Mugs, Murder, and Mayfair

by L. A. Nisula

  “No, but Inspector Fulson threatened to arrest Kate, so the whole thing came to a bit of a standstill.”

  “Oh dear. Would you like to come in and have some tea?”

  I knew she was really asking if I wanted to tell her about it, and as I’d been hoping she’d suggest something along those lines, I took her up on the offer. Over tea and almond cake, I told her all about the mug through the window, the missing barber, the murdered blackmail victim, and the various investigations.

  At the end of all that, Mrs. Albright shook her head. “It is quite a tangle. Why kill the victim, not the blackmailer? And did he intend to do it, or was it part of a fight, as they seem to think? But if it was part of a fight, wouldn’t it be self-defense, so no reason not to speak of it? And no reason to move the body. And if you have suspects lying to Inspector Wainwright, that doesn’t help. Fulson is useless, of course, but still...”

  Unfortunately, Mrs. Albright had no brilliant ideas on the case, although she did offer me some cake to bring upstairs with me.

  As I settled in front of my fire with a pot of tea and a slice of almond cake, I realized Ada had been right; it was easier for me to think in my own sitting room without having to worry that I would say something to get Kate’s hopes up, then have it come to nothing. So what did we know? Mr. Purnell was a blackmailer. He had gone to see one of his victims, taking a shaving mug with him to identify whom he was meeting, although whether there had been a specific threat or he simply considered it good sense for a blackmailer to do so, I didn’t know. For some reason, outside of Kate and Ada’s shop, he thought things were dire enough to get rid of the mug and tossed it through their window. Then his victim ended up dead in an alley around the corner. I leaned back and considered the possibilities. Having talked it over with Mrs. Albright had helped sort out the facts, at least.

  Mr. Purnell could have killed Mr. Clairidge in self-defense and have gone into hiding, although Inspector Wainwright had been looking for him as a missing person and I was sure had checked anyplace in London he might have gone, at least any place Inspector Wainwright could find out about. There was always the possibility of some secret place no one in Mr. Purnell’s circle knew about, but then it was unlikely I would find it either. Mr. Clairidge could have been robbed, and his murder unconnected, but then where would Mr. Purnell have gone? There would have been no reason for him to run. Or Mr. Purnell could have been abducted and Mr. Clairidge was killed during the course of it, accidentally or on purpose. That made Mr. Purnell a victim as well.

  I sighed and poured a second cup of tea. If Mr. Purnell had been abducted, then we were back to the question of motive. A victim wanting to punish him? Another blackmailer wanting his information? Both seemed good possibilities. But both required someone to know he was a blackmailer. It was obvious how the first would, much less so the second.

  Perhaps, if I could find out more about some of the other victims, I might be able to see some sort of a connection between them, a type or a common factor of some sort. There were the same problems with going to someone’s home and questioning them, but Kate and I had managed to remember a few business names from Inspector Wainwright’s file, so perhaps, if I was able to find addresses for them and went pretending to be some sort of client, I might be able to at least see some of the blackmail victims and get some sort of idea about their business. Of course that was exactly what Kate had wanted me to do, so going home hadn’t really done much at all. But at least if I went by myself, she wouldn’t be disappointed if nothing came of it, and if nothing else, it would give me something to report when I went back to the shop.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  It turned out there was only one of the business names on our list that I could find definite addresses for: the others were all either incomplete names or too close to other business names for me to be certain which was the one we wanted. Donovan and Associates had an address in Pimlico, which made it a short journey on the Underground, and after visiting it, I’d have plenty of time to go back to the shop and help Kate and Ada with the inventory. The office itself proved more difficult to find, and I walked past the entrance twice before I realized it was the place I was looking for, as the number on the door was faded and the office itself was squeezed in between a pub and a tobacconist. Still, the small sign said “Don. & Assoc.,” the window shade on the door was open, and when I tried the knob, it turned, so I went in.

