by Evelyn James
Chang’s eyes glimmered with intrigue.
“What do you know about all that? What dangerous people?” he asked, testing Clara.
“The dragon, from what I understand, was originally stolen from the imperial palace. When it was sold to Mr Jacobs’ uncle two agents were sent to retrieve it. Neither succeeded, but I doubt that means the Japanese have simply forgotten about it,” Clara paused. “A lot of people saw that dragon on display in the British Museum. Including the Japanese ambassador. He recognised it for what it really was. Who is to say someone else did not do the same? Should word have reached Japan, more agents might be sent, or diplomatic efforts made to retrieve the dragon. All too invasive for the quality of privacy you value, Mr Chang.”
Chang was clearly delighted by Clara’s knowledge and her perceptiveness. She half expected him to clap her for a good performance.
“You have been busy. And yes the dragon is too much of a nuisance for me to wish to keep it. The question you have to really ask is whether I have already sold it on,” Chang watched her reaction, but Clara did not reveal anything. “I would hardly keep the thing on my person.”
“Even if you have sold it on, I imagine you can get it back,” Clara replied. “I think you are a cunning man.”
“Maybe,” Chang shrugged.
“I don’t much care who hired you to steal the dragon,” Clara persisted. “All I want is to find a way to restore it to Mr Jacobs. He will pay any reasonable figure for it.”
“Are you not concerned that the item was already stolen by the time it fell into Mr Jacobs’ hands?” Chang asked politely. “Is he the rightful owner?”
“I can’t answer that easily,” Clara admitted. “In fairness the dragon should be restored to Japan. It is an item of their heritage and one that was stolen. But that is not quite my decision to make, and a lot of years have passed since the crime occurred. Mr Jacobs is an innocent victim in all this, he is unaware of the artefact’s origins. I will, however, explain this all in full to him and allow him the chance to decide what the fate of the dragon should be.”
Chang was silent a moment, clearly considering all she had said.
“I might have already sent it on its way to Japan,” he pointed out.
“You mean, the person employing you had honourable motives?” Clara said. “Wanting to restore a piece of their country’s history?”
“Why not?” suggested Chang.
“That is possible,” Clara observed. “Whether they would go through such criminal channels to achieve such a noble goal is questionable. Well, is the dragon back in Japan already?”
Chang toyed with her, letting her wait for his reply. He was beginning to irritate Clara immensely.
“No,” he admitted at last. “The dragon is in a safe place. The person who commissioned its theft has yet to pay me for it. Their tardiness is beginning to irritate me.”
“So you would be open to another offer?”
Chang folded his fingers together, his eyes narrowed, the smile dimmed.
“How can I be sure you are not intending to cheat me? Perhaps send the police after me the instant I agree to sell you the dragon?”
“What would I achieve?” Clara responded. “I have no direct evidence you were behind the burglary, other than the fact you possess the dragon, which you could state you bought in good faith off someone else. The only reason I know it was you behind all this is because I have spoken with some very dubious individuals. Individuals who will avoid the police and will not make good witnesses against you, for a start, they value your good graces too much. I could go to the police and say Brilliant Chang stole the jade dragon, but what would I gain?”
“You are beginning to understand the way the world works,” Chang nodded. “You are not quite as naïve a little girl as I met last year.”
Clara rankled at this assessment, but she did not say anything. Let Chang play his games, one day she would succeed in running him to ground and it would be his own arrogance that cost him.
“Will you sell my client the dragon?” Clara demanded.
Chang mused for a little longer, then his broad smile returned.
“I will, Miss Fitzgerald. I shall write down a figure I am prepared to accept for it and you can take this to your client,” Chang took a piece of writing paper from his desk drawer and used a fine fountain pen to write something on it. He folded the paper and handed it to her. “Now, I must owe you an apology.”
“Apology?” Clara asked in surprise.
“When Albert Pear informed me that a woman detective was sniffing around the theft, I suspected you and imagined you were intending to turn me in to the police. I did not believe Pear that you had the sense to just bargain with me over the dragon,” Chang shrugged his shoulders. “I was wrong and I did something I regret.”
Clara frowned.
“What?”
“I sent a man to Brighton to frighten you. I sent him before I heard you wanted an appointment with me. I was not able to track him down and rescind my instructions. Clearly he has not yet arrived in Brighton and sought you out,” Chang paused. “I shall write an extra note that you can give him should he appear on your doorstep. It will tell him to leave you alone.”
Chang was writing again, but Clara had half risen from her chair, her mind whirring. Annie was all alone at home. If the man arrived today, while they were gone, she would have to face him.
“Does he know what I look like?” Clara asked fast.
“No,” Chang answered. “I just told him to frighten the lady private detective in Brighton. He needed no other information.”
Chang had written the paper and Clara snatched it from him. She glowered at him.
“If anything has happened to my friend back home…”
“You will do what Miss Fitzgerald?” Chang asked innocently.
