by L. A. Nisula
“So they do work, then,” Mrs. Gillington said in a tone that made me wonder if this was part of some marketing plan of Ada’s to sell more of Kate’s alarm systems.
“You haven’t heard anyone say if they saw anything, have you?” Ada leaned in and said in a conspiratorial tone, “You see, I don’t think Scotland Yard will act on their own, as nothing was taken, but if we were to bring them some information, it’s possible they would find the suspect before he tries again on another shop.”
Mrs. Gillington shook her head. “I haven’t heard anyone say they saw someone strange in the area, no one reliable anyway. I didn’t see anyone, but then how could I all the way over here? Of course, Mr. Milroy said he saw three men running from the direction of your shop, but they turned out to be the Stewarts’ boys, and that was on Monday, not the night of your crime.”
Ada nodded. “Who else mentioned something?”
Mrs. Gillington began reciting a list of names that meant nothing to me, but clearly meant something to Ada, along with descriptions of what they said they saw that night and her own commentary on whether or not it was possible. When she’d finished, I’d heard two that sounded promising: Mr. Milroy, if Mrs. Gillington had gotten some of the facts slightly wrong and Mr. Fitzroy, although his was too vague to be sure. Ada didn’t say anything to indicate she thought the gossip was over until Mrs. Gillington went back behind the counter and asked, “Did you find anything interesting?”
Ada pretended to misunderstand the question. “I think those chocolate biscuits would be good, don’t you, Cassie? And the scones. If you could wrap them up so there are three biscuits and two scones in each packet, I think that would work.”
If Mrs. Gillington was disappointed that Ada would not be giving her more gossip in return for what she’d given us, the promise of such a large order immediately cheered her. Ada and I offered to help her wrap the parcels, then Ada signed the account book while I arranged them in the basket she’d brought, and we left Mrs. Gillington in a very good mood, most likely waiting for the next round of customers to come so she could tell them the detail of the actual almost-crime that Kate’s alarms had thwarted. Again, I wondered if that was a bit of marketing brilliance on Ada’s part.
I waited until we were on the street and walking again before I asked, “Do some of them seem more promising than others, or should we just begin at the beginning?”
Ada rearranged the parcels in her basket. “Some of them definitely seem more promising, but if we don’t treat them all as promising, someone will be offended, most likely someone I wouldn’t think would be. So we begin at the beginning. Come along.”
And so we started with Miss Milcourt’s Parisian Fashions next door—she hadn’t seen anything but appreciated the biscuits—all the way down the street to Mr. Fitzroy’s tobacconist on the corner—he had seen a very suspicious character in a black coat but couldn’t recall if it was Monday or Tuesday evening, but probably before the alarms went off, as the shop had been open at the time, and would we ladies mind not standing near the window; people were staring—and on down the other side of the street as far as Mr. Milroy’s butcher shop, although that was far enough away that I doubted he’d even heard the alarms. Mr. Milroy had indeed seen a group of boys running in the right direction, but it had been the wrong night, and yes he was quite certain, as they’d upset a display he’d had out front and come back the next day to offer to pay for the damage. And besides, Mr. Curtis at the greengrocer’s next door had seen them too. Most of what he wanted to talk about was the difficulty of finding competent assistants. “No one wants to work in a nice, steady trade anymore. They all want banking or law or...” Ada seemed to think she had managed to extract us before he worked up a full lecture on the subject, which made me wonder just what that would have involved, not that I wanted to witness it. And Mr. Curtis next door did indeed remember seeing someone running, although he couldn’t remember if it was the night of the alarms or not, and he wouldn’t call the Stewart boys boys anyway, as the youngest had to be twenty at least.
It took the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon, but we did finally make it all the way around to Mrs. Calahan’s bakery just around the corner from Kate and Ada’s and across the street from Mr. Fitzroy’s. “If you want to leave her to me, I quite understand,” Ada said as we went in. I wondered what she meant, but thought it best to trust her and keep silent.
