Stabbing Set with Sapphires

by L. A. Nisula

  I put the first page aside and turned to the other sheet of paper. It really seemed more promising now that I looked at it. It was proper letter paper, the kind with a pale border around the edges that would probably take scent well. I held it up to my nose and thought I smelled lilac, but that could have been because I was thinking of it. I spread it out on the desk and started to rub the pencil over the surface.

  There was another jumble of words. Clearly Miss Eaton wrote both hard and on top of the entire stack of paper. I managed to make out enough words to tell which end was the top; then I leaned in to try and make sense of the jumble. There seemed to be fewer separate letters in the mess here. The more I looked, the more it looked like there were only two.

  “Dear Oliver.” That was clear enough. And if I assumed she’d written the left edge of the letter more or less evenly, I should be able to sort out which words went with which letter. From what I could tell, it was a fairly standard love letter dated almost six months ago, with very little originality or specific detail.

  But who was she writing to? I leaned back. Mrs. O’Connell hadn’t known Mr. Broome’s first name. The other possibility was Mr. Morris. That would be probable cause for Inspector Wainwright. Who would know? I knew there was a telephone at Miss Crawford’s boarding house. She’d worked with him; it was probable she would know.

  Miss Pimly answered the telephone at the boarding house with, “The lady of the house is not at home. You will need to telephone...”

  I cut her off before she could hang up on me. “It’s Miss Pengear, Miss Pimly.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, Miss Pengear. We’ve been having calls from the press and some strange, silent calls where no one speaks, but they listen. The ringing is very irritating to my lodgers.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Have you tried disconnecting the telephone? At least for a little while.”

  “I considered it, but what if it's the Scotland Yard men? I would hate for them to not be able to reach us.”

  “I suppose that is a good point. Could I speak to Miss Crawford for a minute?”

  “Of course, my dear. Just a moment.”

  While I waited for Miss Crawford to arrive, I leaned against the door to the telephone cabinet and watched the street. A cab rolled by looking for fares. Two of the neighbors were chatting on the pavement while their dogs looked at each other with murderous intent. The delivery boy from the telegraph station jogged past, looking important, until the two dogs decided to put their differences aside and unite against him, or at least his ankles. They would have succeeded in catching him if the cab hadn’t rolled past again and distracted them.

  “Miss Pengear?”

  I turned away from the alliance of the terriers. “Miss Crawford? How are you doing?”

  “Much better. I’m thinking of going back to the shop tomorrow. Mr. Kleinman said I should only stay half-a-day, but I’ll see. Is there any news?”

  “There could be. Do you know what Mr. Morris’s first name was?”

  “Of course. Oliver. Is it important?”

  “It might be. Good luck tomorrow.”

  I hung up the telephone and stared blankly at the front door. So that letter had been for Mr. Morris. That meant he was connected to Miss Eaton. She'd told us that, but now we had proof of the connection and how far back it went. That meant Inspector Wainwright might have enough to search her rooms and find the key. I’d have to bring him the letter. I could see the delivery boy returning, giving the dogs a cautious look, and a cab rounding the corner. Sometimes it was better to surprise Inspector Wainwright, but for this I’d ring him up and let him know I was coming first thing in the morning. I had useful evidence for him, so he might leave my name at the reception desk, which would make it easy for me to get up to see him. I looked up the number for Scotland Yard―Mrs. Albright had taken to keeping it in the small book with the numbers for the doctor, the telegraph office, and the grocer―and dialed.

  I was connected to the general telephone on the inspectors’ floor, which was answered by a voice I didn’t recognize. “To whom did you wish to speak?”

  “Inspector Wainwright. I’d like to leave an urgent message.”

  “Just a moment.” There was a shuffling of papers. “All right, what is the message?”

  “Tell him Miss Pengear has some evidence that will help him with the Morris case and the Lady Suffolk troubles. I’ll bring it by in the morning.”

  “Very well, miss. The Yard is always happy for citizens to come forward.” He hung the telephone up before I could laugh at that. They never seemed particularly eager for my assistance.

