by L. A. Nisula
“Doesn’t seem like his sort of place.”
“But quite a proper place to entertain a young lady, especially if Mrs. McWade is chaperoning. And I do like the young couple running it, trying to build it up from nothing. Here’s the tea shop. It will be empty at this hour so we can be private and respectable enough for Mrs. McWade and Mrs. Prescott-Smythe at the same time.”
When we were settled in the corner by the window and had a pot of Earl Grey and a plate of shortbread between us, Mr. Sharma got to the point. “You were the maid at Mr. Carrollton’s home the night of the dinner party.”
“That’s right. Mrs. Pomeroy, the cook, is a friend of a friend, and I was helping out. Now she thinks she will be accused of the murder.”
“And you’re helping out again. You were there with the tea when I spoke to the police inspector.”
“That’s right.”
“So you heard everything I told him. I don’t know what else I can tell you.”
I didn’t know either. I’d been hoping he’d blurt out some clue. But I had him here; I had to ask him something. “The police have access to Mr. Ainsworth’s files, including the ones about Mr. Carrollton.”
“You think Carrollton has something to do with it?”
“More something about the group at the dinner party.”
“So I’m a suspect?”
“Did you have a motive?”
He smiled. “No. Mr. Ainsworth was always very honest in our dealings.”
“What were your dealings?”
“I was considering a merger with Mr. Carrollton’s company, but my accountant found that the figures I’d been shown could not possibly be accurate. At our first meeting, I showed Mr. Ainsworth the figures my accountant had concerns with, then I asked him to explain them.”
“And?”
“He said he couldn’t, but he would get to the bottom of it. Come to think of it, I had the impression he already knew about it.”
“You mean you think he was already investigating it? So it wasn’t something wrong with the company itself?”
“He told me at the party there would be something for us to discuss the next day, but he didn’t tell me what. Mr. Carrollton was there at the time. I thought he was referring to the engagement, perhaps to discuss the terms of a dowry if I was amenable, but he never actually said that. Perhaps he had found the leak and stopped it.”
“They why would he tell you later? Why not right away?”
Mr. Sharma stirred his tea. “You think he was going to fix the leak that night but was prevented. That does make sense.”
“What kind of leak could be plugged in one night?” I had one idea myself, but I wanted to hear what he said.
Mr. Sharma stared at his cup. “Nothing fundamental to the company like a supplier or factory. All I can think of is crime.” He looked up. “And if he was resolving it there, it must have been one of the guests.”
I nodded. “You said Mr. Carrollton was there, so he knew what Mr. Ainsworth said.”
“Oh yes, all three of us were talking. He knew. That would seem to confirm it, then. They must have been discussing it prior to the party.” He put his cup down and reached for his wallet. “I’m going to speak to Inspector Hamilton. Will you be in trouble if I tell him I spoke with you?”
“No, I certainly wouldn’t want you to lie. But perhaps you could just say we met for tea, not that I sought you out. Unless he asks.”
Mr. Sharma smiled. “Of course. I hope your friend is proven innocent. Good afternoon.” He put a handful of coins on the table and left the shop.
The teapot was still half full, so I refilled my cup and considered what Mr. Sharma had said. A crime that would cause the business to lose money. What would that be?
When I put it like that, it was obvious. Embezzlement. And if Mr. Ainsworth had thought to wrap it up that night, then his main suspect was most likely at the dinner party. So, who was it?
I ruled out Mr. Sharma. He wasn’t part of the company; he wouldn’t have had any way to access the money.
Miss Carrollton didn’t seem to have any dealings with the company finances. Until I was certain, I would put her to the side but not rule her out.
Mrs. Delford had access to Mr. Ainsworth’s books, but what about Mr. Carrollton’s? I would need to see the office, I decided, see what kind of notes were kept. Even though I didn’t want to suspect her, she was still a definite possibility.
Then there was Mr. Warland. He was Mr. Carrollton’s secretary, so he would certainly have access to the finances.