  The door opened into a short hallway which led to a small office area made up of two rooms, the first barely large enough to contain the desk in front of me. Although it appeared to be for a clerk of some kind, no one was seated at the desk, or located anywhere in the outer office to greet guests. I glanced at the top of the desk and noticed that it didn’t look used at all. The blotter had barely been touched, only one of the pens had been trimmed, and I didn’t see any paper for taking notes or writing letters. The only thing there was a scheduling calendar showing the past two weeks. There were several names on it, so the business did have appointments to keep. I tried to read as many names as I could without being obvious, but none of them were familiar to me from the case.

  I was interrupted by the door to the inner office opening. I quickly stepped back from the desk so I wouldn’t seem to have been doing precisely what I had been. “Mr. Donovan?”

  The man who came through the door was cheaply dressed with a stubbly beard that gave him a rakish look, in a thuggish sort of way, not a romantic highwayman sort. He seemed surprised to see me, even jumping back a step, but quickly covered his reaction. “Good afternoon, miss. I’m afraid my secretary is taking an early lunch.”

  And a long one, I guessed, lasting several days at least. “I’m sorry to call without an appointment, but...” I gestured vaguely to hide the fact that I had no idea what they did in the office.

  “Of course. Normally, I like to schedule these sorts of meetings at the client’s place of business, so much more convenient for them. But please, come through.”

  I followed him through to his office and tried to figure out what he did as I was shown to a seat. The second office was larger, but also shabbily furnished. I could see why he would want to take his meetings at someone else’s place of business. Nothing about the office inspired confidence or even competence, and there was also nothing to indicate what he actually did there. No newspapers that might hint at investments or trading, no catalogs that could suggest importing or exporting, nothing at all.

  Mr. Donovan sat in his chair across from me and steepled his fingers. “So what brings you here today?”

  “I’ve recently come into some money.” That was as good a stall as any. Any business would be interested in someone who had recently come into money.

  “Well, we’ll be happy to help you with that. How did you learn about us?”

  “From Mr. Carson,” I said, using the first name I could remember from the schedule book outside.

  “Mr. Carson. Yes. Just give me a moment.” He took a stack of files from a drawer and flipped through them. “Here he is, Mr. Carson. Yes, I see we’ve done very well for him.” He put the folder down on the desk, and I could see that it was printed with a logo for Donovan and Associates showing pickaxe and a lump of coal. So they were in mining. Except I glanced up just as he was putting the other folders away and noticed the one on top of his stack. It was also printed with a logo for Donovan and Associates, only that one showed a suit on a dressmaker’s dummy and looked like a sign for a tailor. And I could just see the top of another folder with what appeared to be the mast of a ship. Shipping of some sort as well. No wonder he wanted to see Mr. Carson’s folder before speaking to me; he needed to know what he was telling Mr. Carson he’d invested in. I managed to see the name on the shipping folder, Marion Linley. I wondered how what Mr. Donovan was about to say would have changed if I’d said I’d heard of him from Marion Linley. I could send Ada over to say she had come into some money and heard about Donovan and Associates from Mr. Linley, but then I remembered that I w
asn’t investigating a fraud, but blackmail and murder, so there was no reason to do anything but hand the whole thing over to Inspector Wainwright once I’d gotten what I could on those two fronts. He could investigate the fraud or pass it along to the correct department.

  “As you can see, we have several tin mines in Cornwall, and we could open more if only we had a little more money.”

  “I’m afraid Mr. Carson wasn’t terribly clear on what you do.”

  “Mining, my dear. We go down into the earth and bring up the raw materials to make tin, which is a very useful metal in many ways.”

  I resisted the urge to either point out that any idiot knew what mining was or throw something at his head and instead said, “I meant you, personally. Are you an employee of the mine, or do you represent many companies?” It was possible the folders meant something other than what I had guessed.

  “Oh, I own the mine. Inherited it from an old uncle. Of course, he squandered all the money that went with it, so I need to find investors to help me bring the land back to prosperity.”

