by C. J. Archer
I came around the counter and inspected the shelf. I moved the ledgers aside and searched for anything else behind them. Nothing. "It must have been placed here in the last few days, since the murder. Think about the people you've seen in your shop, Mr. Hendry. People who didn't buy anything. Perhaps they acted oddly or were nervous."
He frowned at the shelf. "Wait. There was someone." He wagged a finger at me. "You're right, Miss Steele, someone did come on Friday. I didn't realize anyone was in here until I came out quite by chance. He did not ring the bell or call out, as most customers do. I saw him as he was about to leave. I asked if he required anything and he simply shook his head and left. That in itself is a little strange, but something else just occurred to me. He glanced at that shelf, right at the spot where I found the gun."
"Describe him," Matt said.
"Respectably dressed in a good suit. Slim build with a longish nose." His brow creased in thought. "No beard but his moustache was well oiled. Oh, and I saw a pince-nez poking out of his pocket."
"Abercrombie!" I cried.
"Who?" Mr. Hendry asked.
"Mr. Abercrombie, the master of the Watchmaker's Guild."
"Why would he have a gun?" Mr. Hendry looked at the shelf. "And why did he hide it here?"
I looked to Matt but his face was unreadable. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Hendry," he said.
"Will you still take the gun to Scotland Yard?" Mr. Hendry asked.
"I have to. You can expect a visit from Detective Inspector Brockwell if the gun is the same type of weapon that was used in the murder."
"He won't learn anything more than I've already told you."
We left and directed the driver to Abercrombie's Fine Watches and Clocks shop on Oxford Street. He would most likely be there on a Monday morning rather than at the guild hall, and he certainly wouldn't be home. According to gossip, between the two Mrs. Abercrombies—his wife and mother—his house was no sanctuary.
"You have a determined look in your eye," I said to Matt.
"I don't like unfinished business. I want to resolve this before we leave."
I wasn't sure that five days was long enough to find the murderer and visit friends I wanted to see before leaving, not to mention pack and complete all the other tasks that needed to be done before going away. I'd never been away before, not even on holiday. Shopkeepers couldn't afford time off.
The buildings we passed changed from the small Smithfield shops with their displays crammed into narrow windows, to the grander premises of Soho that fitted more wares into big bay windows. I knew every watchmaker we passed, every street and lane. I had fond memories strolling through Hyde Park as a child with my mother. Matt had bought me sweets from that confectioner, and we'd run together down that lane to get away from a mob. My mother had bought warm buns from this baker; a ribbon for my birthday from that haberdasher. My parents were buried in this city. My grandfather still lived here. I must say goodbye to him.
But how could I say goodbye to my city? My home?
I wasn't like Matt. He was used to roaming across Europe, moving house every few years and learning a new language, new ways. He'd even found his feet and thrived in America, a country so alien to what he was used to in his childhood. And in England, he was every bit the gentleman of means. He was able to cut through cultural differences with humor and charm.
I wasn't like that. I had roots here, and those roots wrapped around the very foundations of the city. It was going to hurt like the devil to sever them.
Mr. Abercrombie spotted us the moment we entered his shop. He liked to walk around the floor, greeting customers in person and watching his staff to see that they said the right thing and did not try to steal his wares.
"Get out," he hissed. "You're not welcome here."
"What will you do?" Matt asked. "Throw us out? Call the constables? You do remember how well that went for you last time, don't you?"
Abercrombie's nostrils flared. "State your business and leave."
"Have you visited Mr. Hendry recently?" Matt asked.
"Who?"
"Don't pretend you don't know who I mean. Hendry, the paper magician. Have you visited him?"
Abercrombie glanced around then directed us to follow him to an adjoining workshop. He turned to the two men wearing leather aprons and ordered them to leave.
They exited through a back door to the laneway without closing the housings of the clocks on which they were working. I sat at the bench and peered at the innards of the domed skeleton clock. Some of its parts were laid out on the bench while others had been put back, albeit incorrectly.
"Don't mention the word magic near my customers," Abercrombie said to Matt.