I ruled the servants out. Belmont and James were ill, so only Mrs. Pomeroy was regular staff that night, and I was working under the assumption that she was innocent. Besides, how would she have access to the company’s accounts? The same for Belmont and James.
And then it was possible that there was someone not at the party, at least not officially. Someone could have been waiting before or after, or suspected something was up when Mr. Sharma was invited and snuck in. A secret meeting would explain the fire in the study. Or maybe Mr. Ainsworth was only going to tell Mr. Carrollton that night, and deal with the embezzler the next day at the office.
Mrs. Delford would know if there was an unusual appointment. She would probably know if there was someone Mr. Ainsworth was paying particular attention to, as well. Of course, if it was her, she would tell me something completely made up to send me in the wrong direction.
The teapot was cold and Mr. Sharma had left enough money to cover the bill, so I gathered up my things and went to the nearest Underground station to make my way to Parkside House. Mrs. Pomeroy would be able to give me Mr. Warland’s address and tell me if there was anyone else I should add to my list of suspects. I considered going home first and asking Mrs. Albright to go with me, but it was already almost four. If I took the time to go back to Paddington Street, we’d be traveling to Mr. Carrollton’s with all of the clerks and bankers making their way home, and Mrs. Pomeroy would be busy preparing dinner when we got there. If I went to Mr. Carrollton’s house at once, I might be able to catch her before she started dinner. That decided me.
Chapter 14
AT PARKSIDE HOUSE, Mrs Pomeroy answered the door on the second knock. “Miss Pengear, I wasn’t expecting... Please come in.” I saw her slip a small book into her apron pocket and could barely make out the title. The Dastardly Duke. One of Mrs. Albright’s gifts, no doubt.
“I won’t bother you if you’re fixing dinner.”
“No, no. I have the kettle on. Have a cup and some cake. I’m afraid it’s shop-bought, but I still haven’t gotten everything straightened up from the police.”
I cut off her apologizing. “Shop-bought is fine.” I followed Mrs. Pomeroy through to the kitchen and noticed the pots on the stove.
Mrs. Pomeroy saw where I was looking. “Don’t worry about that. I had to start the soup early. It just needs to simmer for another hour.” She brought over the teapot and a cake with creamy white frosting. “I'm afraid it's only a chocolate cake with buttercream frosting and a nice Assam. You took your tea black, right?”
“Yes, thanks.” I’d learned my lesson and had two forkfuls of the cake — which was excellent even if it was shop-bought — before I got to the point of my visit. “I’ve been looking into Mr. Ainsworth’s death.”
“Mrs. Albright said you would. So very kind of you to go to the trouble. So, who did it?”
Why did everyone think solutions magically appeared as soon as I started to look for them? “I haven’t gotten that far yet. But I wanted to talk to some of the other guests. Do you have their addresses?”
Mrs. Pomeroy paused with her hand on the teapot. “I suppose I could look in Mr. Carrollton’s address book. Mr. Sharma’s won’t be there but—”
“I know where Mr. Sharma is staying. Could you get Mr. Warland’s and Miss Carrollton’s, and Mrs. Delford’s home and at Mr. Ainsworth’s if she’s still there?”
“I think I can get those. Oh, you want me to do it
now?”
“If you could.”
Mrs. Pomeroy took another sip of tea then went to the stairs.
While I waited for her to come back, I ate as much of the cake as I could. I’d managed to finish half the slice before she came back with a sheet of paper with four addresses written on it. I put my fork down and went back to sipping my tea politely. “Perfect. Thank you.”
She put the list down on the table near my plate and picked up her tea again.
I glanced at the list. I could make it to Mr. Warland’s house before dinner. I slipped the paper into my pocket. “Did you know anything about Mr. Ainsworth’s work for Mr. Carrollton?”
“Only that he handled legal matters for the business. Why?”
“I’ve heard some talk about embezzlement.”
