Mugs, Murder, and Mayfair

by L. A. Nisula

  “That’s easy. We’ll say our employer is being blackmailed, and we’re trying to see who else has been.”

  “By asking random people about it?”

  “By saying the names came up in conversation. With two of us, it will go quickly.”

  I wasn’t sure how having two people would make it go faster, but Ada was giving me a look that clearly said please distract her for a little while, so I nodded. “We could try a couple, I suppose, and see how it goes. If it doesn’t work, we’ll leave it to Inspector Wainwright.”

  “Excellent. I’ll get my coat.”

  As Kate hurried off to get her hat and coat, Ada leaned over and murmured, “She’s really very worried, and there isn’t anything she can do from here. A couple of hours of doing something helpful to the case should help. Julia’s been doing most of the tinkering inventory today anyway.”

  A couple of hours of what I suspected would be fruitless questioning was not how I’d planned to spend the day, but Kate did seem to be in a much better mood when she came downstairs with her coat and hat, so it seemed a worthwhile endeavor.

  Chapter 9

  KATE AND I STARTED WITH THE ADDRESSES closest to the shop. The first was a block of flats that, judging by the nameplates above the bells, didn’t have a live-in landlady, and no one answered when we knocked at the front door. At the second, we were told that there was no one by the name we’d given there.

  “That’s suspicious, don’t you think?” Kate asked as we were walking to the third address. “He might have gone into hiding after the murder.”

  “It’s certainly possible. Or he might have left town once the blackmail started, or the neighbor might simply have wanted to be rid of us.” But none of those were something we could prove.

  The third address proved more promising. It was a small townhouse with a maid out front sweeping the steps. She was more than ready to speak to us. As soon as we asked if it was the residence of Mr. Sinclair, she leaned her broom against the railing and came down to the pavement. “It is, but he’s at his office.”

  I gestured for Kate to begin questioning, as it was her idea.

  “It wasn’t really him we came to see, but someone who knows him well.” She leaned in and whispered, “You see, our employer is being blackmailed.”

  “No,” the maid gasped. “You mean like in those penny novels the footmen read?”

  Kate nodded. “So we’re trying to help him. And Mr. Sinclair’s name came up in a conversation we overheard, so we thought we’d come and see if he was being blackmailed too.”

  “I wish I could help, but I haven’t heard of anything like that.” She seemed genuinely disappointed not to have something to add. I wondered if the footmen were the only ones reading the penny dreadfuls.

  Kate glanced at me. Apparently, it was my turn to question. I leaned in and said, “Do you think he might be, though? Has he seemed particularly worried?” Of course, it was quite likely she’d suddenly attribute just about anything to worry over blackmail.

  “Not really. He has been a bit off his food, but not so you’d notice. I thought he might be trying a slimming routine, but Mrs. Sinclair never said a thing about it to Mrs. Barnes, she’s our cook.”

  I glanced at Kate. She nodded. There wasn’t much else we could try to get information, if there was any to get. I tried to think of a polite way to end the conversation that would not cause more questions.

  “Then there’s the post.”

  That sounded promising. “The post?”

  “He’s been rushing to get it from the hall table before Mrs. Sinclair has a chance to. But I thought that was about Mrs. Follett. Of course, it could be to hide a blackmail note.”

  “Mrs. Follett?” I asked.

  “Well, he wouldn’t want Mrs. Sinclair knowing about her, now would he? Not after he’s been so careful about the receipts in his pockets. I’ve seen him tip them into the fire after he hangs his coat up. It’s the whole reason he has a brandy when he gets home, so he can be by the fire before he sees her, although he’s not very good at it; I find perfectly readable, unburned bits all the time when I go to sweep the grate. And if Mr. Follett found out...”

  An affair, then, and a perfect incident for a spot of blackmail. I smiled. “He certainly wouldn’t want that. Thank you for all your help.”