  Back upstairs in my flat, I fixed a pot of tea then took out the first piece of paper. Now that I knew Mr. Morris was Oliver, Jasper had to be Mr. Broome, and the “J” by itself was most likely an abbreviation for his name. I pored over the tangle, trying to see if I could associate any of the jumble of words with his name and see what she was writing to or about him. I found each instance of his name then tried to reconstruct anything I could around it, concentrating on what was just below it, where someone would write the body of a letter in relation to the greeting. I managed to connect the word “bracelet” to him; at least it was written just under and slightly to the right of his name. They could have been communicating about the jewels stolen from Lady Suffolk’s home, but it wasn’t conclusive. I moved on to the next “J.”

  Piecing the words together was harder than it sounded. Eventually I managed to find what seemed to be a list of places on the Continent, with what may have been prices. I would have said definitely prices, but they were so high my mind didn't want to wrap itself around them. If their plan was to move to the Continent and live like that, I could see the need for the steady source of income blackmailing Lady Suffolk could give them.

  I was getting nowhere when I noticed one odd set of letters near a “J” by itself. “Chlo.” I stared at that combination. I could only think of two words that it could be: chlorine and the far more suggestive chloroform. I studied the layers of letters between the “J” and the “chlo” and might have managed to extract “Bring” from the mess. Then again it could very well have been an illusion because I wanted to find a word like that, something that would mean they were bringing chloroform to help kidnap Miss Crawford if whatever was in her drink wasn’t strong enough to do the job. Or maybe as part of the plan all along. If they put something in her drink to make her light-headed, she would have been able to leave the pub under her own power, and they could finish knocking her out with the chloroform at a more convenient location.

  Inspector Wainwright needed to see this. Of course, he would start out by scoffing and saying it could mean anything. I leaned back and pulled the dictionary from the shelf. A glance at “chivalry” to “chocolate” showed several other words beginning with “chlo,” all of them scientific in nature. Unless Miss Eaton and Jasper were pursuing an involved study of botany, my chloroform theory seemed to fit. I collected up both sheets of paper, put a clean sheet of typing paper between them and slipped the whole thing into an envelope so the pencil lead wouldn’t smear or make a mess. I didn’t want to fold the pages, so I tucked the envelope into my hat.

  It was barely teatime, which meant I had plenty of time to make it to Scotland Yard and ask to be seen by anyone I knew in the inspectors’ offices. One of them would put the envelope on Inspector Wainwright’s desk, and then he’d be able to start looking into it as soon as he arrived in the morning. And it would be safer there than in my flat.

  On the front steps, I noticed a cab stopped outside of the building. I considered hailing it, but the Underground wouldn’t be crowded today, and I doubted I could get reimbursed for the expense. I was four doors down the street when I felt someone following me. I told myself I was being paranoid now that I had real evidence and sped up. If there was someone, it would be easy to lose them in the traffic of Marylebone Street.

  I had the corner where Paddington Street and Baker Street crossed in sight
when, out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed a cab stopping. The driver jumped down. Not the driver. Someone sitting next to the driver. The driver was still there. And I was fairly certain the driver was a woman. Then there was a man’s arm around my neck and something shoved against my mouth. I tried to kick back, to step on his toes, to elbow him in the stomach. Anything to get a slight advantage. Above all, I tried not to breath in too deeply. If it was chloroform, it would take a few minutes to act. Minutes I hoped to use to my advantage as I was dragged backwards.

  Whoever had me got the door to the cab open despite me kicking him anyplace I could manage. As he lifted me in, I tried to hook my boot around anything sticking out of the door. If I could delay them long enough, someone had to walk by, or Constable Triply would come by on his beat, or...

  And then it was too late. I was sitting on the floor of the cab, and the door was closed, and we were already moving. I pulled myself upright and tried the door. If I could jump out before Marylebone, I wouldn’t be in too much danger of being run over. But even the traffic of Marylebone was preferable to wherever we were going. Red velvet seats, I noticed, as I lunged for the door, with a ripped patch behind the driver.

