The Inventor

by Emily Organ

  “It does for some reason. I’m trying to remember why,” he replied.

  “The fancy dress ball and the police, do you remember?” said Frederick.

  “That’s it!” I said. “That’s how I know the name.”

  Edgar laughed. “That fancy dress ball where everyone there was a chap, with half of them dressed up as ladies?”

  “The police arrested a fair few that night, as I recall,” said Frederick. “What a sight the police cells must have been!”

  Both men laughed.

  “Why are you asking about it, Miss Green?” asked Edgar. “I don’t think they’re fond of ladies down at The Ha’penny.”

  “They’re certainly not!” laughed Frederick. “They’re only fond of men dressed as ladies!”

  My colleagues laughed again.

  “I think Simon Borthwick sometimes drank there,” I said.

  “The inventor chap?” said Edgar. “Well, well, well. The plot thickens.”

  “Please don’t mention anything about it to your wife,” I said. “She might tell Lillian Maynell, and then matters could become quite awkward.”

  “It would be awkward indeed,” said Edgar.

  “I don’t know for certain that Borthwick went to the place,” I continued. “I need to find someone there who might have known him.”

  “No, don’t!” said Edgar. “There is no need to begin investigating such unsavoury matters. Some stones are better left unturned.”

  “Which unsavoury stones are we talking about, Fish?” asked Mr Sherman, who had stridden into the room without us noticing. The door slammed closed as we turned to face him.

  “The Ha’penny in Covent Garden, sir,” said Edgar. “The place where the police raided the fancy dress ball and discovered that the ladies were, in fact, chaps.”

  “I remember that well,” replied the editor. “What of it?”

  “Miss Green says the inventor who shot himself frequented the place.”

  “Did he indeed?”

  “I can’t be certain, sir,” I said, “but his housekeeper told me that he sometimes went to that establishment.”

  “The chap should have chosen a more discreet housekeeper,” said Mr Sherman.

  “I wonder if he was one of the chaps who dressed up as a lady!” laughed Frederick.

  “That’s enough, Potter.” Mr Sherman glared at him. “Miss Green, perhaps you can get on with the work I have asked you to do rather than pursuing a wild goose chase after an inventor who decided that enough was enough.”

  “I’m working on it in my own time, Mr Sherman.”

  “I find that hard to believe. My preference would be that you didn’t work on it at all.”

  “I can’t help but feel intrigued about the people who were persecuting him.”

  “There are many things which intrigue me, Miss Green, but I don’t have the time to go dashing about London trying to answer every possible question, and neither do you.”

  “But perhaps I could find someone at The Ha’penny who knew him.”

  “That’s enough, Miss Green! Stay well away from The Ha’penny!”

  Mr Sherman’s stern tone silenced me.

  “Please forget all about the inventor,” he said. “I know you witnessed the man’s death, but you can’t change what has happened. What I want is an update on the medical school murder. Has Inspector Blakely made any progress with it?”

  “Yes. He established that an important witness has been lying.”

  “Good. The arrest needs to be made now so that we can report on it. And don’t forget that your article on the Panama Canal needs to be one thousand words.”

  “I can’t understand why someone would write something like that about you, Miss Green,” said Mrs Garnett as we stood in her hallway. In her hand was the anonymous letter she had received that morning. “Why would they tell me that you’re about to be dismissed from your job and won’t be able to keep up with your rent? Are you about to lose your job again?”

  “Not to my knowledge, though my editor was rather grumpy with me today. However, I have managed to amass some savings, Mrs Garnett, so I shall be able to pay my rent even if I did lose my job. You can be assured of that. Please ignore the letter. It seems everyone I have any association with has received one.”

  I had examined the handwriting in the letter sent to Mrs Garnett, but it was different again from the previous letters. Although I had tried my best to create the impression that the letters didn’t bother me, each one I read wore me down a little. On every occasion I had to explain to the baffled recipient that it was nothing to worry about and pretend it was something to which I was accustomed, but in reality I was tiring of it all. I wished I knew what I had done to provoke the ire of the letter writer.

  “Do you want me to throw this letter away?” she asked.

  “I’ll keep it for now, Mrs Garnett. It may prove useful in helping me discover who sent it.”

  “I don’t know how. The sender didn’t put a name on it.”

  “Nevertheless, I shall find out who it is, Mrs Garnett.”

  She sucked her lip disapprovingly and handed the letter over. “You get yourself into some scrapes, Miss Green. I still can’t forget the time when you got shot. And the time you were nearly strangled to death!”

  “Yet I have lived to tell the tale, Mrs Garnett.” I forced a smile and began to make my way up the stairs to my room. “You’ll let me know if you receive any more, won’t you?”

  “I will. And you be careful, Miss Green. You need to stop going around upsetting people.”

  Tiger was desperate to be let in at my window, as fat raindrops had begun to splash onto the rooftop around her. I heard the distant rumble of thunder as I opened a tin of sardines for her.

  I laid the malicious letters out on my writing desk and examined them for any signs of similarity. In each case the handwriting was different, as were the ink, writing paper and postmark on each envelope. I folded them up and placed them in a drawer. I knew that I would become saddened if I looked at them for too long. This thought angered me, as that had presumably been the very intention of the person who had written them. Tiger was some comfort as she jumped up onto my lap and began to clean her face.

