“We’ll just have to decipher this.”
He rummaged a bit more and retrieved a piece of wafer-thin paper used for tracing. Then he took a pen and the pad of paper and sat on the bed. He gestured for Mira to take a seat next to him, which she did.
“Mira, have you ever used tracing paper before?”
“Several times. It’s convenient for copying drawings.”
“It is also useful when you want to reverse something. These words are backwards because when you blot a letter, it bleeds onto the blotting paper in reverse. So, if we simply trace it…” He took the tracing paper and placed it over the blotting paper and began to trace the backward remains of the words on the page. She watched him work meticulously. Some words seemed to be incomplete as if the ink had already dried on the original page. When he was done, he flipped the transparent paper over, and they could read it normally.
“Brilliant.” She looked from the paper up to him. He grinned.
“Now we only have to decipher what might have been written, seeing as there are several different letters that must have been written using this.”
He took the pad of paper and wrote every word that was seen in the order they appeared on the blotting page. He turned it as he needed to see new sets of words.
March 11, Vaporidge, it, attention, company, blueprints, “true”, police, 30, anon.
March 14, Vaporidge, identity, risk, money, box, post, details, agreed, anon
April 18, increase, stipend, pounds, oblige, police, evidence, anon.
June 6, last, increase, 70, continue, post, late, anon.
He looked at it for a few moments then handed the pad of paper over to Mira.
“What do you take from this?”
She read over each word a couple of times. “Well, we are missing most of the letters.”
“But?”
“We have dates that correspond with things. The first two letters might be to Vaporidge or about it. Something about police and blueprints, maybe. We already know that he found the smuggling hold. He may have been asking Vaporidge about it. Saying that it wasn’t in the blueprints and that he thought he would let them know.”
“That could be a possible answer. Continue.”
“I thought you were the detective?”
“I like listening to your deductions while I’m formulating mine.”
She nodded and continued. “Every single one of these has a date and ‘anon’ in them. The date at the beginning, the ‘anon’ at the end, which means he must have signed each of the letters anonymously.”
“Very good. Since he signed them anonymously, he doesn’t want Vaporidge, or whoever it is that he is writing to, to know who he is,” he said.
“Alright then. I bet Vaporidge asked him in the next letter who he was, since identity is in the next letter. He might have written that he won’t tell them his identity.”
“Now what is in common between the second and third letters Mira?”
“Both mention something about money, but don’t have any numbers. The first and fourth have numbers.” She pointed to each in turn.
“Excellent. Now here is something to consider. The second letter was sent shortly before his influx of money to the bank, meaning they could be connected.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mira, he was blackmailing them.”
“He was?”
“Yes. He found the secret compartment, figured out what it was, and must have made some sort of blueprint of it. Then he threatened the airship company, telling them that they needed to pay him or else he would go to the police.”
“There’s our motive for murder!”
“But we still don’t know who did it. I would say one of your smuggler friends, but they’ve fled their resting spot for now. They’ll be lying low for a while, I would bet.”
“He must have quit his job thinking he could live off the income of the blackmail, and since he wasn’t even helping them anymore, well…” She couldn’t bring herself to say it.
“They killed him. Yes, I think you pegged it perfectly.” He stood up, placing the stationary he used into his satchel. “We should probably inform the chief inspector of the new developments.”
“Byron?”
“Yes?”
“If he had blueprints of the way the airship actually was, where are they?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, wouldn’t they have been found?” she said. Byron paused for a moment deep in thought. Then he pulled out his journal and flipped through it.
“I think I remember reading about some sort of cache.”
“In the piano, Byron.”
“Oh, yes. Thank you.” He closed his journal and went to the piano, moving the glass and opening it. He put his hand down into the cache and felt around. His hand came back up with nothing.
“I would guess that the blueprints were in here.”
Mira nodded. “So, they were stolen.”
“I believe that we need to have another little chat with Selene Vermielle.”
They left and took a hansom cab to Scotland Yard. Mira had since memorized the path to the chief inspector’s office, but she followed Byron, nonetheless. Soon enough they were in front of Miss Chickering’s desk once again.
“Mr. Constantine! What a pleasant surprise!”
“You are surprised to see me? I thought I came here on a frequent basis.”
“Well…um…you do. But…” Juliet flushed.
“Is Thatcher in?”
“Yes…yes, he is.” For once Juliet couldn’t find her words. Mira couldn’t help but smirk.
“Thank you. Mira?” He looked at her before knocking on the door and entering the office. Mira smiled at Juliet and followed him inside.
“Constantine! And Miss Blayse! I’m so glad you’re alright. The streets aren’t safe for a woman at night anymore.”
“Thank you, Inspector Thatcher.” Mira wondered what excuse Byron had made for her kidnapping. Byron waited for her to sit down before he took a seat himself.
“Of course. Now what can I help you with?”
Byron took out the notepad and the blotting paper and handed it over to him. “I believe we have some new evidence for you.”
Thatcher looked at the papers in silence for a few minutes.