  The door was locked. Or it had at least been latched in some way that kept me from opening it. I realized the windows were covered from the outside, so no luck there. I pulled up my skirts to get to my shoe laces intending to take off a shoe and try breaking a window with it when I felt the whole cab sway then jerk to a stop, knocking me back on the floor. There was a scrambly sound on the roof that ended with a loud thump. Then the cab shook, but now it was the normal feeling of someone climbing down from the box. I righted my skirt and pulled out a hatpin. I wasn’t going to be taken by surprise this time.

  There was a sound of metal on metal and then the door swung open. “I would prefer you didn’t use that on me, Miss Pengear.”

  “Inspector Wainwright?” I put the hatpin back in my hat and climbed out of the cab. “Why are you here?”

  Constable Triply was holding the horses, and Constable Edwards was keeping an eye on the people in the box. I realized that, when Miss Eaton thought she’d gotten rid of him, he’d simply taken to following her surreptitiously. The man who'd grabbed me was lying across the roof of the cab, knocked out I assumed; the woman was cuffed to the side of the box.

  I tried to see their faces, but they were pressed against the roof of the cab. “Miss Eaton and her fiancé, I presume.”

  Inspector Wainwright followed my gaze. “That’s correct.”

  “You didn’t mention why you were here. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

  He sighed. “Inspector Burrows was getting some files from his office and saw your notes. He contacted me at home.”

  “And you were so excited about my evidence that you rushed down here to get it.”

  He snorted.

  “Do you have some kind of a hearing on the Lady Suffolk complaint tomorrow?”

  He glared. “I have a meeting with the Superintendent and the Chief Constable in the morning.”

  So people who could make his life very difficult. “Well, here’s what I have.” I took the envelope out of my hat and handed it over. “I got the paper from Miss Eaton’s flat when I was paying a sympathy call. I needed to write down some addresses.”

  Inspector Wainwright rolled his eyes but opened the envelope and took out the pages. “The address of a pub you’d already visited?”

  “My memory isn’t what it used to be.”

  “I can see that; you wrote it down twice.”

  Drat. I should have written Miss Crawford’s address on one sheet.

  Inspector Wainwright turned the page over. “And you just decided to cover the entire sheet with pencil.”

  “I should have warned you; it’ll get all over your hands and everything else. I saw there was writing, and I’m nosy.”

  “That is the first thing you’ve said today that I believe completely.”

  I chose to ignore him for the good of the case. “The one sheet connects her to Mr. Morris. The other seems to suggest, well, I’ll see if you see what I did. Were they using chloroform on me?”

  “They were. Apparently it didn’t work well.”

  “I suspected it so I tried not to breathe.”

  “I see. Well, you probably want to rest after your ordeal.”

  I correctly interpreted that as “Go away,” although I was starting to feel shaky now that I was free.

  “I will need to see you tomorrow to take your statement. Constable Edwards, will you help me get these prisoners locked in the cab so I can take them in?”

  Constable Triply handed the reins up to Constable Edwards. “If you don’t need me, Inspector, I’ll see the lady home.”

  Inspector Wainwright just nodded. I would have thought he’d be enthusiastic about having someone see that I actually left the scene.

  “Come along, Miss Pengear. I’m sure Mrs. Albright can be persuaded to fix you a cup of tea.”

  As I let Constable Triply take my arm, I turned to Inspector Wainwright, “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Good afternoon.”

  Constable Edwards smiled at me, and Inspector Wainwright ignored me, as I turned back down Paddington Street and headed for home.

  Chapter 22

  I SLEPT TERRIBLY, DREAMING about red velvet–lined cabs and chloroform, so I was up early and ready to go to Scotland Yard before the first of the office workers were stirring. When I got there, my name had been left at reception, so I was sent right up to the inspectors’ floor. I saw Inspector Wainwright in the hallway as I got out of the lift, and for a moment I thought he’d come to meet me, but he shoved right past me and disappeared into his office. I was used to him not wanting me around, but that seemed to be a new low in our relationship, particularly since he had actually asked me to come down and give my statement. I started to follow, when Constable Kittering brushed past me looking almost as upset as Inspector Wainwright. I knew I had a better chance of getting answers out of him, especially when he turned around and apologized.