  I tried to distract myself by compiling some notes for the book about my father. If Isaac Fox-Stirling was right there was only one thing for it. Someone would need to go back to Colombia and search for my father again. Perhaps they would even need to rescue him. The only reason I could imagine for his failure to send a message home was that he was being held there against his will.

  I was disturbed by a knock at the door.

  “Miss Green! A telegram has arrived for you!” called Mrs Garnett. She pushed a small envelope under the door.

  The envelope was damp from the rain, and the telegram within it was brief and anonymous:

  Meet me at Lincoln’s Inn Fields. Seven o’clock tomorrow evening.

  Chapter 28

  Despite the shelter provided by the large tree in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, the evening rain poured off the umbrella I stood beneath with James. The pleasant scent of his eau-de-cologne mingled with the smell of fresh, damp grass.

  “What’s the time?” I asked him.

  “About a minute later than when you last asked me,” he replied with a smile. He glanced at his pocket watch. “Two minutes to seven o’clock.”

  I scoured the pathways and lawns looking for the person who had asked to meet me here. A few men scurried through the square, their heads bent low under umbrellas, but there was no one who appeared to be waiting for me. The columned portico of the Royal College of Surgeons stood on one side of the square and at the far end stood Lincoln’s Inn, one of the Inns of Court, with its attractive red and cream brickwork and stained-glass windows.

  “The wonderful British summer, eh?” said James, surveying the grey sky. It had been raining ever since the storm broke during the night.

  “I suppose we had it coming,” I said.

&nbs
p; “That’s the problem. We always do, don’t we? It can’t be warm and sunny without a prolonged spell of pouring rain afterwards. Are you all right?”

  “Not really,” I replied. My heart was pounding quickly in my chest. “I’m nervous. You do have your revolver with you, don’t you, James?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll look after you, Penny. There’s no need to worry.”

  “Do you think he’ll harm me?”

  “I think he is unlikely to in a public space such as this. And if it’s the person who’s been sending the letters he’ll hopefully explain himself.”

  “He’ll need to. I don’t want anyone receiving further missives of this kind. I try not to let these things bother me, but of course they do.”

  “You’d have to have a heart of stone not to be bothered by them.”

  “Hopefully we’ll find out who is behind them this evening.”

  “Just be careful when you speak to him, Penny. He may want something from you in return for agreeing to write no further letters.”

  “Presumably he’ll want me to stop doing my work. That’s what he said in the letter sent to Mr Edwards. He wants to keep me away from news reporting altogether.”

  “He may well suggest something of that sort, and you’ll make things much easier for yourself if you simply agree to it.”

  “I will never agree to it!”

  “Pretend to agree to it, I meant. Just tell him what he wants to hear and then he’s unlikely to cause any more trouble. Although I have my revolver with me, I don’t particularly want to be given an excuse to fire it here this evening.”

  “I don’t like telling people what they wish to hear, especially when I strongly disagree with their sentiments.”

  “I realise that, but sometimes you have no choice. You don’t want to go putting yourself in any more danger.”

  “But surely it will make him even angrier if I tell him I intend to cease my work and then continue doing it.”

  “Possibly, but you’ll also know the identity of the person by then, so we can take measures to stop him. All we need to find out this evening is who is causing you trouble. Whatever you do, don’t get yourself into an argument with the chap.”

  The bell on a nearby clock chimed seven.

  “He’s late,” I said.

  “Why don’t we have a stroll around?” suggested James. “He may be sheltering under a tree somewhere.”

  We began to trace the perimeter of the square.

  “Has Chief Inspector Stroud arrested Mr Kurtz yet?” I asked.

  “No, and I don’t think he will do.”

  “Why not? It’s already been proven that he was lying about his whereabouts at the time when Mr Geller was murdered. He didn’t go to see Mr Daly at all!”

  “But that doesn’t mean he is the murderer.”

  “He must be! Why else would he lie? Besides, he has no alibi.”

  “Actually, he does.”

  “He does? Who provided it?”

  “Well, it took Mr Kurtz a while, but he eventually confessed to us that he went to meet a young nurse on the morning of Mr Geller’s murder. It was a regular arrangement between them, apparently.”

  “A romantic liaison?” I pictured Mr Kurtz’s pale, unattractive face and suppressed a laugh. “Why didn’t he mention it earlier? I know it’s not what he should have been doing while he was working, but if he’d been honest sooner he would have saved us all some trouble.”

  “It’s certainly not something he should have been doing while he was working. Perhaps more importantly he’s a married man, so I can understand his reluctance to tell us about it.”

  “He obviously thought a lie would serve him better, then realised it made him appear guilty of murder.”

  “We know he’s telling the truth this time because Chief Inspector Stroud has spoken to the young lady in question and she has confirmed it. With great embarrassment, I should add. Neither seemed happy to admit to the liaison.”

  “I cannot say that I am surprised.”

  “However, this has proven an interesting development, because they have both told us that they met regularly, which means Mr Kurtz’s absence from the museum that morning may have been anticipated.”