"Have you visited the paper maker known as Hendry?" Matt asked again.
"No. Why would I? I don't even know who he is."
"Stop lying."
Abercrombie took a step back, away from Matt. He swallowed. "I…I do know who he is, but I haven't been to his shop."
Matt took a step forward. "Another lie."
Abercrombie backed away. "All right, I have been there, but not recently. That's the truth, Mr. Glass. Now, if you don't mind, I have work to do." He glanced at me as I rearranged the parts already in the clock. "What are you doing?"
"A favor," I said, picking up a spring from the bench. "Not that you deserve it. I'm fixing this clock for you, free of charge. Let me guess, it's been a problem piece? Your employee hasn't been able to fix it?"
He stared at me, his mouth opening and closing.
"The words you're looking for are thank you," Matt said.
I flashed a smile at Mr. Abercrombie. "You're welcome. Now, I've done you a favor, so please do us one and answer Matt's questions."
"I did! I have!" Abercrombie swallowed heavily. "I have not been to Hendry's shop in at least a week. I have no reason to go there. The man's a traitor to his profession, and he’s proven to be a terrible friend to those who trusted him."
"Do stop making offensive accusations," I said. "Or I'll do something to this clock so that you'll never be able to fix it."
He snatched the clock and hugged it to his chest. "Why do you want to know about Hendry? Is this to do with Mr. Baggley's murder?" He gasped. "Is Hendry the murderer?"
"According to Hendry, you were there mere days ago," Matt said.
"That's a lie!"
Matt opened his jacket just enough for Abercrombie to see the gun.
Abercrombie slid to the side along the bench's edge, as far as he could go to get away from Matt. "D—don't shoot."
"It's not loaded," Matt said.
"For goodness sake, we're not here to shoot you," I told him. "This gun was found in Mr. Hendry's shop."
"So?" Abercrombie shrugged. "What has that got to do with me?"
"It was not there before you visited him, but it was there afterward."
"That's a lie!"
"He saw you on the wrong side of the counter," Matt added.
"Another lie! You can't believe someone like him!"
"Because he's a magician?" I asked idly.
His Adam's apple bobbed with his loud swallow. "Go. Get out, and take that weapon with you."
We did leave but did not climb into our waiting carriage. Matt leaned against it and stared through the shop window at Abercrombie as he greeted another customer. Abercrombie caught him watching and hurried out of view.
"We need to find out if he went to Hendry's on Friday," Matt said.
"He should have been here most of the day." I had an idea and indicated Matt should follow me.
He smirked. "Where are you taking me?"
"To the lane behind the shop."
He sighed theatrically. "I don't particularly want to be ravished in a lane outside Abercrombie's shop."
"I'll be gentle with you." I grabbed his hand and dragged him along.
We entered the lane but he grasped me by the waist before we got too far. He kissed me lightly on the lips. "Glad to see you still have your sense of humor, Indi
a. You looked unhappy on the way here."
"I could say the same about you."
"Not unhappy, only thoughtful. How could I be unhappy when I am mere days away from running away with you?" He kissed me again. It was passionate and fierce, desperate and hungry, and over far too quickly. "So what's your plan?"
"I am stooping to blackmail," I said, taking his hand again. "Watch and learn how an expert does it."
He laughed softly.
I opened the door leading from the lane to the workshop behind Abercrombie's shop. The two men sat at the bench. The younger one, a man about my age, stared at the clock he'd been working on, a deep frown in place. He placed the clock to his ear, frowned again, then shook it.
"Don't do that," I said, opening the door wide.
He almost dropped the clock. "Sir! Miss! You shouldn't be here. You'll find service through there." He pointed to the door leading to the shop.
"We're not here to buy anything," I said. "We're here for information. Do you work here on Fridays?"
"Yes."
The other repairer, an older man, put down the clock he'd been inspecting. "What's this about?"
I ignored him. "Was Mr. Abercrombie here all day on Friday?" I asked.
"Why?" both men said.
