Mrs. Brook came in and began to set the table, full of apologies. She hadn't expected either of them to appear for breakfast. As she went out she beckoned to Faro from behind Vince's chair, a finger to her lips.
Faro made an excuse and followed her down to the kitchen, where he found her spreading a piece of crumpled paper on the table. "When I was putting Doctor Vince's clothes to the wash—all muddied and filthy they were, I don't know how I'll get them clean again—I found this. I thought you should maybe see it, before I gave it to the doctor, in his state."
One glance at the note's ill-formed letters sent Faro up to his study for the anonymous note directing him to seek Clara Burnleigh's whereabouts from Mrs. Wishart. Then he showed Mrs. Brook's find to Vince, who read, "'Let Lily Goldie rest in peace or Mrs. Aird will be next.'" He threw it down on the table. "You see? I'm telling you, take care. This isn't just your usual petty criminal working off his spite, Stepfather. Black Tam means your death."
"I doubt whether this dire threat was penned by Black Tam's hand. Nor was it written by 'One who seeks Justice'."
"I can see that. Different slant to the writing, besides the paper and ink aren't the same." Vince frowned. "But if Black Tam didn't put it in my pocket ..."
"I didn't say he didn't plant it, lad, merely that he didn't write it. I'd be very surprised if he can read or write, or, even if he could, I doubt if he could spell."
"Then who?"
"That we have still to find out."
Vince took the note and studied it. "You think he was paid by someone?"
"Well, there's one thing for sure. If we discover the identity of whoever wrote this, I think he's going to lead us directly to whoever murdered Lily Goldie."
After he had eaten, Faro took the omnibus to the Central Office. He found Constable Danny McQuinn boldly sitting behind his desk, nonchalantly sorting through papers. One look at Faro's thunderous expression and McQuinn stood up, straightened his tunic, saluted smartly and said, "I see you've been home, sir. I've been waiting most anxiously to see you. It was a pity that you weren't at home when it happened."
The implied reproof intensified Faro's own sense of guilt that while his stepson had been in mortal danger he was gallivanting about Fife, bear-leader to a crowd of irresponsible young Thespians.
He controlled his anger with difficulty. "Perhaps you would be so good as to give me a complete report of all that happened."
McQuinn pointed to a paper on his desk. "It is all here, ready for you, sir."
"I would like to hear it in your own words, McQuinn. Everything that happened."
"I was on my normal duty-patrol in the area when I heard a man calling for help. I blew my whistle and rushed to the rescue. I used my truncheon to some effect and kept on whistling. That seemed to scare them off. At first I thought the young man on the ground was dead. He was hardly breathing and I could see in the dim light that he was in a bad way. I adopted the usual procedure of going through his pockets for identification. There was none. The light was very poor and it wasn't until I wiped some of the mud and blood from his face, which was swelling by then, that I recognised your stepson, sir."
"There was no note in his pocket when you searched for identification?"
McQuinn shook his head. "Nothing, sir. Nothing at all. The contents had been removed by his assailants. May I continue, sir?
"Police Constables McDonald and Scott arrived on the scene and I sent them off in pursuit of the attackers, while I carried the injured man across my shoulders to his home at Number nine Sheridan Place, where I woke up your housekeeper, Mrs. Brook, who then proceeded to clean him up and dress his wounds."
"And what did you do then?"
"I asked her for a pen and paper to make out a statement for Doctor Laurie to sign once he was fully conscious—for use as future evidence when the attackers were apprehended. I had a cup of tea from Mrs. Brook while I waited. Doctor Laurie had come round by then and was able to give his account of the attack—signed—here. I left immediately and returned to the Central Office, where I also found Constables McDonald and Scott, who informed me that their pursuit had been unsuccessful and the robbers had vanished in the area of the Sciennes district known as the Warrens, a great place for criminals to go to earth."
"Have you any clues to their identity?"
"Oh yes, sir. Doctor Laurie's description fitted Black Tam and his lads. As you will remember, sir," he added proudly, "it was Caller Jamie, his nephew, that we apprehended and put behind bars last week."
