, she asked, “How are things at Kleinmans’?”
“Progressing, I suppose.”
“I heard Miss Kleinman was arrested. I never would have thought... I mean, can you see her staring down the police?”
“I was able to. I almost felt sorry for Inspector Wainwright.”
“Cream? Sugar?”
“No, thank you. This is lovely.” I sipped the tea then hoped it wasn’t too soon to get down to business. “I have a photograph I’d like you to look at.”
“Of course. Is it related to my case?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I want you to look at it.” I took the envelope with the photograph out of my handbag and passed it to her.
Miss Crawford slipped the photograph out of the envelope and looked at it. “That’s Miss Eaton, of course. But that doesn’t make any sense.”
“You recognize him, then?”
She nodded.
“From where?”
“That was the man at the pub, the one who came and flirted with me just before...” She looked up at me. “Just before I became ill. But he couldn’t have put anything in my drink. It wasn’t anywhere near him. I was twisted around in my chair trying to get rid of him.”
“What about Miss Eaton?”
Miss Crawford went pale. “She could have, easily. I was actually counting on her to be watching it when he was there. I didn’t think to be careful of her.”
“Why would you?”
“So it wasn’t Mr. Morris, like they said?”
“I don’t think so. But she did a good job of framing him. We’ll need proof.”
“Isn’t me recognizing him proof?”
“That he was at the pub. But you didn’t see your kidnappers, so it doesn’t really prove that it was them. It could have been coincidence, or he could say he was teasing Miss Eaton, no harm meant. And if they were involved in Mr. Morris’s murder...”
“We have to get them for both. What can I do?”
“Don’t tell anyone but the police about this. Miss Eaton can’t know we know.”
“I’ll tell Miss Pimly I’m tired and not to send anyone from the shop up to me.”
“I’ll go to Inspector Wainwright and show him the photo. Maybe he can find some way to connect them. He’ll probably want to ask you more about your identification.”
“I’ll see if I can remember anything about where they held me.”
“What about the cab? Do you remember that?”
“Not particularly. Why?”
“If he was already in the area, maybe he was the driver too. It may not have been a cab. If they were counting on it being dark and you being ill, it could have been any kind of carriage that resembled a cab.”
“The cushions were red. I just realized. I lay down because I felt faint, and the cushions were red velvet with a big worn patch on the middle across from me, so the side behind the driver.”
“That might help. I’ll tell Inspector Wainwright.”
Downstairs, I asked Miss Pimly if I could use the telephone and got Scotland Yard on the line. It turned out Inspector Wainwright actually got Sundays off, so I left him a message that it was extremely urgent he get in touch with me, and then left the same message for Constable Kittering and Constable Edwards. Miss Pimly made a great show of checking that there was no press outside waiting to ambush me, then told me to run for the Underground before they came back. I took off at a brisk trot to humor her.
As I found my way to my platform, I considered what Miss Crawford’s identification meant. She was right; we needed to get them for the murder too. And Inspector Wainwright wasn’t around to follow up on this lead. I tapped my finger against my Underground map. Something Miss Eaton had said last night. She was going to visit her parents, and she’d gotten rid of Constable Edwards.
My first thought was to telephone Scotland Yard and make certain Constable Edwards had been heard from recently,
but that was silly. Constable Edwards was a fully trained Scotland Yard policeman and more than capable of taking care of himself. Besides, I was quite certain Scotland Yard did not misplace policemen. If he hadn’t returned when he was supposed to check in, there’d be a full search for him, and it would start with Miss Eaton. It was just the combination of my suspicions and the fish and chips she’d been carrying.