Mrs. Pomeroy poured out some more tea. “I can’t think of anything he would have said about embezzlement. Mr. Ainsworth did visit quite a bit, but that wasn’t unusual. I thought they were arranging things for Miss Carrollton’s wedding.”
“Was that decided?”
Mrs. Pomeroy smiled. “By Mr. Carrollton I think, but not by Miss Carrollton or Mr. Sharma. They were still feeling each other out.”
“So they wouldn’t have been discussing the dowry that night.”
“Oh, not at all.”
“Was there anything unusual about that night? Anything you remember?”
She shook her head. “No, just the usual run of preparations. He changed the guest list twice, but that wasn’t unusual.”
“Why?”
“Two of the guests were ill.”
“Could I have their names anyway?” It was possible one of them was my embezzler.
“Mr. Garland and Miss. Kurtfield. I don’t have their addresses. I think you would need to check with Mr. Warland.”
“Who are they?” And would they be good suspects: that was the real question.
“Mr. Garland is head of one of the departments at Mr. Carrollton’s company. Steam valves, I think. Miss Kurtfield is a secretary somewhere. Personnel, bookkeeping, I can’t remember. I just know she’s only invited when there’s business to be discussed.”
“And nothing else? Nothing that struck you as odd afterwards, maybe?”
“No, nothing that happened there.”
I caught a hesitation in her voice. “But something happened after?”
“Not so much happened as, well, I was talking about all of this to the cook next door, Mrs. O’Banion, I mean it’s only right they know when something like this happens in the neighborhood, and she said their telephone was just fine during the storm. Then I asked the butler at Number 64, and he was certain theirs was working too, since he had to call the doctor that night. Mr. Jacobson is an elderly man who decides he’s dying at least once a week.”
“Did they ever figure out what was wrong with the phone here?”
“Not that I know of, but Ross said it must have been one of the trees hitting against it. Not that he would know, but it does seem to make sense.”
I wondered if it did.
“And of course Belmont ran out of his medicine. He blamed Ross, of course, but I hope he isn’t going to turn out like his predecessor in that regard.”
“Was there anyone Mr. Ainsworth and Mr. Carrollton seemed particularly interested in?”
“You mean someone they were investigating? No, I didn’t hear much when he visited. Belmont waited table. If they discussed anything, he would have heard.”
“How is he feeling?” I was hoping to question him, of course.
“Still poorly; which reminds me, I’ll have to order him another bottle of his tonic. He’s down to the last doses.”
My ears perked up again. Mysterious tonics sounded better than most of my clues. “Would you like me to drop the order off?”
“Would you, dear? The chemist will deliver it in the morning.” She got the order from a tin box above the sink. “The address is on the outside.”
I made a hurried good-bye to Mrs. Pomeroy and rushed outside. I was halfway down the street when I stopped to unfold the paper and look at the order, but it was an order for a simple commercial tonic widely rumored to contain sugar and alcohol. Nothing incriminating. Nothing he could use to poison someone. I looked at the address again, then scanned the street to see where the chemist’s was. I heard a cab pass me and looked up. I saw Mr. Carrollton get out of the cab. If he was home, Mr. Warland must be home as well. I spotted the street the chemist’s shop was on and rushed to drop off the order. I didn’t want to brave the Underground just then, so I hailed Mr. Carrollton’s cab as it pulled away and gave the driver Mr. Warland’s address.
Chapter 15
MR. WARLAND WAS CLEARLY doing well for himself. The block of flats he lived in was in a nice neighborhood and had all the latest gadgets. As I put my calling card in the pneumatic tube and pushed the button with Mr. Warland’s name beside it, I could see the card was automatically punched with the date and time of my visit before being sucked up to his flat.
I looked up and down the street as I waited for him to reply. The street seemed strangely deserted for a residential area this soon after offices had closed, but the only person I saw was a man in a cheap suit with expensive shoes who passed me on the steps. He let himself in with his key and I heard a gear twist. When he was inside, I glanced at the list of names. The button beside the second name had changed from brass to black, indicating the man had returned home, I realized. I glanced at Mr. Warland’s name again, but his button was black. He was in.