Faro picked up Vince's statement and read it twice over, with a sense of incompleteness. There was something else about that pathetic document staring him in the face, and he just wasn't seeing it.
Across the desk was McQuinn's blandly handsome face with its suspicion of a supercilious smile. Typical of him to turn in a statement, correct in every detail, just as Vince had told him, omitting any mention of Big Tam's warning.
When he returned to Sheridan Place, Mrs. Brook met him in the hall. To his question regarding Vince, she said, "He is ever so much better now, sir. Been in his room all day, sleeping like a baby, but he managed a bowl of porridge. A wee touch of yon powder works wonders. I hear that even Her Majesty approves of laudanum and has a supply of it when she stays up at Balmoral." Mrs. Brook's awed whisper implied a guarantee of unquestionable respectability.
"Have there been any visitors?"
"Yes, Inspector. Mrs. Aird called in before going to the theatre. She left a message that she would return later in the hope of seeing you." At that moment the sound of the front doorbell jangled through the hall.
"That'll be her now, sir. Shall I send her up?"
"If you please."
He heard her light step on the stairs and she ran into the room and, rushing over to him, threw her arms about his neck. She was trembling. "Jeremy, my dear, I am so relieved to see you. What a day I have put in. Something rather awful happened when I got back to Mrs. Penny's. This!" From her reticule she took out an envelope addressed "Mrs. Aird". "It was waiting for me. Read it."
In the same ill-formed letters, on identical paper to the note Vince had received, was the warning, "Let Lily Goldie rest in peace and go back where you belong if you want to stay alive."
"Jeremy, I'm afraid. I don't know any Lily Goldie. What are they talking about?"
"Lily Goldie is the girl from the convent—"
"You mean—you mean the one who—who was murdered?" He saw now how afraid she was, as her voice rose shrilly. "Oh my God, how dreadful. But what has that to do with me?"
He put his arm around her trembling shoulders. "Not a thing, my dear. It just happens that I'm carrying on a private investigation—on behalf of relatives ..."
"Wait a moment—of course, that was why you were going to Fairmilehead—when you took me with you."
"Yes."
She looked at him wild-eyed. "But that had nothing to do with me. I wasn't helping you—I hardly knew you—"
"My dear, please be calm."
"Calm!"
"I'll explain everything, but tell me first, when did you receive this?"
"Mrs. Penny said it must have been handed in some time when I was out on Sunday. See—there's no postage stamp."
"Doesn't Mrs. Penny remember who. . . ?"
Alison shook her head. "The usual thing is for the postman or anyone leaving messages to put them on the table in the lobby. The front door is never locked, so it might have been delivered any time."
"When did you last receive any mail?"
She frowned. "I occasionally receive letters from admirers—you know, the kind actresses get—and that is all. We all pick up our letters from the lobby table as we come in. Jeremy, what does it mean? Who would write such a beastly note?"
"Tell me about the other boarders."
"Only the girls from the theatre, Beth, Marie, Julia—oh yes, and Hugo. He moved in last week, some trouble with his landlady's family arriving, and Mrs. Penny agreed to put him in the attic, temp
orarily."
She looked at Faro earnestly. "You can't possibly think—I mean, its unimaginable—the girls are a terrible tease, but they mean no harm. And none of these dear young people are capable of playing such cruel and frightening practical jokes."
"I'm afraid this is no practical joke."
"You mean—it is serious, someone is threatening me, just because I happened—quite innocently—to go with you to Fairmilehead? But that is monstrous, monstrous—it's so unfair—oh, dear God ..." Alison sat down, her face pale. "What will they do to me?"
"Nothing. I shall look after you. I mean it." Faro poured out a cup of tea. "Here you are. Go on, drink it. Do as I tell you." He drew up a chair opposite, and, scrutinising the letter lying between them on the table, said, "Vince received a similar threat. By the same hand, I'd say, and in almost the same words."
"When was this?"
"Mrs. Brook discovered it when she was attending to his clothes. It had been thrust into his coat pocket."
"I still don't understand."