  “What’s going on around here?”

  “Inspector Wainwright’s upset because they’re going to make a deal with Miss Eaton.”

  “I didn’t know he was bloodthirsty enough to be upset if she wasn’t hanged.”

  “That’s not what’s upsetting him; it’s the cover-up.”

  “Cover-up?”

  Constable Kittering looked around us then pulled me into a broom closet and shut the door. He was gentlemanly enough to back as far as he could from me, ending up with one foot in a bucket and a mop dangling over his head. “The blackmail. Lady Suffolk has bribed or bullied them into keeping the blackmail a secret.”

  “And it would come out in a trial since the fact that the Heart of Night was glass would come out.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So what was the blackmail about?”

  Constable Kittering rubbed the back of his neck, banging his elbow on the shelf of cleaners.

  “You know you can trust me to keep a secret.”

  “Even from the others at Kleinman?”

  “I’m done there. I just have to get my last pay packet.”

  Constable Kittering was cracking; I could see it in his eyes. Why else would he have started telling me? “You know I’ll just pester you and Constable Edwards until one of you tells me. Unless I pester Inspector Wainwright. It will put him in an even worse mood, but I won’t have to deal with him for long.”

  The threat of an even more irritated Inspector Wainwright worked. Constable Kittering leaned in and whispered, “Lady Suffolk isn’t Lady Suffolk. The marriage wasn’t legal. That’s what’s she’s keeping in the safe at her old flat in Bath, the papers that prove it.”

  “You mean she had another husband when she married Lord Suffolk? But why keep the papers?”

  “Not her, him. Lord Suffolk. He’s got a wife locked up in his estate in Wales. Mad as a hatter, she says.”

  “But why kee
p the proof of an illegal marriage either way?”

  “So she can blackmail him. He married her when she was young and pretty. She kept it for insurance that he wouldn’t trade up to a younger model.”

  “And as her lady’s maid, Miss Eaton found out about it.”

  “Exactly.”

  My mind kept turning the new information over. “But why now?”

  “Near as we can figure from her bank ledger, she was running out of money from the bracelet. She saw Lady Suffolk as an opportunity for a steady source of income. She was planning on leaving the country with Mr. Broome.”

  “What was the key for?”

  “A safe in a flat in Bath. Lady Suffolk lived there before she was married and kept it in case she needed it. It wound up being the perfect place to hide the evidence. She’s been paying her sister to live there and keep watch over it. And now she’s using her husband’s influence to see that the facts don’t come out.”

  “I can see why Inspector Wainwright would be irritated. But they are getting charged with the murder and kidnapping Miss Crawford?”

  “Oh yes, the letter was enough for that. Showed he was there, and she was there, and they had chloroform and everything. It’s just being said they were robbing the store and letting everyone assume the target was the jewelry.”

  “Thanks for telling me.”

  “I didn’t want you bothering the inspector when he’s in one of his moods. I’ll let you slip out first then follow in a few minutes.”

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Inspector Wainwright left me waiting in his office for almost twenty minutes, but he’d also left the case file there, so I had something interesting to read. I didn’t think he’d have forgotten something so important, so I took it as his way of saying thank you for my help. Scotland Yard had done a better job of reading the papers I'd taken than I had. They had managed to piece together three letters, including what appeared to be the original blackmail note that had scared Lady Suffolk into bringing the Heart of Night to London in the first place. That, along with newspaper clippings from the society pages that probably told someone who knew her as well as Miss Eaton did when Lady Suffolk planned to be in town, seemed to prove the blackmail case even if it wouldn't be allowed to move forward. The contents of the letters had been enough to scare Miss Eaton into confessing, pointing to Mr. Broome as the killer to keep Mr. Morris from sharing in the blackmail money. Unfortunately for her, she tried too hard to prove it was him and incriminated herself in the process. There was no mention of the key, the fake Heart of Night, or blackmail.