They both knew there was not a lot she could do. Clara somehow managed to be polite as she concluded the meeting in haste. She had, after all, to think of Mr Jacobs too. But all she wanted right then was to race to the train station and get back to Brighton as swiftly as possible. She hurried out of the Emporium, trying to contain her anxiety for fear O’Harris or Tommy would do something rash (like attacking Chang) if she let them know the danger Annie was in. Instead she told them that she had what she needed and they ought to head home. No one argued. London was grey and bleak that day and no one wanted to stay.
They headed to the train station, Clara terrified that her activities had placed Annie in danger and desperate to get home as soon as possible.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The train journey seemed interminably long. Clara’s anxiety, increasing with each passing minute, finally attracted the attention of her companions and Tommy demanded to know what was wrong. He guessed that something had occurred during the meeting with Chang to cause Clara’s unease. With London rapidly falling behind them, and no opportunity for the men to do something rash, Clara explained what Chang had told her about the goon he had sent to Brighton. Tommy only took a second to realise that Annie could be at risk. Now they were all willing the train to move faster and Bob was promising that whoever this fellow was, he would make mincemeat of him for daring to come near his friends. The rest of the journey he kept making fists with his hands and cracking his knuckles.
Brighton train station was a delightful sight. Clara hopped off the train and ran into the stationmaster’s office to ask to use the telephone again. The stationmaster was still remembering the last time she had inconvenienced him, but the urgency on Clara’s face persuaded him to allow her to use his telephone. Unfortunately, the call home went unanswered and Clara’s anxiety was worsened by Annie’s failure to pick up the phone.
They hurried for home as quickly as they could. No one spoke. As the house came into sight Clara was looking for signs that anything was amiss. One of her neighbours popped out of their front door and for an instant Clara thought the woman was coming to see her, to explain how something awful had happened
while she was away. But the woman was only putting her empty milk bottles out. She looked up at Clara and gave her a wave, clearly mildly baffled by the haste with which Clara was running home. Because Clara was running now. Clara returned the wave and then jumped over her own doorstep and burst into the hallway.
“Annie? Annie?”
Annie appeared from the kitchen. She was drying her wet hands on a towel. She looked at Clara with concern.
“What has happened? You are out of breath,” she came to her friend and rested her hand on her shoulder. “Did something go wrong in London?”
“Oh Annie!” Clara flung her arms around the girl and hugged her. “Why didn’t you answer the telephone?”
“It rang while I was in the garden collecting the washing,” Annie explained. “By the time I had heard it and rushed in, it had stopped. What is the matter?”
By now Tommy, O’Harris and Bob were also bursting through the door in various states of breathlessness. Annie was looking at them in astonishment.
“It’s a long story,” Clara said.
“Well, I just made a pot of tea and my fruit cake should be cool by now. Perhaps you ought to all come through to the kitchen and take a seat. You can explain to me then,” Annie instructed firmly.
A short while later they were all restored to normality. Annie’s cake was helping them recuperate and, as Clara explained her anxiety, the whole affair seemed far less frightening to them all. Annie was amused by their concern.
“I am sure he would have realised I was only your servant,” she informed Clara when the tale was told. “I doubt he would have bothered me.”
“There is still the problem that this gentleman might come to call,” O’Harris remarked, looking worriedly at Clara.
Clara then explained Chang’s note. They all relaxed again.
“I wish you had told me sooner, then I would have given Chang a piece of my mind,” O’Harris grumbled.
“And that would not have helped me solve the dragon case,” Clara reminded him. “No, it was best we did nothing. You don’t gain anything by rash actions when it comes to Chang. He is too sly for that.”
“Well, I am going to get dinner on,” Annie rose from the table. “You’ll stay, won’t you Bob?”
“Yes, please,” Bob grinned at Annie, who was close to being his most favourite person. “What are you cooking?”
“Lamb cutlets with bubble and squeak. And there is an apple crumble to follow.”
With this information imparted, Annie went to her work.
Clara went upstairs and changed from her travelling clothes which seemed to have absorbed the smell of London smog and coal smoke from the train. She was beginning to feel quite like her usual self by the time she walked back down. She had just reached the hallway when the doorbell rang. Clara answered it.
“Clara!”
On her doorstep was Sarah Butler. Her red hair was flying wildly about her head and her face was crimson from crying. Clara was shocked by her appearance and quickly brought her into the house. Shuffling her through to the currently empty dining room, she shut the door and made Sarah sit in a chair.
“What has happened?” she asked in alarm.
Sarah was shivering from delayed shock. She had clearly been through quite an ordeal.
“It has been a bloody awful day!” she declared to Clara. “First, Mr Butterworth called at my office and yelled at me for helping his wife.”
Sarah Butler pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and blew her nose into it.
“He was so angry that I had revealed where he lived to his wife and that she had gone to see him.”
Clara could imagine, having witnessed the man’s ire herself. But Mr Butterworth was all hot air, she could not see how his bluster had reduced Sarah to such a state.
“What else?” Clara asked carefully.