  She smiled at us. “I’ll keep my eyes open, now that I know to.”

  The maid went back to her sweeping, and Kate and I continued down the block.

  “That seemed like something promising,” Kate said once we were far enough away. “I wonder who Mrs. Follett is.”

  “Probably best to leave that to Inspector Wainwright,” I said before she could suggest going looking for her. “Let him deal with the irate Mrs. Sinclair when she finds out about Mr. Sinclair and Mrs. Follett.”

  “Yes, he’d be the best one to deal with yelling and flying knickknacks and that sort of thing,” Kate agreed. “So where to next?”

  The next six places we tried were decidedly less helpful, meaning either no one was home or no one would talk to us. The seventh was another boarding house. We went up the front stairs and tried to find some sort of list of residents.

  “Can I help you, ladies?” The man who was coming up the stairs had his key in one hand and what looked like a salesman’s sample case in the other. He must have had a particularly good or bad morning, or perhaps the house offered lunch to those who came back for it.

  It was worth at least trying for information. “We’re looking for Mr. Grayson.”

  “He wouldn’t be home now. Doesn’t get long enough to come back for lunch. It’s a good fifteen minutes to Wilton Street, even by cab.”

  “How silly of us, Cassie, of course he’d be at the Wilton Street office. You don’t remember the address, do you?”

  The salesman shook his head. “Don’t know that I ever knew it. But they’ve got that fancy sign out front. Probably why they never took Collins’s name off it. It would cost a pretty penny to get that re-painted.”

  Kate and I both nodded as if we knew exactly what he was talking about. “I suppose so,” I said. “We’re sorry to have troubled you.”

  “No trouble at all. Would you like me to slip a note under his door?”

  “No, if we don’t find him at the office, we’ll leave a note there, but thank you.”

  We left the salesman to let himself into the building and started back towards the Underground station.

  “Wilton isn’t that long of a street,” Kate said when we were a few doors from the boarding house. “It shouldn’t be that hard to find an office with a fancy sign that has ‘Collins’ on it.”

  I had no idea how long Wilton Street was, and I doubted Kate did either. “I suppose.”

  “One more, Cassie, then I’ll go home quietly and see what Ada and Julia have gotten done in my absence.”

  So she knew we were worried about her. “All right. One more. We may as well take a cab. The driver might even know where the office is.”

  The cab driver did indeed know of an office on Wilton Street with a sign that had Collins on it: the offices of Jenkins, Collins, and Chatwal, although his knowledge did not extend to what they did. He left us in front of a small building containing several offices. The premises we wanted was small and on the ground floor, and unlike Donovan and Associates, there was a clerk out front and what seemed to be several rooms in back. I asked if we could speak to Mr. Grayson, and apparently knowing his name was enough to get us announced. I glanced around as we walked back, looking for some clue as to what the office did. From the collection of books I spotted near the clerk’s desk, it appeared to be a law office, most likely solicitors. That explained why they let us in without an appointment. They must have thought we’d been referred to Mr. Grayson.

  A glance at Mr. Grayson’s desk confirmed my theory. He seemed to work with business contracts. At least that was what was spread out over his desk. Mr. Grayson himself was a small man who seemed to have made an effor
t to be neat and professional that morning, but sometime between the time he’d dressed and our meeting his tie had managed to tilt at a disconcerting angle and his hair was sticking up in odd places as if he’d run his hands through it, then suddenly remembered he wasn’t supposed to. He rose when we entered and gestured to the two seats across from his desk. “May I offer you some tea? No? Then let’s get down to business, shall we? Mr. Bains said you were referred to me, and as I specialize in contracts, can I assume that is what you’re here about?”

  I could tell Kate was impressed by him, but then I remembered how much trouble she and Ada had had when they were looking for a solicitor to help them with contracts for the shop.

  “I’m afraid it’s another matter entirely. Can we speak privately?” I glanced towards the open door.

