by Emily Organ
“Now you must sleep,” said Mrs Garnett. “Take yourself up to bed, Miss Green. Your cat will be back by the morning, I’m sure of it.”
“But that woman has taken her!”
“No one has taken Tiger. She’s out enjoying the summer night. Cats have no loyalty, you know, much as you like to think otherwise.”
“Tiger does,” I said sorrowfully.
Mrs Garnett shook her head and sucked her lip. “Only because you feed her. Now, no more arguments, Miss Green. Up to bed with you.”
Chapter 40
I endured a sleepless night and felt bereft when there was no sign of Tiger the following morning. I called at our neighbours’ homes to ask whether anyone had seen her, but no one had. Mrs Garnett assured me that she would keep a lookout while I was at work.
I arrived at the newsroom to find Frederick and Mr Sherman peering out of the narrow grimy window together.
“What is it?” I asked. “I’ve just been out in the street, but I saw nothing untoward.”
“Ah, Miss Green,” said Mr Sherman. “Good morning.”
We exchanged a glance. I felt there was a new understanding between us following our secret meeting.
“Has something occurred out there?” I asked.
“Not out there, no. But in here, perhaps.”
He stepped away from the window and I saw that the glass had been smashed.
“Oh dear! How did that happen?” I asked as Miss Welton entered the newsroom with a dustpan and brush.
“It seems that someone decided to hurl something at us,” said Mr Sherman.
My boots crunched on broken glass as I walked closer to the window.
“What?” I asked.
“This,” said Frederick, holding half a brick in his hand.
He was trying to pull away some string which was wrapped around it. Attached to the string was a piece of paper.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Nothing, just rubbish,” replied Frederick, tugging even harder at the string. “Miss Welton, do you have a pair of scissors?”
“I do, but I’m busy brushing up the glass at the present time,” replied the secretary, who was on her knees with the dustpan and brush.
My attention was still focused on the piece of paper attached to the brick. Someone had carried out a vindictive act, and had presumably attempted to justify it in the note.
“Can I see that piece of paper, please, Frederick?” I asked.
“There’s no need, Miss Green.” He pulled it off the string and crumpled it into a ball.
“Show me this instant!” I shouted.
Everyone in the room stopped and stared at me.
I had surprised even myself with my outburst, but my patience was in short supply. I was worried about Tiger, and Dr Cobbold’s Remedy had left me with a thick head.
“I want to see what is written on that piece of paper,” I said quietly but determinedly. “Especially if it concerns me. I have seen the letters which have been written about me, and now my cat has been taken.”
“Taken?” repeated Miss Welton in horror.
“Yes, by a woman who has been following me these past few days. So I demand to see what is written on that piece of paper.”
Frederick glanced at Mr Sherman, as if checking for his approval. The editor gave a slight nod as Frederick slowly held out the ball of crumpled paper for me to examine.
“It doesn’t say much at all,” he said. “It’s just a name.”
I opened out the ball of paper, confident that the name written on it would be mine.
And sure enough it was. Written in blue ink were the words: ‘Miss Penny Green’.
“As I thought,” I said stiffly, staring at the handwriting. “It’s probably that Maynell chap again.”
“The man could have killed someone!” said Mr Sherman.
“When did this happen?” I asked.
“About five minutes before you arrived,” said Frederick.
He went on to describe how the half-brick had come crashing through the window while he and Edgar were sitting at their desks. It had hit my desk and bounced off onto the floor.
“We need to summon the police,” said Mr Sherman. “Someone has attempted murder here this morning!”
The culprit must have been on Fleet Street as I arrived for work that morning. I tried to recall whether I had seen anyone throwing something or running away.
“Someone in the street must have seen who did it,” I said.
At that moment, the newsroom door opened and a red-faced Edgar strode in.
“No, nothing,” he said breathlessly. “Good morning, Miss Green.”
“Have you been out searching for the person who threw the brick through the window?” I asked.
“Yes. But he got away quickly, that’s for sure. I found a few people who were able to describe him to me.”
“What did he look like?”
“A chap in a cap. Brown jacket. Young fellow. Ran off in the direction of St Bride’s.”
“Maynell must have paid him to do it,” I hissed.
“Do you really think so?” asked Edgar.
“I can’t think who else it could have been. He has employed someone to follow me and now my cat is missing!”
“Your cat?” asked Edgar incredulously. “What’s the cat got to do with anything?”
“I don’t know.” I felt fresh tears in my eyes. “But Jeffrey Maynell needs to be arrested and I’m going to see to it that he is!”
I had visited James’ drab, smoky office in Scotland Yard a couple of times before. As I approached his desk, various police officers strode in and out of the room carrying piles of books and papers.
“Penny!” James rose to his feet as soon as he saw me. “Is everything all right?” He was in his shirtsleeves and wore a dark tweed waistcoat.
“No, it’s not.” I placed my heavy carpet bag on his desk, opened it and pulled out the brick which had been thrown through the window.