“After I finally got rid of Mr Butterworth, another man called on me. He was horrible looking, mean and tall, with this scar across his face and beady eyes. He had a knife!” Sarah gasped at the memory. “He stormed in and asked if I was a private detective. I said I was and he proceeded to threaten me. Told me I was to back off from my case, because if I didn’t horrible things would happen to me. He waved the knife about and said I was in over my head and I ought to stop at once or there was no telling how it would all end.
“I don’t know how I kept calm as he spoke, because my heart was pounding and I was utterly terrified. Then he finished his speech, pointed the knife at me and with one last look left. As soon as I heard the door slam shut I burst into tears. I just couldn’t believe Mr Butterworth would stoop to such things!”
“It was not Mr Butterworth,” Clara explained, because she had guessed exactly who had gone to see the unfortunate Sarah Butler. “I’m afraid this is my fault. The current case I am involved in concerns a rather unpleasant criminal. I saw him today and he revealed that he had sent a man to frighten me off the case. He was unable to contact the man and rescind his order. I have been awaiting this thug myself, but obviously he mixed up his detectives.”
“This was all your fault!” Sarah accused Clara. “This horrible day is all because of you!”
“I hardly sent him to your office on purpose,” Clara countered, disliking the tone Sarah took with her. “Nor is it my fault your advertisement looked so similar to mine, causing confusion to such a person. The man who sent this thug is utterly unaware there is now a second detective in Brighton and had not bothered to inform his goon of my name. I am sorry this happened to you, but it is not really my fault.”
Sarah started to argue, but thought better of it. She was after sympathy, not more heated words. She put the handkerchief to her face and breathed into it, for a moment finding peace in that pocket of nothingness.
“Would you like a stiff drink?” there was a drinks cabinet in the dining room and Clara mixed a gin and tonic for her guest without waiting for an answer. She stood it before Sarah. “These sorts of things happen in this line of work. I have been threatened a few times.”
Sarah looked up at her sharply.
“Really?”
“Oh yes. I had a man break into the house and try to hurt me. I cracked him over the head with a poker in this very room. People don’t like private detectives snooping about. You tend to make enemies.”
Sarah Butler looked very glum.
“I had not expected that,” she said. “I thought people would be glad of the help.”
“People are,” Clara assured her. “The ones you help, that is. But often there is a second party in these affairs and they generally don’t appreciate your interference. Take your case, for instance, no doubt Mrs Butterworth is delighted with you, but Mr Butterworth has suffered as a result of your detection and is not so happy. With every case there will be such a person.”
“And do they all come to yell at you?” Sarah asked, earnestly.
“Not all,” Clara reassured her. “Just some. You develop a thick skin.”
Sarah seemed unconvinced. She sipped at her gin and tonic, but was clearly not used to spirits and grimaced at the taste.
“I don’t think I can do this,” she said.
“I can get you another drink,” Clara offered.
“No, not the drink. I mean… being a detective,” Sarah stared across the room, looking at nothing in particular. “I thought it was just about solving puzzles and I like puzzles. I didn’t think about the people involved. I thought I would stand aside from all that. I would just present my evidence, solve a mystery and step away. Instead there is all this complication. I was upset enough when Mr Butterworth shouted at me. His anger shocked me. I realised how difficult I had made life for him and I could not honestly say that he deserved it. He didn’t seem to deserve it at all. I felt so awful.”
“It is a complicated business,” Clara agreed, sitting on the edge of the dining table. “People very rarely appreciate what you are doing, aside from your client. And even then, if you don’t get the answers they hope
d for, they can become nasty. I suppose I am just used to it.”
“It doesn’t worry you what people think of you, does it?” Sarah asked.
Clara thought about the question for a moment.
“Not really, at least, not most people.”
“That is how we are different,” Sarah sighed. “I care a great deal what people think of me. I don’t like people taking against me or being angry with me. I have really made a fool of myself, haven’t I?”
“No,” Clara told her promptly. “You tried something new. That was a brave move. Just because it didn’t quite go as you planned does not take away from the fact you tried. We can’t always succeed at what we do.”
“I never seem to succeed,” Sarah said miserably. “Now I have nothing, yet again.”
“You are going to stop being a private detective?” Clara asked tentatively, not wanting to show the delight this would give her. Having two detectives in Brighton was just too complicated and having the backlash from Sarah’s cases fall on her was just as bad as thinking the consequences of her actions might fall back on Sarah.
“I… maybe…” Sarah tried a little more of the drink, but it was too strong for her and she pushed it away. “I don’t know what else I can do though. I have to work, but what work is there for a girl like me?”
“You are an honest, hardworking person,” Clara said. “That counts for a lot, and you have a good moral compass. Unfortunately, private detection can be a murky business. Sometimes our moral compasses have to falter. There is something else out there for you.”
“I’ll have to think about it,” Sarah rubbed at her forehead. “I… I have to finish the Butterworth case first. Mrs Butterworth is at least happy with what I have done.”
Sarah became forlorn again.
“I don’t know who was right in that case,” she said after a moment. “Mr Butterworth took the cat, but I am not sure if he didn’t have some claim over it. And, in any case, all he wanted was to move on and be free. I know what it is like to feel trapped and just to want to break away. I lie awake at night and wonder if I have done the right thing.”