I turned to the older man. "Would you mind waiting outside in the lane for a moment?"
When he looked as if he would dig his heels in, Matt stepped forward and drew himself up to his full height. "Do as she asks, please. Otherwise…" He patted his jacket where the gun was tucked away inside.
Both men gulped. The older one dutifully let himself out without a glance back.
"What do you want from me?" the younger man squeaked.
I picked up the skeleton clock. "This is a lovely piece. Quite complicated, though. Did you find it difficult to fix?"
"I—I… That is…"
"I fixed it for you a few minutes ago."
He stared at the clock, ticking away to a comforting rhythm. "How?"
"That's not important," Matt said before I could answer. Was he worried I'd tell this man I was a magician?
"Now," I said, "unless you want me to inform Mr. Abercrombie that your work is sub-standard, I'd answer my friend's questions." I stepped back to allow Matt to take the stage.
"Did Abercrombie leave the shop last Friday?" he asked.
"I can't recall," the man said. "That's the truth! He might have left. He comes and goes. I don't always know when he's gone out, neither. He doesn't inform us of his movements."
Damnation. I thought I'd been so clever too by blackmailing him into answering.
"He did receive a visitor that day," he went on. "He came back here with a man and they talked."
"Can you describe the man?"
"I can do better than that. I can give you a name. Mr. Abercrombie called him Mr. Sweeney. He's been here quite a bit, lately. Mr. Abercrombie always sends me and Jack outside when they want to talk, so I don't know what they're saying."
We questioned him a little further but he couldn't tell us more. We thanked him and went to leave, but he called me back.
"You won't tell him about this, will you?" He indicated the clock. "Only I'm still learning the trade, and I make mistakes sometimes. Jack helps me fix 'em before Mr. Abercrombie finds out." He lifted his trouser leg to reveal a wooden leg and foot tucked into his shoe. "I used to be a blacksmith but had to give it up after the accident. Can't get this thing too close to the fire."
I groaned. I felt awful for putting him through the inquisition. "Don't worry. Your secret is safe."
Matt placed a hand at my lower back and steered me toward the door. We passed Jack and hurried along the lane to the carriage. Matt directed our driver to take us to Scotland Yard.
"It's time to hand the gun over," Matt said, settling on the seat.
"We didn't learn much," I said with a huff. "We don't know if Abercrombie put the gun in Hendry's shop. We don't even know if he visited Hendry that day. We only have Hendry's word for it."
"Why would he lie?"
Matt had a point, and I couldn't give him an answer. Hendry didn't even know Abercrombie, although his friend Sweeney certainly did.
"Do you think Sweeney and Abercrombie are plotting something?" I asked.
"Hard to say. They might merely be discussing the newspaper articles and how to counter the influence of The Weekly Gazette."
"Or they might be doing something more sinister." I tipped my head back against the wall and stared at the ceiling. Finding no inspiration there, I looked at Matt again. The view was infinitely more inspiring. "I can't quite see why they would want to kill Oscar. If Abercrombie was the murdering kind, he would have killed me, a direct threat to his business—or so he thinks. And the counter articles that Mr. Force is writing in The City Review are doing a serviceable job, for now. And Sweeney doesn't have any interests in businesses that are in direct competition with magical trades. His only objection to magic so far seems to be a moral one."
Matt grunted. "Righteous indignation has been the motive behind some of the worst crimes in history."
It was hard to argue with him on that score.
We caught Brockwell before he entered the new Scotland Yard building. He sent the constable accompanying him ahead and joined us for a walk along Victoria Embankment. It would have been a pleasant stroll on the river's edge if not for the subject matter of our discussion.
"I cannot give you any information about my investigation," Brockwell began. "This case doesn't involve you, and if you want my advice, you'll not assist Mr. Barratt to find who sent him those letters. I will get to it in due course, and your investigation may muddy the waters in the mean time."
"You're mistaken," Matt said, matching Brockwell's no-nonsense tone. "We've got some evidence for you." He pushed back his jacket to show Brockwell the gun.
"Mr. Glass!"