  I nodded as if I understood. It would have been an easy enough thing for Mr. Purnell to check if he heard about any of the schemes. Something like mining would only require sending someone to the site of the mine to make certain it actually existed and then check the ownership, and if Mr. Donovan was foolish enough to use Cornwall rather than Australia or South America, it would not be that difficult to arrange.

  “Has Mr. Carson shown you any of our literature?”

  “No, we were at a dinner party, so naturally he didn’t have it with him.” That was a good excuse, and as soon as it was out of my mouth, I saw a way to make it better. “You weren’t there, were you? Yes, I thought you looked familiar. Last Tuesday night?”

  He shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

  “You’re certain? I could swear I saw you there.”

  “Last Tuesday night I was at the theater.”

  Exactly what I’d been fishing for. His alibi. I pressed a little harder. “Oh, I love the theater. What did you see?”

  “The new production of Lear. Have you seen it?’

  There was a new production of King Lear at the moment, so it was possible, and very easy for Inspector Wainwright to check. “Not yet, I’m afraid.”

  “It’s very good. You should certainly go. Perhaps mention a word about it to Mr. Carson? Now, I’m afraid the new brochures haven’t come from the printers yet, but here are a few sheets of information showing how profitable the small amount we’ve been able to do so far has been.” He took a stack of papers from Mr. Carson’s folder and slid the top page across to me. It seemed to be a chart showing profit after profit. “This will show your advisers how well we’ve done so far.”

  I noticed the second page seemed to be some sort of form to fill out. As I had no desire to leave my name with an obvious swindler, I reached across and took the top sheet in case it was helpful to Inspector Wainwright, then quickly said, “I’ll be certain to ask about it. Thank you so much for seeing me. I’ll be certain to make an appointment when I’m ready to discuss investing.”

  “If you’d like...”

  I cut him off before he could offer to set one up for me on the spot. “I’m supposed to meet Mr. Carson to discuss things. He very kindly offered to take tea with me when he’s finished at Mr. Purnell’s shop. His barber, you know.”

  As I’d expected, the mention of Mr. Purnell stopped whatever Mr. Donovan had planned to say. Not proof that he was being blackmailed by the man, but interesting and worth telling Inspector Wainwright. “Give him my regards, then.”

  “I will.” I hurried for the door before he could recover enough to suggest I leave my name.

  As soon as I was safely around the corner from the office, I went looking for a respectable tea shop, where I ordered a cream tea as an excuse to sit at a table and wrote down everything I could remember, starting with Mr. Donovan’s alibi for the night of the murder and being careful to be accurate and detailed about the names and descriptions of the folders I’d seen. When Inspector Wainwright was done investigating the blackmail and murder, he could pass the information on to someone in fraud or whoever dealt with that sort of thing if he wanted to. When I’d done my best to document the entire visit, I looked at the paper Mr. Donovan had given me.

  It looked perfectly correct at first glance, but the location of the mines was no more specific than “Cornwall,” making it difficult to pin them down. Of course, Scotland Yard was used to dealing with that sort of thing. The chart showed a steady rise in profits, not so fast as to be unbelievable, but there were no dips of any note. He’d even gone so far as to show a large investment that suggested the whole thing would scale up easily. It was quite a neat little swindle, but I was sure another crook like Mr. Purnell would have no trouble pulling it apart and finding a way to blackmail someone with it. But how had Mr. Purnell learned of it unless he’d been swindled himself?

  And it didn’t answer our most important question: if Mr. Donovan really had been at the theater, could he have been our murderer? It was possible; it would depend when the play ended and how long it would take to get from the theater to Mayfair. Inspector Wainwright could sort that out, I was certain. And it would give another suspect to distract from Kate. Of course, it wasn’t his case, but perhaps he could be persuaded to check in case Mr. Donovan had kidnapped Mr. Purnell.