Mrs. Calahan was behind the counter when we entered. She smiled at Ada at once and said, “You ladies haven’t gone through all of those scones Miss Ferris bought yet, have you? Well, no matter. I have plenty more.”
I was starting to see why Ada thought this visit needed delicate handling.
“We have had policemen about,” Ada said, “but this time we’re bringing you something. We just wanted to say we were sorry for the noise the alarms caused.”
“That was nice of you. I hope there wasn’t much taken?” I could tell Mrs. Calahan was hoping for a bit of gossip.
“Nothing, in fact. We think the noise scared them off; I mean, everyone on the street must have been looking out to see what the racket was.”
“True, I suppose.” Mrs. Calahan unwrapped the parcel and looked over the contents. “Oh, these are nice. Mrs. Gillington’s, then? She does try. I had some chocolate scones, but they’ve all sold.”
I could see that there were no empty trays in her display case, which made me wonder why she would mention it.
Ada’s response confirmed what I had suspected. “Then it’s a pity we didn’t come here first. That would have made a lovely gift for everyone. And I’m certain Kate would have liked some.”
That seemed to mollify Mrs. Calahan. At least, she said, “I might have a few more in back. I’ll check.”
“That’s very nice of you. We’ve been a bit on edge, not knowing why our window was broken. And as nothing was taken, I don’t think Scotland Yard will take it very seriously. You didn’t see anything that night, did you?”
Mrs. Calahan answered as she went to the back of the shop to fetch the tray of chocolate scones. “I didn’t see anything at all, but then I didn’t look out my window until the alarms sounded. But I thought the police seemed to be taking it quite seriously. At least, they were asking about it.”
I looked up, but Ada asked before I could, “You mean the police were asking about our window?”
“Not directly.” Mrs. Calahan came back with the scones. “He came in and asked if we’d seen the fellow in his drawing, then if we’d seen anyone the night the alarms went off.”
“So Inspector Fulson is still asking questions?” Ada asked.
“Not him; he didn’t ask anything useful. It was the one that had the dog sniffing around. Lupo, I think his name was.”
That surprised me. “You mean Inspector Wainwright was here?”
“That’s right, with his dog and his drawing. I hadn’t seen anything to tell him, but he seemed to be taking it seriously. At least he asked sensible questions, then walked out without another word.”
That sounded like him. “When was this?”
“Not more than half-an-hour ago. So he wasn’t looking into your window?”
“He may have been,” Ada said. “If he is, they’re not doing a very good job of keeping us informed on their progress.”
“Do they ever?” Mrs. Calahan began arranging the scones on the tray.
Ada took the hint. “We’ll take a dozen of those, if you’ve a moment.”
“No trouble at all.” Mrs. Calahan smiled and packed up the scones while Ada counted out her money. “Well, thank you for the biscuits. They’ll be very nice with my tea. Do those alarms of Miss Ferris’s go off like that often?”
“No, only if something hits the window. I could send her over to tell you about them if you’d like.”
“No, no, but I may stop by if I’m passing and see what the set-up looks like.”
“I’ll let her know.”
Another possible order, then, and despite our having p
urchased our gifts from her competition. And a very interesting bit of information.
Ada grinned at me when we were back out on the street. “So Inspector Wainwright is poking around again.”
“And we only left Scotland Yard a couple of hours ago. So perhaps he did read my note and decided to listen to me.”
“As I said, Lupo is having a good influence. We’re done with the deliveries if you wanted to go look for him. I’d best check on the shop and make certain Kate and Mr. Bergman haven’t decided to re-wire the whole place or automate something that shouldn’t be automated while we’ve been gone.”
“Do you think that’s a real possibility?”
“I’m not really sure, which is why I want to get back. Besides, the alarms seem to have stopped ringing, so they might be finished.”