“Where did you get this?” He looked up at them.
“The victim’s desk.” Byron replied.
“So, he was blackmailing Vaporidge over the smuggling hold.” Thatcher let out a long breath. “We’ll have to have a chat with the company owner.”
“Not yet I don’t think. If we play our hand too early, we may not find who murdered Pennington or find all the people that are involved.”
“You make a good point, Constantine. But I’m not sure how long we can wait.”
“Just give us a few more days. A week at the most,” Byron said.
“I’ll give you a week, but that’s as much as I can do for you. This case is getting cold.”
“Thank you. Now one more favor. Can we talk with Miss Vermielle again?”
“Of course.”
Byron turned to Mira, starting up a conversation while they waited for Selene to be brought down from the cells.
“Might I ask why you were upset this morning?”
“I thought we already discussed this. I’m fine.”
“Somehow, I don’t believe that.”
She went silent and looked down as he continued.
“If this is about continuing the investigation, you are under no obligation to work with me, I hope you know that.” He bent over to meet her eyes.
“No, it isn’t that at all! I do want to keep doing this. It’s just…”
He waited patiently for her response. She thought for a moment, mulling everything over. She wasn’t certain what to tell him. How could she tell him that she was in turmoil because of him? It would only hurt him, and there really wasn’t anything he could do to change. But if she lied, he would also kno
w. He studied her face carefully. She looked down.
“Everything is fine. This morning was just a bit rough for me.”
He lifted her chin to look into her eyes. “Mira, you know you can talk to me about—”
He was cut off as the door opened and Officer Wensley entered, leading Selene by her handcuffs. He brought her in and sat her in the chair across from them, cuffing her to the table. He nodded to Byron before moving to the corner. Selene quickly made herself comfortable.
“Ah, Detective. You have more to say to me?” she purred.
“Yes. We’ve found some new evidence. I’m going to ask you a few more questions.” Byron took out his journal.
“Ask away.” The cat folded her arms.
“Did you steal anything of the victim’s?”
“No. There was nothing of interest. Much to my dismay.”
“Can you tell me exactly your movements within his rooms?”
“I can try. I entered through the window and immediately went into the bedroom. I checked under the mattress, and then in the drawers of the dresser, and then in the drawers of the desk. Since I knew he wouldn’t be there at that time, I didn’t bother to keep it clean. There was nothing in the bedroom. I checked under every cushion in the living room, behind every picture for a safe, but no. There was nothing. I left through the window as before.”
“You never looked in the piano?”
“No. Why would I look into a piano?” She looked confused.
“When exactly did you come and leave?”
“I came at ten o’clock like I said before. I left not more than twenty minutes after. In fact, it could have been less than fifteen, seeing as there was nothing to be found.”
“You are certain of that?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you. I believe that is all.” Byron finished the sentence he was writing. Mira spoke up.
“Wait. I have a question.”
The cat acknowledged Mira for the first time. She nodded slightly as if allowing Mira to speak. Byron looked at her.
“Have you changed your mind about telling us who told you the place would be empty?”
“No.”
“Was that person, or persons involved in a smuggling ring?”
The cat’s eyes narrowed. “I honestly don’t know. They could have been.”
Mira nodded. “Thank you.”
It was early afternoon when Mira and Byron walked out of Scotland Yard. They strolled slowly down the street.
“She could be lying.” Byron surmised.
“She could also be telling the truth.”
“Yes, we’re missing something still.”
“Where did he go when Selene was there, if she wasn’t the one who killed him?”
“As always, you are asking the right questions, Mira.”
“Then what is our next course of action? We can’t look at the crime scene again. It’s been cleaned, and we don’t exactly have any witnesses to talk to now.”
He paused in thought. Contemplating. He stopped walking almost as a physical representation of his pause. She stopped next to him.
“We go back to Palace Court to go over everything we know. And to have a cup of tea.”
He started back with a brisk footfall, his steps echoing off the building opposite. They reached his abode, and he opened the door for her.
The side table lay in pieces on the floor. She entered the living room and found that every drawer, every paper, every facet of the room had been uprooted from its normal place and rearranged into complete disarray. The entire place was turned upside down. She stood in absolute shock as Byron came in. He frowned, but didn’t seem to be too upset by it.
“It would seem someone wanted to see what we knew. Let’s go ahead and clean up and see what’s missing.”
He calmly began to pick up the papers and drawers and place them into piles. Mira stood there for a moment more before helping him.
“Byron, how can you be so calm about this? Someone has broken into your home!”
“Yes. They have. And really, I’m not too concerned. Everything that matters to me was with me outside Palace Court.” He smiled at her. She blushed slightly and looked down. He cleared his throat. “After all, the most useful information I have is in my journal.”
“Right, of course.” She shook her head, feeling a bit foolish, and continued to pick up the odds and ends that had been flung about the room.