  I smeared the last of the butter on my scone and stared at the notes. I had found quite a bit of information, if only Mr. Donovan’s alibi would crumble. Otherwise, it wasn’t very useful to Kate’s defense. Still, it did show there were people with real motives to silence Mr. Purnell. Of course, Mr. Purnell wasn’t the one who had been killed, but at least it was another avenue to investigate. I composed a quick note to Inspector Wainwright and found a messenger boy to bring the whole thing to Scotland Yard as I wasn’t in the mood to go looking for an aviary, then set out for Kate and Ada’s shop.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Kate and Ada’s shop was still closed to customers, but when I glanced through the window, I could see that Julia had returned, and she came to let me in as soon as I knocked. “They’re both working in the back.”

  I entered and watched her lock up. “How was the wedding?”

  “Very nice, thank you for asking. My brother-in-law only messed up the ceremony once, the one officiating, not the one participating, and we managed to get the difficult relatives on their way before they were completely sozzled, so that was something.” She leaned in and whispered, “How much trouble is she in?”

  I knew exactly what she meant, but not how to answer it. “There is no real case, so if it were to go to trial, there would be no way anyone in their right mind would convict her, but the inspector is Fulson, so...”

  “So it might get farther along than a sensible person would allow, and even if she was acquitted, the mention of her being arrested would be awful, and not only for this place.”

  I nodded.

  “I haven’t told them yet, but just so you know, I’m already planning on missing my lectures until this is cleared up, so if you need one of them, I’ll be around to watch the other.”

  I knew Julia attended several different tinkering lecture series in town, as she hadn’t been able to find a proper tinkering program to accept her. That, combined with the fact that her mother was a seamstress, explained why she was so useful at the shop. “I hope it won’t take too long to clear it up, but don’t miss anything important thinking I’ll have some brilliant bit of inspiration.”

  “But I’m confident you will. So are they.”

  “I’d best go back and see them, then.” Which allowed me to change the subject for the moment, at least.

  When I went to the back room, both Kate and Ada looked up at once. “Did you think of anything brilliant overnight?” Kate asked before Ada or I had a chance to say so much as hello.

  “Nothing definite, but a few things that are suggestive.”

  “The tea
’s already set out,” Ada said and nodded towards the counter, where tea and scones had indeed been set out. When we were settled in, I told them about my meeting with Mr. Donovan and what I thought his swindle was.

  Kate nodded. “That would give him an excellent motive, if only it were Mr. Purnell who been killed.”

  “Perhaps he was worried that Mr. Purnell had told Mr. Clairidge about it?” Ada offered. “Perhaps offered to let him in on the profits for some reason.”

  “I suppose.” It wasn’t a great theory, but it was better than anything I had.

  “I wonder if his alibi will hold up,” Kate said as she helped herself to another scone.

  “If there’s any way to break it, Inspector Wainwright will find it. If he decides it’s part of his case, at least.”

  Ada gathered up her ledger book from the table. “Then it seems there’s nothing else to do with it but leave it to him.”

  Kate nodded. “He should be able to sort Mr. Donovan and his swindle out on his own from there. So who else can we look into?”

  I had expected to spend at least a little time helping with the inventory, at least long enough to let Inspector Wainwright read the notes I’d sent him and determine if there was anything there he felt worth looking into. I should have known better. To buy myself a bit of time, I said, “I’m not sure the other business names are the right offices; they’re rather common sorts of names, nothing distinctive or unusual.”

  “Then let’s try the list of home addresses we made the other day. We still haven’t looked at those.”

  I could immediately see the problems with that. “I hardly think we’re going to be allowed in the front door of people we don’t know to ask about threatening letters, not if their butlers are in any way competent.”

  “Well, we certainly wouldn’t go to the front door. We’d talk to the servants.”

  That had been something I’d considering doing until I realized all the difficulties involved. “I’m not sure how we can go and ask about blackmail without sounding like we’re trying to blackmail them ourselves.”