“My goodness,” said James. “Have you just lugged that all the way from Fleet Street?”
“I took the omnibus.”
“Where’s it from? Why’s there a string wrapped around it?”
I showed him the note. “It was hurled through the window of our offices this morning.”
“Was anybody hurt?”
“No, but they easily could have been. I want you to arrest Jeffrey Maynell, James. He has to be behind this.” I told him about the young man who had reportedly thrown the brick.
“That doesn’t sound like an accurate description of Maynell,” said James.
“He obviously paid someone to do it!”
“Hmm, it would be rather difficult to prove that Jeffrey Maynell is responsible for this attack,” said James.
“But it has to be him! He wrote the letters.”
“He wrote one malicious letter.”
“He forced Copeland to write another. He’s got that woman following me about and she’s taken my cat!”
“Tiger?”
“Yes!”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Tiger has vanished, James. All of this is connected, and Jeffrey Maynell is behind the whole thing.”
“Well, we can certainly link him to the letter he sent me, so I can question him about that. But as for the rest—”
“There’s no one else it can be, James! And I should imagine that he murdered Richard Geller, too!”
James put on his jacket. He picked up a bundle of papers from his desk and folded them into his pocket. Then he fetched his bowler hat from the hat stand.
“I was planning to go down to Repton’s works this afternoon, but there’s no time like the present. We must be careful, Penny. I know you think Maynell is behind this, but we can’t accuse him of everything just yet. I’ll speak to him about the letter and about the disagreement between him and Borthwick. Let’s see where that gets us.”
“He could have killed someone this morning! We need to stop
him, James. And I need to know where Tiger is!”
“I know, but we must remain calm. I can’t take you with me to Southwark unless you promise to keep a cool head. Patience gains the day.”
“But if you arrest Maynell today he can’t do anything else, can he?”
“By the sound of things, Penny, he may have other people doing his dirty work for him. Let’s go and see what he has to say for himself.”
“Shall I bring the brick?”
James laughed.
“What’s so funny?” I asked. “It’s evidence!”
“The brick can stay here, Penny.”
Chapter 41
“We should speak to Donald Repton first,” said James as we climbed out of the cab outside the Southwark works.
“Must we?” I said. “Surely he has no idea what Jeffrey Maynell has been up to. His mind is muddled by brandy half the time.”
“It’s important that he knows what’s going on.”
“Inspector Blakely! Miss Green! Do come and sit down. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
James and I declined Mr Repton’s offer of a drink and took our seats opposite him. “How’s the investigation going, Blakely?”
“Progressing, sir, but not as quickly as I’d like. I wish to speak to you about two members of your staff.”
“Do you indeed?”
James pulled the bundle of papers from the pocket of his jacket.
“I received a rather unpleasant letter last week,” he said, unfolding the letter which Jeffrey Maynell had sent him. “It contains rather derogatory comments about my colleague, Miss Green.”
“Oh dear. Really?”
“I have the evidence here in my hand, but I hope you won’t mind if I don’t show you what the letter says to save Miss Green’s embarrassment.”
“Goodness, is it that bad?” asked Mr Repton with concern.
“It’s all nonsense, of course,” said James. “However, it is also—”
“I think it would be better if Mr Repton read what his colleagues have written about me,” I interrupted.
“Are you sure, Penny?” asked James.
“Yes, I don’t mind. It’s all nonsense, as you say.”
“Of course.”
James passed the papers to Mr Repton, who fitted a monocle into his right eye. I felt my teeth clench as he read it, acutely aware that he was reading comments of a most personal nature about me.
“Well, that won’t do at all,” said Donald Repton. “Who wrote this? There’s no signature.”
“The sender chose to remain anonymous,” said James. “That’s rather typical of a coward, I’m afraid. Fortunately, I was able to identify the sender when I came across this.”
He handed Donald Repton another letter.
“This was sent to Borthwick!” exclaimed Donald Repton. “And it is signed, I see. Jeffrey Maynell. I’m sorry, but I don’t see the connection. I thought this was to be another unpleasant letter, but it merely discusses the patent.”
“Do you not notice the similarity in the handwriting?” asked James. “It confirms that Jeffrey Maynell sent both letters.”
“What? Maynell sent you that nasty letter about Miss Green?” Mr Repton raised his eyebrows and his monocle fell out.
“Yes.”
“No, there must be some mistake!” He pushed the monocle back into its place. “He would never do such a thing!”
“He already bears Miss Green a grudge, sir. However, to be completely certain I need to discuss the matter with the man himself, and I wish to make you aware that I intend to do so.”
“Yes, of course.” Donald Repton sat back in his chair. “If he’s written that letter he must be admonished for it!”
“I have another unpleasant pairing of letters here.” James unfolded the bundle of papers again. “Here is a letter written to Mr Edwards, an acquaintance of Miss Green’s. Do you mind if Mr Repton reads this one as well, Penny?”
“Not at all.”