"I think I'm beginning to—it fits a definite pattern, although I wouldn't have expected it quite so soon."
"Pattern? What pattern are you talking about?"
"Someone is getting very anxious about our interest in Lily Goldie's murder."
Alison frowned. "I don't understand. Wasn't a man hanged—dreadful case, he murdered someone else, didn't he?" She shook her head, trying to remember.
"His wife. However, we have uncovered evidence which leads us to believe that in fact the man who was hanged—Hymes—was innocent of Lily Goldie's murder."
Alison stared at him. "Are you saying that there is another murderer still on the loose?"
"I'm afraid so, and he realises—somehow—that we are catching up with him. That is why he is getting desperate, trying to scare us with threats. Have no doubt, my dear, that whoever wrote these two notes is our man. And I mean to get him, and he knows that. Now, I will see you safe back to your lodging and take the opportunity of making a few enquiries."
"No, please, Jeremy, I don't want Mrs. Penny involved and the girls frightened—a murderer on the loose! And Mrs. Penny has been so good to me, and now I've brought this terror to her door. I beg you—please don't ..."
"I'm sorry, I have to do it, my dear. I have to follow up the attack on my stepson and every shred of evidence."
Hearing them coming downstairs, Vince emerged from his bedroom. Apart from the angry-looking bruises his appearance was considerably better than Faro had expected.
Alison ran to him with a little cry and put her arms around him. Again this display of maternal concern and affection moved Faro deeply. Vince liked her. She would have made a splendid stepmother,
"May I show him the letter?" she said.
Vince read it and whistled. "You too? That's jolly interesting. Handed in to Mrs. Penny's, you say? Well, Stepfather, where do we go from here?"
"'We' don't go anywhere, lad. I think it would be better if I worked alone from now on and didn't involve either you or Mrs. Aird."
Vince sighed. "If you must, but I do enjoy playing detective—and I have some ideas of my own I would like to put to the test."
"You take care," said Faro sternly. "I don't want any repetitions of last night's misadventure." And to Alison, "Let us go now. Rest assured I shall be very tactful with Mrs. Penny. You may rely on me not to make it sound like a police investigation."
Vince waved to them from the window, and Alison blew him a kiss. Closing the gate, she sighed, "Such a dear boy. Tell me, why doesn't he just call you Father? Or Jeremy, for that matter?"
"Never Jeremy. He wouldn't consider that quite proper."
"But you are such friends."
"That has not always been so. When I first knew him, as a little boy, it was Mr. Faro. But from the day his mother and I married, he called me Stepfather. And I must confess I rather like the title, seeing that it is perfectly accurate and it makes it somehow special."
They found Mrs. Penny in the garden attending to the roses. She greeted them both effusively and when Mrs. Aird went indoors was quite disposed to linger and chat with Inspector Faro, waxing voluble in response to his warnings about a spate of petty thievings from unguarded kitchens in the area, and the necessity of locking the door at night, at least until the criminals were apprehended.
"I've already been warned, Inspector. Constable McQuinn was saying the same things when I found him in my kitchen on Sunday." She smiled slyly. "Mind you, I thought it was maybe a wee bit of an excuse—I think Bessie, the pretty little maid I've engaged to help me with the washing, is the reason for his particular interest in these premises."
"What other callers have you had recently?"
"Apart from Doctor Laurie—he was worried about you all missing the ferry ..." She hesitated, her smile inviting explanation.
"I mean strangers, Mrs. Penny, during the last few days."
"Oh well, let me see now. On Saturday, there were two wee lads selling firewood, an old beggarman, the minister. And on Sunday, if you please, Inspector, a gypsy woman, selling clothes pegs and telling fortunes. Well, I sent her packing, such wickedness on the Lord's day. I didn't like the look of her." She frowned. "She was filthy. Inspector. In fact, I wondered if she could be a woman, she had this long stringy black hair and I thought her hands and feet were rather big and her voice a wee bit on the deep side."
"You thought she might be a man, eh?" said Faro, thinking here was a stroke of luck.