  “Of course. Don’t worry about the door; these offices are arranged to give clients privacy no matter who passes in the hall. Now, how can I help you?” Mr. Grayson’s face took on a serious look without seeming cross. He picked up his pen and leaned forward slightly, reminding me of a particularly sympathetic doctor asking for symptoms.

  It seemed best to simply launch into it. “Do you know a man named Mr. Purnell?”

  Mr. Grayson’s fingers tightened around the pen. “Only my barber.”

  That tightening of his fingers suggested he was a victim as well, although we’d suspected that. I leaned forward so I could speak quietly. “He’s been implicated in a blackmail plot. Your name came up. We were hoping you had some information, any information, that could help us stop him.” That wasn’t entirely true, but I was certain that, once Inspector Wainwright found Mr. Purnell, he would try to stop him.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t know how my name got into whatever list you’re working from, and I can’t help you.”

  “But if we can stop him, you won’t have to worry about it anymore,” Kate whispered.

  It didn’t work, not that I’d thought it would. “That’s... It’s in the past, and that’s where it ought to stay.” I could tell he’d known he’d said too much the moment he started speaking.

  “Still, anything you could tell us would help,” I tried.

  “I’m sorry,” and I truly thought he was, “but that past should stay in the past, particularly as I’m not the only person I have to think about. I hope you find your answers though. I take it there were no contractual matters to discuss?”

  I supposed I couldn’t blame him for wanting to protect family or friends from the blackmailer. “No, no contracts. But may I ask where you were last Tuesday night?” At least I might get an alibi out of the conversation. That was what really mattered, proving that Kate wasn’t the one who killed Mr. Clairidge, kidnapped Mr. Purnell, and threw the mug through the shop window.

  Mr. Grayson considered that question from a few angles before deciding it was safe enough to answer. “I went to dinner, then to the showing at the Prescott Gallery. I’m sure I still have the ticket stubs at home if I need to prove it.”

  “Stubs? So you were with someone?”

  “Yes, a friend. He was with me at both places and will certainly vouch for me.”

  That seemed to clear him of the kidnapping and murder, again providing he wouldn’t have had time after leaving the gallery to get to Mayfair.

  Mr. Grayson began fiddling with the stack of mail that had not seemed to interest him a moment before as he spoke. “I don’t really know what else to tell you.”

  “If you could...” Kate started.

  He picked up his paperknife and slit the first of the envelopes. “I’m sorry I can’t be of more assistance.” He glanced at the letter and dropped it in one of the trays on his desk. “As you can see, I am very busy.” He opened the next envelope, pulled out the letter, glanced at it, and went pale. “If there’s nothing else.”

  From what I could see, there was nothing remarkable about the letter, and he hadn’t read it yet, but something about it scared him. It was a long shot, but possible, and if my guess was right, he’d want as few people as possible knowing about. “Thank you for trying, at least. So few do.” As I gathered up my things, I dropped one of my gloves on the ground. “We can see ourselves out.” I touched Kate’s arm.

  “Cassie, you...”

  I knew what she was about to say and stepped on her toes as I pushed back my chair.

  She caught on at once. “You said you wanted to try the tea shop I was telling you about. It’s just around the corner.”

  “That sounds lovely.”

  “Would you close the door on your way out?” Mr. Grayson did not look up from his letter.

  So the arrangement of the offices wasn’t quite private enough for the letter he’d received. “Certainly.” I pulled the door shut behind us and followed Kate out of the office. The clerk did not seem to find the shortness of the meeting odd as we passed his desk, which was good, as it wouldn’t cause problems when I returned.

  On the pavement outside, Kate immediately asked, “What did you see?”

  I steered her down the street in whatever direction our feet started in. “One of the letters bothered him. I have no way of knowing for certain, but it did look like the sort of reaction someone would have to a blackmail letter.”

  “So why didn’t you say something?”

  “I think it’s the sort of thing he’d want as few people as possible knowing.”