But she had no family, or very little. If she was going out today, it wasn’t to visit family and I doubted it was for an innocent reason. Before I’d fully decided what I was going to do, I was walking towards the platform for the train that would take me to Miss Eaton’s flat. I would just talk to Mrs. O’Connell, find out where she’d gone, warn her of what was going on. And if I ran into Miss Eaton, I could just say I wanted to express my condolences again. It was the sort of plan that even Mrs. Albright would find fault with, but by the time I had finished it, I was already on the train. And if Miss Eaton's trip today was to destroy evidence, we didn’t have time for Inspector Wainwright to be back at work. And how much trouble could I get into talking to Mrs. O’Connell?
~ * ~ * ~
On my way to Miss Eaton’s, I stopped at a stationer’s and purchased the first sympathy card I saw. It would be a good excuse if she found out I’d been there. Mrs. O’Connell opened the door on the second ring. “Miss Pengear, how nice to see you. Was the photograph helpful?”
“Extremely helpful. Is Miss Eaton in?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“When do you expect her back?”
“Not for half an hour at least.”
“Not much time then. Could I go up to her flat and leave this card?”
“Go up and... Oh, the photograph was that helpful? Oh dear. Yes, yes, go right up. I’ll get the key and follow you.”
Mrs. O’Connell let me into Miss Eaton’s flat then stood on the landing. “If you don’t mind, I’ll watch you. Then if the inspector questions what you find, I’ll be your witness.”
It was just the sort of thing he would do. “That’s actually a really good plan. Thank you.”
I stood in the middle of the room and looked around. Where would Miss Eaton hide something? She was the one who had suggested looking for the cast of the hand in the flowerpot at Mr. Morris’s. I started with the geraniums on her windowsill, but there was no way to hide something in those pots unless it was in the soil, and I didn’t have time to go digging for it. Same with the fern by the desk.
There was a decorative urn by the fireplace. That seemed even better than a flowerpot. I gave it a gentle shake and something inside rattled. I turned the urn over, making certain Mrs. O’Connell had a good view of what I was doing, and a key fell into my gloved hand. It wasn’t dusty, but it didn’t have the shininess of frequent use, and it was small enough to have fit in the Heart of Night. This had to be it. But what did it open? I couldn’t tell by looking at it. It didn’t look like something from a bank. Maybe a locker at a train station. But it had to be somewhere that Miss Eaton could access; if whatever she was planning to use for blackmail was locked up somewhere like a jewelry box, Lady Suffolk could just hide that. I dropped the key back into the urn. For it to be useful as evidence, Inspector Wainwright had to find it in place. But that meant that Inspector Wainwright needed a reason to go into the flat and find it. I went back to scanning the room.
There was a desk shoved against the back wall. That was a start. Most things on top were covered in a thin layer of dust, showing they were not used much. I glanced at the blotting paper, but Miss Eaton seemed to use the same sheet over and over and the resulting build-up of ink made it impossible to pick out any words or string them together. I did find one pad of letter paper that seemed to have been used and a folder of nicer stationary. Thinking back to the clues I had left for Mrs. Albright when I’d been uncertain of the constable, I took the top sheet of each and slipped them into my handbag. A quick rifling of the top two drawers didn’t turn up anything more interesting than string and sealing wax. The bottom drawer was locked, but I was able to access it by pulling out the drawer above and reaching down through the space left behind. I reached in as far as I could and felt around until I felt a stack of papers.
The first thing I pulled out was a bank account ledger. I flipped it open and began to scan the contents. The account had been started with a ridiculously large amount of money about two years ago, and there had been regular deposits since. Every other week for the past nine months, there was a nice amount that seemed reasonable for a shop-girl’s salary, but every few months from the start there were much larger deposits. I wished I'd asked Miss Fairfield the value of the sapphires found with the body.
Then there were the withdrawals. Large from the start, but about two months before the deposits I was assuming were from Kleinman began, they became larger still, and the large deposits became more frequent, from every four months to something closer to two. I wished I had more time to study it or make notes, but I didn't, and I certainly couldn't take it with me; Inspector Wainwright had to find it here himself. But I would have loved to have known the value of the stolen bracelet's setting and diamonds and how the large deposits corresponded to the value of the sapphires. Even if each deposit was one sapphire, and I suspected the later ones accounted for more stones than the earlier ones, I figured she had about six months of money left from that robbery. And I hadn't asked when she started seeing Mr. Broome, but it wouldn't surprise me if the larger withdrawals corresponded to it.