Mrs. Penny nodded vigorously. "I did indeed. She came just as we were leaving for church, too. What a cheek ..."
Faro escaped with difficulty and made his way to the Central Office.
"Is there anything on Black Tam yet?" he asked McQuinn, eyeing with disapproval the pipe that the young constable was smoking, since this was a privilege only allowed to senior officers and detectives.
"Nothing yet, Inspector. But do give us time—it's early days, as you know from your own experience."
Faro shrugged irritably. McQuinn never missed an opportunity of reminding him that once upon a time he too had been a humble policeman doing duty-patrol in the streets of Edinburgh.
"What about routine enquiries in the area?"
McQuinn produced a long list and Faro felt, instead of gratification, annoyance that his efficiency could not be faulted.
"What about Mrs. Penny at Marchmont Cottage?"
"Mrs. Penny? There was no reason to enquire at her house. The attack wasn't in her vicinity."
"And yet you went there on Sunday."
McQuinn blushed. "Oh, that! Nothing to do with official enquiries, Inspector. I was merely paying court to the pretty little lass in the kitchen. And when Mrs. Penny caught us, I felt obliged to make an excuse for my presence," he added with a smirk that infuriated Faro.
"Indeed, Constable. You might endeavour in future to keep your private life separate from your police duties. It would be a great help. In connection with the attack on my stepson, you might keep a lookout for a tall gypsy woman with uncommon large feet and hands and a begrimed appearance."
"You think it might be Black Tam in disguise?"
"Never mind what I think, Constable, and I will be obliged if you will keep your eyes open when you are on duty, less in the region of kitchen-maids and more in the region of possible suspects."
In the days that followed., there were no more threatening notes or suspicious incidents. With the healthy flesh of youth, Vince's bruises and cuts healed and he had almost forgotten his attack in his excitement about Mrs. Penny's mysterious gypsy visitor.
"I'm absolutely certain that she—or more probably he—is responsible for leaving the note for Mrs. Aird. Find him, Stepfather, and we have the man we're looking for—Lily Goldie's murderer."
Faro was inclined to share his enthusiasm, especially as neither McQuinn nor any of the other constables alerted found a trace or a hint of the existence of the gypsy, who had apparently vanished into thin air since the visit to Marchmont C
ottage.
There was still the business of Vince's threatening note, which McQuinn swore was not in his pockets when he searched them in Gibbet Lane. That and the fact that McQuinn had also visited Mrs. Penny's that Sunday were matters that needed careful and tactful investigation, considering that he had also been "sweet" on Lily Goldie.
And why should Black Tam be concerned with the murdered girl? None of it made any sense.
Faro now had his own reasons for personal anxiety, which tended to make him less enthusiastic or vigilant about following clues to the identity of the second murderer. In a few days, the Trelawney Thespians—and Alison—would be gone from Edinburgh. At least she would be safe from any vengeful attacks. He had already made up his mind, despite her protests, not to let her go out of his life for ever. No one who had made such an impact on his senses could say goodbye and walk away.
Soon, too, he would be once more involved in domesticity, in his sorely neglected role of father to his two daughters. A letter lay on his desk from Orkney.
Dearest Papa,
We are looking forward to being all together again, with our dear brother Vince, in your new house in Edinburgh, as you promised. We hope you will like the enclosed which Granny says is a good likeness . . .
He looked at the smiling photograph and it made him acutely aware of time passing. How they had grown—soon they would be young ladies and he would have lost their childhood.
He groaned as he re-read the letter. ". . . as you promised" reproached him. He had forgotten, or rather pushed it to the back of his mind. However, unless the mystery of the threatening letters was solved and Lily Goldie's murderer apprehended and safe behind bars, he felt the presence of any other members of his family would be an added hazard.
Already he was wary of providing Vince with any additional information that might lead him recklessly to follow "clues" on his own with disastrous, and this time perhaps fatal, results.
Faro knew of only one way to resolve his difficulties, and that was to set a police trap. Vince listened gravely to his plan.
Enter Second Murderer (An Inspector Faro Mystery No.1) Page 15