"It was found at Hendry's paper shop in Smithfield."
Brockwell put a hand out to stop Matt from walking on. Two ladies strolled by and Brockwell indicated we should move closer to the wall, out of the path of pedestrians. They exchanged the gun from Matt's jacket to Brockwell's, and both men leaned their elbows on the wall. They looked like two friends passing the time by watching the boats on the Thames.
"Tell me everything you know," Brockwell said.
Matt told him about Hendry, his paper magic, and the suspects who used his paper—or at least those we knew about. "We went to question him about an argument he was overheard having with Sweeney when he stumbled upon this gun, tucked away behind some ledgers on a shelf in his shop."
"Stumbled upon?" Brockwell prompted.
"He seemed as surprised as we were to see it."
"Is that your interpretation of Hendry's reaction, Miss Steele?"
"It is," I said. "The only person he could think of who might have been behind the counter and planted the gun there since the murder is Abercrombie."
Brockwell turned back to the river. "I see. And I assume you called on him too."
"Of course," Matt said.
Brockwell sighed. "Did you not consider, Mr. Glass, that you would be putting Miss Steele in danger by such an action?"
"If I thought that likely, I would not have taken her." Matt's icy tone sent a chill down my spine. Brockwell seemed unaffected.
"I wasn't in any danger in broad daylight in view of witnesses," I said.
Brockwell clasped his hands and dangled them over the wall. "What did you learn from Abercrombie?"
"Nothing of use," Matt said. "He denied visiting Hendry."
"Naturally."
Matt's jaw hardened. "We did discover that he has been in regular contact with Sweeney."
"Understandable. They're both guild masters. I'm sure they want to share information to combat Mr. Barratt's articles. I strongly advise you not to confront Mr. Sweeney about these meetings."
Matt leaned his elbows on the wall again. "You may advise all you want, Inspector."
; Brockwell steepled his fingers and drummed his fingertips together. "Leave this to the police, Mr. Glass. For Miss Steele's sake."
"We have no plans to confront him," I said quickly, taking up a position on Brockwell's other side.
He turned his back to Matt and faced me. "I'm pleased to hear it, Miss Steele. You're a sensible woman. Very sensible indeed." He smiled warmly.
I smiled back until I caught Matt scowling.
"Keep us abreast of your discoveries," Matt said. "I want to know whether that gun could have been used to kill Baggley."
Brockwell grunted a laugh. "I'm afraid I won't be doing that."
"I gave it to you on good faith," Matt ground out through clenched teeth. "The least you can do is keep me informed."
"The least I can do is find the killer. If I require any more information from you, rest assured you will hear from me."
Matt shook his head. "I don't believe this. After we helped you capture Payne. After all we did for you."
Brockwell shrugged an apology, which only seemed to rile Matt more. I scrambled to think of something to say to diffuse the situation, but I could think of nothing. I considered dragging Matt off instead. In the end, it was Brockwell who dragged me away, in a manner of speaking.
"Excuse us, Mr. Glass, I wish to steal Miss Steele for a moment." He chuckled at his pun.
Matt arched his brows, but Brockwell didn't notice. He took my arm and led me further along the wall, where Matt could not overhear. He stepped into my line of sight so that I couldn't even see Matt anymore.
"Mr. Glass is intent on finding the killer," Brockwell said.
"Is that such a bad thing, Inspector?"
"Not at all, if he were a policeman or if this murder case involved him in a personal way, as the case with Payne did. But…do you not worry that he is too driven?"
"What do you mean?"
He glanced over his shoulder. "He is exposing you to dangerous people. We already know that Mr. Abercrombie dislikes you because of your magic, so why would Mr. Glass take you along when he questioned him about the gun? You are, after all, only his assistant. Your presence wasn't necessary."
I stiffened. "Actually, I'm more of a partner. We solve the crimes together."
He didn't seem to hear me and rolled on like a boulder hurtling down a hill. "If you were Glass's paramour, I would understand it even less. I suppose that, because you are not, he doesn't see the harm he's exposing you to."