I tried to memorize the most important dates then reached back into the drawer. I felt around until my hand brushed a ribbon. As I managed to grasp what felt like a bundle of letters and pull it out, I heard Mrs. O’Connell going downstairs. A quick glance at the top envelope gave me the address of the sender but no name. I was going to open one when I heard Mrs. O’Connell’s voice in the entryway below.
“Miss Eaton, do you have a moment?”
She was back. I pulled a letter from the center of the stack and tossed the rest back and replaced the drawer.
“What is it, Mrs. O’Connell?”
I gave the room a quick glance, but nothing looked out of place to me. Of course, I wasn’t someone who saw the room every day. But it would have to do. I put the card I’d brought down on the table outside the door and went onto the landing, closing the door as gently as I could.
“Do you remember when you paid your rent last month? I know you’re so good about paying on time, but my books just aren’t balancing.”
There was no way to go downstairs without being seen by the two of them since the staircase let out directly into the entryway. Up was the only choice. I reached the stairs leading up just as Miss Eaton said, “I’ll check my records. I’m sure I did pay you.”
“I’m sure you did, dear, I just need to figure out where I made the mistake.”
The staircase led to another landing and another apartment door. I crouched by the railing, trying to watch Miss Eaton enter her flat while hoping no one came out of the door behind me. I could see her fumble with the key, but she didn’t seem to notice the door was already unlocked as she opened it. I could see her hesitate as she picked up the card I’d left behind; then she dropped the card back on the table and went into her flat.
I was on my feet and down the stairs as quickly as I could be, hoping Miss Eaton wouldn’t look out her door to see who was running down the stairs. She didn’t. Mrs. O’Connell was waiting for me at the foot of the stairs.
“Did you find it?”
“I think so. Thank you for your help.”
She nodded and held the front door open as I scurried outside and joined the first group of pedestrians I could find, trying to blend in as I made my way to the Underground.
Chapter 21
I MADE IT BACK TO MY FLAT without any problems and put the kettle on. While it started to boil, I took the two papers out of my purse and held them up to the light so I could determine which side was the back, then put them face down on my desk and
dug through the drawers until I found a soft pencil. Now the question was what to write. I decided on the address for the White Oak. Inspector Wainwright would never believe I hadn’t already known the address of the pub where they’d had dinner the night Miss Crawford was kidnapped, but someone who didn’t know me might, and it was something he could pretend to believe if he had to. Miss Eaton might deny she’d given me paper to write that down, but if she was proved a murderer and I insisted it was true, it should be enough. I wrote as lightly as I could while still making marks on the page so I wouldn’t disturb any impressions, then turned the papers over. I took the plain sheet first and rubbed lightly over it with the pencil until I could see letters forming on the page. When the entire page had been covered, I tried to make sense of what I was seeing.
It was a jumble of words, written at different angles and I suspected at different times. One bit seemed to be a shopping list: eggs, milk, apples. Another a note of some appointment, “try 7pm for c...,” which faded into, “-ker 15s6d.” Some sort of debt, perhaps. The center of the page was a large jumble of words, with only a few that could be seen: “Jasper,” “time,” “call,” “bracelet.” I tried to make out any words that appeared on the same line as “bracelet” since that could be a connection to Kleinman and Co. or Lady Suffolk, but the tangle of lines made it impossible. The best I could do with the rest was make out strings of connected letters: “tter,” “chlo,” “ein.” Any time I saw the last, I tried to piece more together as it could have been a reference to Kleinman, but again, too many overlapping letters. I saw the name “Jasper” three times and the letter “J” several times on its own, but I couldn’t make out much else.