Once again, I felt embarrassed that Donald Repton was to read the disparaging remarks about me. I watched his face as he read it, his brow knitting together.
“And this is another letter sent to Simon Borthwick,” said James, handing it to Mr Repton. “It’s rather long and there’s no need to read it. The important matter is the signature at the end.”
“Jack Copeland,” said Donald Repton. He pulled the monocle away from his eye and stared at James. “You’re telling me that Jack Copeland said those dreadful things about this pleasant lady here?”
“It certainly seems that way when you compare the handwriting,’ said James.
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. Two men had attempted to sully my name. They had once been Borthwick’s persecutors and now they had turned on me.
“I am struggling to believe it,” replied Donald Repton. “You’re perfectly entitled to speak to both of them, of course, but I cannot believe that it’s true. There must be a plausible explanation.”
“What explanation can there be other than malice?” asked James.
“I agree with you,” he replied. “Perhaps the two men can clear this all up. Let me know once you’re finished with them, for I should like to speak to the pair of them myself.”
He turned to face me. “Miss Green, I’m struggling to understand how something as dreadful as this could have happened to you. All I can do at the present time is apologise for the upset this has caused. I do hope you haven’t taken it to heart.”
“Thank you, Mr Repton, and no I haven’t. It’s something that sometimes has to be endured in my line of work.”
I could see that Mr Repton wasn’t entirely convinced by my reply. It was difficult to conceal the fact that the letters had upset me greatly. His kind smile made my eyes feel watery.
“Penny, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to see Jeffrey Maynell with me,” said James as we made our way to Mr Maynell’s office.
“Why not?”
“You know the reason. You have seen the things he wrote about you. And after the brick was thrown through your office window this morning you’re understandably upset at the present time.”
“I can remain calm about such matters.”
“Are you sure? It’s important that we keep our interview with him controlled. We cannot accuse him of throwing bricks or stealing your cat or any of the other matters which have occurred, or he will become uncooperative. We don’t want to upset him. If we can keep our interview conversational we might be able to coax him into incriminating himself.”
“Can we ask about the woman in grey?”
“Let’s see how the conversation progresses, Penny.”
Chapter 42
Jeffrey Maynell kept us waiting as he finished some correspondence. James and I sat silently across the desk from him, the tick of his clock on the mantelpiece almost deafening amid the silence.
Had Mr Maynell found out about his wife’s evening visit to my lodgings? I hoped Lillian had managed to remain silent on the matter.
He eventually laid his pen down and regarded us coolly.
“What can I help you with, Inspector? And what’s this ink-slinger doing here again?”
“There is no need to be impolite to Miss Green,” responded James. “We shan’t detain you for long. The matter pertains to a letter you’ve written.”
“Which one?”
“This one here,” said James, passing the letter across the desk to him.
Mr Maynell unfolded it and I watched him scowl as he read it.
“What nonsense is this, Inspector?”
“Is that your handwriting, Mr Maynell?”
“It looks similar, but it’s not mine. The letter isn’t even signed. How can you possibly attribute it to me?”
“It bears a remarkable resemblance to this letter, which you sent to Simon Borthwick. Even the ink is the same.”
Mr Maynell read the second letter. “Yes, I recall writing this. I can vouch that this one was written by me and I have signed it.
I would never send an unsigned letter, Inspector. Why on earth would you think I had sent this anonymous letter?”
“Because you appear to bear some animosity towards Miss Green.”
Mr Maynell laughed. “Why should I bear Miss Green any ill will?”
“When we visited this establishment the last time you had some rather strong words for her.”
“I was angry because Miss Green had arranged a secret meeting with my wife to discuss a former suitor. Any other fellow would have been equally annoyed.”
“So you deny that this anonymous letter was written by you, Mr Maynell,” said James, “even though the handwriting matches that of another letter you wrote?”
“Absolutely, Inspector. It is mere coincidence. Have you had a graphologist analyse these letters?”
“Not yet,” replied James with a hint of awkwardness to his voice.
“May I suggest that you do so? I’m certain that you’re a good detective, Inspector Blakely; however, you are clearly no expert in handwriting. You need to have these letters analysed by someone who knows what they’re talking about.”
“If this letter was not written by you,” said James, “how do you explain why someone has gone to the trouble of forging your handwriting?”
“I don’t believe anyone has attempted to imitate it, Inspector. It’s merely coincidence, as I have already said! There is nothing to connect me with that letter other than a passing similarity in the handwriting. That is all, Inspector. I would thank you to trouble me with this no longer.”
“Can you explain your request to Simon Borthwick for financial compensation in return for an idea that he supposedly stole?” asked James.
“Oh, that.” Maynell sat back in his chair and interlocked his fingers. “It’s rather long and complicated, and it has nothing to do with this letter you’ve shown me.”
“The tone of your correspondence to Borthwick on the matter suggests that there was a significant disagreement between the two of you.”
“Not significant, Inspector. He borrowed my idea to use a filament made of carbonised paper; an idea which he had begun to pass off as his own.”