  “The murderer knew he wouldn’t be there at that time?”

  “Exactly.”

  “But that still doesn’t explain why Mr Geller didn’t put up a struggle or try to escape his attacker.”

  “No, it doesn’t. Do you remember how Mr Kurtz demonstrated where Mr Geller had been standing that morning? He had his back to the storeroom, didn’t he?”

  I nodded.

  “That may mean the attacker was hiding in the storeroom, then leapt out and attacked Geller while Kurtz was missing from the museum.”

  “But how did the attacker get into the storeroom without anyone noticing?”

  “Perhaps he broke in overnight.”

  “If that’s what happened the killer went to great lengths to plan the attack.”

  “It certainly appears as though he did. He knew when Mr Kurtz would be away and brought that length of twine with him. The question is: why?”

  We had almost walked the full circumference of the square.

  “It’s ten minutes past seven o’clock,” said James. “I don’t see any sign of our man, do you?”

  I glanced around. The square was deserted due to the inclement weather.

  “No. Perhaps he doesn’t like the rain.” Then I jumped. “Or perhaps it was a trick! Perhaps he asked me to meet him here so that something could be done elsewhere?”

  “Such as what?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he’s breaking into my lodgings.”

  “Your landlady would soon see him off,” said James.

  “We cannot be too sure on that front,” I replied, shivering. “Oh, James, I don’t like this. I don’t like it at all.”

  Chapter 29

  Thankfully, my room had been left alone while I was out that evening and Tiger was pleased to see me when I returned. I looked around, checking and rechecking that everything was as I had left it. I felt sure that Tiger would have shown signs of distress if someone unknown had snuck inside my room. She hated strangers.

  Early the following morning another telegram arrived for me:

  Meet me at Lincoln’s Inn Fields. Seven o’clock this evening. WITHOUT THE INSPECTOR.

  So the sender of the letters had been there after all! And what’s more, he had recognised James. My fingers trembled as I returned the telegram to its envelope. Was I brave enough to meet this person without James by my side?

  I closed my eyes and tried to recall all the people I had seen at Lincoln’s Inn Fields the previous evening. There had been very few people about; certainly no one I had recognised.

  The rain had stopped by the evening and my legs felt weak with nerves as I walked around Lincoln’s Inn Fields searching for the person who had sent the telegram.

  I told myself to remain calm and heeded the advice James had given me the previous evening. I had to pretend that my intention was to co-operate. I couldn’t put myself in danger, especially without James by my side. I knew he would be angry when he found out I had come here without his protection.

  I was reassured to see that there were more people milling around than there had been the previous evening. Surely someone would heed my cries for help if anything went terribly wrong.

  I had walked a full lap of the square before I heard the bell chime seven o’clock again. I began a second circuit, more slowly this time, scrutinising everyone who walked past me. A young lawyer appeared quite uncomfortable in response to my glare.

  I still couldn’t see who might wish to meet with me. Was the letter writer playing games? Did he plan to request that I meet him here every evening?

  A man of about my height approached. He wore a bowler hat and a dark-coloured suit, and as he drew nearer I could see a pipe hanging beneath his thick black moustache.

  I knew him.

 
; “Mr Sherman? What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “Just walk with me, Miss Green, and we will find somewhere quieter to talk,” he muttered.

  “I’m afraid I can’t, sir. I’ve arranged to meet someone here.”

  “You’ve arranged to meet me. I am the person who sent the telegrams. Now walk.”

  I felt my mouth open and close again as I turned around and walked beside him. Had Mr Sherman sent the anonymous letters? Had he even written one to himself?

  My head felt dizzy with the many questions I wished to ask, but I remained silent until he was ready to talk.

  We crossed the road and walked onto Gate Street before taking a sharp right into a narrow street called Whetstone Park. Mr Sherman glanced around, as if to ensure that we were alone. We passed a small public house and a row of cramped little houses. Several horses poked their heads at us out of stable blocks.

  “This is the rear of the Soane Museum,” said Mr Sherman, looking up at a tall brick edifice.

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “Are you the one who has been sending the letters?”

  Mr Sherman stopped and removed his pipe from his mouth. “Absolutely not! Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “Your telegrams were anonymous, so I assumed they were from the same person who sent the letters.”

  “You assumed incorrectly. I have no idea who has been sending you those letters, Miss Green.” He pushed the pipe back into his mouth and walked on at a slow pace.

  “But why ask to meet me here? And why didn’t you want James to come too? I asked him to accompany me yesterday because I feared for my safety.”

  “You’re quite safe with me, please don’t worry. I asked you here because I wish to speak to you in confidence about something. It’s important that you don’t mention our conversation to anyone, not even to Blakely. Do you hear?”

  I nodded solemnly.

  “Good. I need to have this conversation with you, Miss Green, before you go committing an enormous faux pas. This work you insist on doing with regard to Borthwick is rather tricky, as you are no doubt beginning to discover. I didn’t mean to warn you off The Ha’penny public house so sternly, but I needed to make myself clear at that moment. I hope you will appreciate why I was unable to explain anything further at the time.”