  Kate wasn’t offended. “Then I’ll go wait for you outside of the chemist’s over there. Good luck.”

  I walked slowly back towards the office, hoping I was taking enough time to make it look as if I’d forgotten something and had time to notice it. When I entered, the clerk looked vaguely surprised to see me, so I quickly said, “I think I left one of my gloves in Mr. Grayson’s office.”

  Now that my reason for returning was obvious and mundane, he smiled and nodded. “Go right through. He doesn’t have another client yet.”

  I hurried through before he could change his mind. Mr. Grayson’s door was closed as we’d left it. I opened it without knocking and stepped into the office.

  Mr. Grayson was seated just where we’d left him, still staring at the letter. Without looking up he said, “Your glove is by the chair.”

  I went to the chair where I’d dropped the glove but made no move to pick it up. “You thought it was over, but it’s started again, hasn’t it?”

  He finally looked up. “How did you know? Are you in on it?”

  I shook my head. “I know someone who’s a victim.” In a way, Kate was, just not the same way he was. “We have an investigator looking for the blackmailer.” Again, strictly speaking, true: Inspector Wainwright was an investigator, and he was looking for Mr. Purnell. “Would you mind telling me about it?”

  “Yes, I would, but since you already know, I suppose I ought to. I thought I was done with it. He missed his last two times, you see. The second Wednesday of every month I get his letter, and I pay him his money. And every five or six months, he asks for more and says it’s the last time. When he missed this month, I thought it finally was the last time, but now there’s another request.”

  I was beginning to see what had happened. “Is it like the others?”

  “No, that’s the strange part. It’s close, but not quite.”

  “What do you mean by ‘not quite’?”

  He sighed. “I don’t know, the phrasing. The amount, it’s more than usual. I suppose he might have decided it was easier to ask for larger amounts less often. Less dangerous to collect, I suppose.”

  “How does he collect? Yours, I mean.” I’d almost forgotten I was pretending to know a victim, so I would have much of the information already.

  “It’s different every time. Usually, he’d tell me to put it in something like an empty tea tin or a folded-up newspaper and leave it at a specific place in one of the parks at a specific time.”

  “That seems rather dangerous. Anyone could take it.”

  “I thought so too, but it was what he wanted me to do,
so I did it.”

  “And you never thought to stay around and see who came to get it?”

  “Dan—I mean, a friend said I should, but I was worried that, if he saw me, he would reveal the whole thing anyway, or charge me more for not following orders. It seemed safest to do what he wanted and keep my head down.”

  “And yet you’re talking to me.”

  Mr. Grayson started fiddling with his hair, tugging on it then pushing it back, making a mess of whatever style he’d attempted that morning. “If it helps your friend, I’m assuming that was her with you? If it helps her, I feel I ought to, at least if I can continue to protect...protect my own secrets.”

  I thought he was going to say more. When he didn’t, I tried another question. “Do you have any idea how he got the information he’s using against you?”

  “No. I wish I did. Then I might know where I slipped.”

  I realized the first question I should have asked was if he knew who his blackmailer was. That would have made things much easier. “So you don’t know who it is?”

  He started fiddling with his hair again. He wasn’t telling me the whole truth. Perhaps he suspected it was Mr. Purnell but wasn’t certain. “None of the letters are signed.”

  “And you haven’t discussed it anywhere where it might have been overheard?”

  “Of course not. One has to be so careful when... I mean, I’m very careful where I allow such things... There’s no way...”

  “Could he have seen some other clue?”

  “I don’t think so, but then I worry about it so often that I don’t know if I’d know the difference between worry and reality anymore.”

  “Would you be able to tell me what it is? Some clue to it, even? It would help us figure it out.”

  “No, no, I can’t. I won’t. I’m sorry. It’s kind of you to offer to help, but please don’t say anything to your investigator. This is something I need to sort out on my own.”