In the end, from what they could tell, nothing had been stolen other than a few address files and some notes that he already had in his journal. He couldn’t be certain what was missing because of his memory, but as he wasn’t concerned, Mira couldn’t be worried about it. She brought a fresh pot of tea and some cups into the living room while he finished up the last of the papers. She offered him a cup, and he took it gratefully.
“See Mira? Everything is alright. Nothing of consequence was stolen or hurt. It just means we are getting closer to the answer and someone wants to hinder us.”
“Perhaps you are right.” She placed the tray on the table and took a cup and a seat for herself.
“Now, I believe we were going to go over the remaining facts.” He pulled out his journal.
“Let us start with the previous suspects and then work our way through this new information to eliminate some of them.” He flipped through the pages of his journal, came to a stop and put his finger down on the page.
“Firstly, we have the landlord. What do you think of him Mira?”
“Well, he seems like he cares about money more than his tenants. However, Pennington dying doesn’t do anything to help him. Unless of course he is involved with the smugglers.”
“Which is unlikely, but is still an option. What about his coworkers?”
“Seeing as Pennington didn’t know about the smuggling hold before he discovered it, I would doubt his coworkers knew anything about it. They also probably weren’t good enough friends for them to know where he lived.”
“Excellent thought process. I suppose we can skip over Ms. Bridges?” He raised an eyebrow at her.
“Well, no. She’s in the same boat as the landlord. She would have a motive if she was involved with the smugglers.”
Byron smiled. “Which is unlikely as well, but it is also an option. Selene Vermielle?”
Mira paused in thought. “I think she is telling the truth. I don’t think she has anything to do with the smugglers, but she is involved with a bigger group. One that would know where Pennington would be.” Her thought process stopped.
“Just a moment.”
“Yes?”
“She knew he would be gone at ten.”
“Yes. She did.”
“How would anyone know that for certain?”
“Well perhaps if that was his usual style to go on a walk late at night, or if the murderer had invited him out…” He trailed off. She saw his internal gears turning and felt hers as well.
She stood up. “We need to talk to Mr. Graham again. He might have seen something.”
“I think that is an excellent idea, Mira. But we’re going to have to do it tomorrow.”
“Why tomorrow?”
“Do you see the time?” She looked over at the clock. It was well after nine. Had it really taken that long to reorganize his apartment? Mr. Graham could be up, but it would be rude to disturb him at this late hour. She sat back down.
“Tomorrow, then. First thing. He must have seen something.”
“I agree. Let’s get you a cab back home.”
They finished their tea and then grabbed their coats from the hooks in the hall. She walked down the front steps into the drizzly evening air. He closed and locked the door behind him and came down the steps next to her. He hailed a cab, as it was raining, and they both got in, telling the cab driver in unison where to go. She laughed, he smiled, and they both sat back in the seat.
“You’ll have to remind me tomorrow exactly what we’ll be doing.”
“Of course. I a
lways do.”
“Well, I can’t be entirely certain of that,” he teased.
“Then in that case you could always write it down in your journal.”
“I’d rather hear it from you.”
He looked at her, with that deep gaze that made her stomach flutter. She looked down blushing again. How did he always manage to do that? He lifted her face up slightly with a gentle hand then pulled it away. He looked forward again in thought. She found herself thinking artistically again as she thought about how strong his profile was, watching the lights and shadows flickering across his face from the lights on the street. He turned towards her again, pulling her out of her reverie.
“Mira,” He stopped and ran a hand through his hair. He stuttered. “What is your opinion of me?” The question caught her by surprise. She paused to pick her words carefully and to ensure that she didn’t embarrass herself.
“I think you are brilliant and kind. You’re a gentleman. I, well…” She stopped herself. “I’m delighted to be your secretary and to share your friendship.” He nodded considering her words. She looked away, attempting to hide the thoughts she didn’t understand yet. Knowing him, her eyes hadn’t given her thoughts away to him already. He sat in silent contemplation.
They reached her rooms, and the carriage stopped. She went to pay the driver, but Byron stopped her hand.
“I’ll take care of it.”
She nodded, and he helped her from the carriage.
“Goodnight, Miss Blayse.”
“Goodnight, Mr. Constantine.”
“I hope I remember you tomorrow.” He smiled. She went up the stairs to her door and took out her key. The carriage stayed until she opened the door, and she hummed to herself as she came in.
There were pieces of furniture strewn across the floor. Pages of her previous sketchbooks ripped out and in shreds on top of that. Her eyes widened as she came in, walking through the main hallway and into the sitting room. It was difficult to move because of all the debris left in the wake of an unknown destructive force. A rustling noise came from up the stairs. She looked out the window. The cab had driven out of sight. She picked up a table leg and wielded it over her head as she walked up the stairs to her bedroom. The room had been darkened by a curtain that obstructed the moonlight. The folds of the fabric swayed in a breeze. The window was open. Once her eyes adjusted, she saw that the room was similarly destroyed. A hissing came from beneath the bed. Nero. She tried the light. She heard a buzzing noise, but the lights were out.
Constantine Capers: The Pennington Perplexity Page 16