We parted ways at the corner, and I tried to figure out how Inspector Wainwright would go about questioning the block, and more importantly, where he would be now.
Chapter 5
FORTUNATELY, INSPECTOR WAINWRIGHT could be counted upon to do things in the most logical way possible, so I managed to find him without much trouble, coming out of the music shop halfway down the street with one of the biscuits we’d left with them. Lupo was looking expectantly up at him, until he fished around in his pocket and dropped something on the ground that Lupo immediately pounced on and chewed happily as they walked. I gave them a moment so I could pretend I hadn’t seen, then started walking briskly towards them. “So you saw the note I left?”
“Miss Pengear, why am I not surprised?”
“Most likely because you know I’m staying with Kate and Ada above the shop and because you two are following a clue from a note I left behind.”
Lupo pushed against Inspector Wainwright’s leg as he popped the last of the biscuit into his mouth. “I told you no, dogs do not get sweets. And we aren’t following your clue either. We had business here.”
I ignored most of what he said and went straight to the point. “Is Mr. Clairidge the body?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Yet? So you intend to find out?”
“You do realize that is Inspector Fulson’s case, right? It’s nothing to do with me.”
“I know I have a better chance of being listened to if I tell you.”
“Lucky me.”
“Imagine how I feel.”
Lupo gave up on trying to get something out of Inspector Wainwright and turned his attention to me. I knelt down so I could pet him, and he sat down, stopping Inspector Wainwright from leaving unless he wanted to drag Lupo along the pavement, a useful but unintentional side effect.
“Fine, I have Constable Kittering checking to see if he can find out anything else about Mr. Clairidge’s whereabouts, all right? He is one of the people Mr. Purnell owed money to.”
“And if you find him, then you know he’s not the body. Have you managed to get a look at him?”
“Which one? No, neither.”
“And has Lupo tried sniffing anything from him?”
“Why? If he was in the same area as Mr. Purnell, I wouldn’t be certain which scent he was tracking.”
I gave Lupo a rub behind the ears and considered what else might be helpful to the case. “You said Lupo tracked Mr. Purnell here from the Underground station? Which one?”
Inspector Wainwright sighed but answered, “Oxford Circus.”
“So, in that direction.” I pointed up the street from the shop.
“Yes, that is where the Oxford Circus station is.”
“So to break that part of the window there,” I pointed to Kate and Ada’s shop, “he would either have had to throw the cup in front of him as he was walking to the station or behind him as he was walking away from it and the shop?”
“Yes, that would be logical.”
“And where did you track him in that direction?” I shifted my hand so I could point the other way and keep scratching Lupo, although now more on his neck.
Lupo gave a contented sigh and looked up at Inspector Wainwright, daring him to suggest I stop scratching him.
“Around the corner and further down the next block. Really, Miss Pengear...”
“Then he had to have thrown it behind him as he was walking to his meeting.”
“And you reached that conclusion how?”
“Kate’s alarms. You didn’t hear them, but I am certain every person on this block did. And when I heard them go off, the first thing I did was look out my window, and I didn’t see anyone outside the shop, and I would have if he’d passed in front of it. The bed is very near the window. And Constable Polwarth was here before we could send for him, so no criminal in their right mind would have walked past the front of the shop after the alarms went off. And once the noise started, it would make sense to run as far away from it as possible and to turn the nearest corner and move away from it.”
Inspector Wainwright didn’t say anything, which, as he wasn’t telling me to be quiet, I took as a good sign.
“So he must have either met Mr. Clairidge as he was coming from the Underground station and threw the cup at once, or as he was trying to get back there, and got dragged away. I’m thinking the first option might be more likely, although you’ll have to see how it fits the timeline. Either way, your answers are going to be on that side of the shop.” I pointed down the street away from Regent Street and the Underground station.
Lupo nudged my leg, clearly upset that I had stopped petting him.
Inspector Wainwright picked up the dog. “Come along. We have half the street to look at.”