I was beginning to wonder if I should send up a second card when I heard the whoosh of a brass tube sliding down. I reached into the chute and pulled out the cylinder containing the latchkey. I made sure of Mr. Warland’s flat number and let myself in.
Mr. Warland’s flat was on the third floor. There was a steam lift, but I could see there was a large gap between the elevator carriage and the floor. A friend who was a tinkerer had told me that was a sign of either a poorly maintained or poorly installed lift. I decided not to take a chance and started up the steps.
After climbing three flights of stairs, I wanted to pause and catch my breath, maybe put a little powder on my nose to make myself feel a little more in control, but I didn’t have the chance. Mr. Warland was standing outside his flat, watching the lift closely, rocking back and forth on his heels. Clearly he had expected me to arrive that way. He was still dressed for work in a conservative brown suit and yellow shirt, with too much macassar oil in his hair again. Not the person I would have chosen for my secretary, but then Mr. Carrollton’s brand of bonhomie wasn’t really my cup of tea either.
I started down the hallway. The floor was carpeted, so it muffled my footsteps. When Mr. Warland didn’t turn towards me, I spoke up, “Mr. Warland?”
He snapped around and spotted me. “You sent up the card?”
“That’s right. I wanted to ask you a couple of questions, if you don’t mind.”
Mr. Warland seemed surprised, but he held the door open and gestured for me to enter his flat. “Are you with the police or—or what?”
“I’m acting privately.” That made me sound like a private detective without saying it directly.
Mr. Warland rubbed at the back of his neck, brushing away a stray hair. “Did Carrollton hire you?”
“No, I’m helping Mrs. Pomeroy. She feels that she is a suspect; I’m making certain she’s not wrongfully accused.”
“Mrs. Pomeroy? She’s the cook, right? Excellent meals. They think she’s involved?”
“It was poison, so of course it looks like she could be a suspect.”
“Poison in the food? Yes, yes, I can see how that would make it hard for her to find a job if there’s some doubt about her cooking. Please, have a seat. I’ll help if I can.”
I took the chair he offered and tried to think of what to ask. “What did you see that night?”
“I’ve already told the police, but not much. Old Ainsworth just keeled over.”
“No, I was next to Miss Carrollton, the boss’s niece. Sharma was making eyes at her, and I wanted to be ready to intervene in case he got too — bothersome.”
I realized he didn’t remember me from that night. “So you didn’t actually see him collapse.”
“No, sorry.”
“And what did you think of Mr. Ainsworth?”
“He handled all the legal stuff for Mr. Carrollton. I never saw him but when there was trouble, so I never saw him in a good mood.”
“You didn’t like him?”
Mr. Warland looked shocked, although why I couldn’t tell. “Not at all. I didn’t mean to give that impression. I just didn’t know him.”
“And Mr. Sharma? Did you know him well?”
“Well, I’ve seen him a lot lately. He was going to merge his company with Mr. Carrollton’s, but he’s been trying to back out.”
“Back out?”
“He keeps finding fault with our company. The latest is that the books don’t match what he was expecting, but I don’t know what he was expecting then.”
“And you think it’s a stall tactic?”
“Of course. Our books are perfectly fine.”
“Why do you think he’s trying to delay?”
“To get a better negotiating position, of course. He sees how good our company is, so he wants more money from us.”
“And is Mr. Carrollton interested enough to pay more?”
“He’s thinking about all his options. So Sharma delays, making him want it more when he can’t have it. Hey, do you think that’s it? Maybe he thought Ainsworth’s death would be the best delaying tactic.” He looked up at me. “You could tell the inspector that.”
And have him bite my head off for interfering. “I’m only looking into the case as it relates to Mrs. Pomeroy.”
Mr. Warland seemed irritated that I wouldn’t point suspicion at Mr. Sharma. “I see, I see. Well, I don’t know what else I can tell you about her.”
“And about Mr. Sharma?”