Lupo wagged his tail and began trying to lick Inspector Wainwright’s face. Inspector Wainwright didn’t seem to be putting up much resistance. Perhaps Ada was right about Lupo’s influence. I turned back towards Kate and Ada’s shop.
When I got back to the shop, the door was unlocked and, as there were no alarms going off and Mr. Bergman seemed to have left, I assumed it was safe enough to go in. Inside, Ada was doing an inventory of the first drawer of stitch markers at the back of the shop, and Kate was putting away her tools, so Mr. Bergman couldn’t have been gone very long. Kate looked up at once. “Was Inspector Wainwright actually following up on a clue we gave him?”
“He said no, but he is having Constable Kittering try to find out where Mr. Clairidge is, so I think he might be at least checking to see if there’s anything worth looking into.”
Kate came out from behind the counter. “That’s brilliant. Perhaps we should go and see what we can find out. It isn’t really his case, so he might be limited on what questions he can ask.”
“And we’re not?”
“Of course not. We have no official position.”
“Do you know where you would start looking?” Ada asked without looking away from her counting.
“We could look him up in the London Residential Directory.”
I shook my head. “His landlady doesn’t know where he is. That was in Inspector Wainwright’s file.”
“If the lock isn’t very complicated...”
“No,” Ada said before Kate could finish the thought.
“I suppose, as it’s Inspector Wainwright. But if it were Inspector Burrows...”
“Then we wouldn’t have to be going behind his back,” I pointed out.
“True. What about his business? I wonder if anyone’s talked to the people who work there. He could have mentioned where he was going to a clerk or something.”
I considered that. It was certainly better than breaking into his flat. “I suppose, but Inspector Wainwright has been there.”
“But perhaps somebody heard something they didn’t want to tell him. Or there was someone he didn’t ask.”
I didn’t think Inspector Wainwright would miss questioning anyone important, but I could easily see someone not telling him something, particularly if they weren’t certain or thought they would get someone else in trouble. And if I found another clue for him, it would mean he’d be more likely to tell me if anyt
hing about the case was connected to Kate and Ada’s shop.
“Do the pair of you know where he works?” Ada asked.
I glanced over at her and she shrugged. Apparently, Ada thought it best for us to get this settled.
“I saw the company in the notes. Clairidge and Associates near Piccadilly.”
“That should be easy enough to look up,” Kate said. “I’ll get the business directory.”
As Kate went to find the book, I turned to Ada. “Sorry to leave all the inventory to you.”
“Don’t worry. I think we’ll all feel better once we know if we’re involved in a murder or a bit of petty vandalism. Besides, Julia will be back in a few days, and she can certainly help with whatever doesn’t get finished.”
Kate came back with the battered directory before I could answer. “Here it is. Ryder Street near Piccadilly Circus. Should be simple enough to get there. I’ll get my coat.”
~ * ~ * ~
Mr. Clairidge’s office seemed fairly typical; at least, it was what I expected of a small office in the area. We entered into a waiting area fenced off from the main office by a sort of railing. Just behind that, there was a desk with a junior clerk seated behind it. The clerk appeared to be copying some sort of contract, and from the bit I could see, was dealing with some particularly terrible handwriting, something I had plenty of experience with. There was a second desk at the back of the office, just in front of the door I assumed led to Mr. Clairidge’s private office, with a more senior clerk seated there looking at files but not seeming to do any real work. I closed the door firmly, which got their attention.
The man at the back desk stood. “Take care of that, would you, Mr. Frankes? I have to see to the files.” He went into the back office without acknowledging us.
The man behind the front desk smiled at us. “May I be of assistance?”
“We wanted to speak to Mr. Clairidge.”
“I’m afraid he’s not in at the moment, but I’m certain we can assist you with whatever you needed.”
“It isn’t exactly a business call, I’m afraid. Would you be able to describe him?”
