He had first presented his early photographs at the Exhibition. Our aunt remembered those early daguerreotypes.
“Marvelous man,” our aunt had said in a way that seemed… How shall I say it? Almost intimate?
Our aunt had never married, as she insisted she had never met a man worth giving up her single status for. However, there were rumors of several affairs over the years, not to mention the architect who was currently providing drawings for the expansion of Sussex Square.
“Marvelous man,” she had said most recently regarding John Waverly Atherton.
Marvelousseemed to have a most interesting meaning.
Before leaving Mayfair I sent round a message to the studio of Paul Laughton. I had questions about the photographic process that was used on the pictures of Amelia Mainwaring, and there would be little opportunity to speak with him at the party that evening.
“Give me thanks to Mrs. Ryan for the cake she sent with Mr. Brodie,” Mr. Cavendish commented as I arrived now at the office on the Strand.
“The hound was most appreciative. Almost took me arm off.” He grinned. “I can’t afford to lose another limb. That would make things a mite difficult.”
Indeed, I thought.
“Is he about?” I inquired, referring to Brodie.
“He went out and about earlier and had me send round a message for Mr. Dooley. A new inquiry case, is it then, miss?” he asked.
“So it seems,” I replied, and with very little to go on so far, I thought. Still, I felt a deep sadness and obligation for the Mainwarings.
Admittedly, it certainly wasn’t the first time we had taken on a case with very little to go on except a dead body. My sister’s case came to mind. Still, we had those two photographs and I was hopeful we might learn something from them.
It also seemed there was little that escaped Mr. Cavendish’s attention. Most particularly with the errands he ran for Brodie or myself regarding a case. And to be certain, he had an incredible knowledge of the streets of the East End of London as well as other parts of the city that had proven to be most valuable in past inquiries. The streets were a bit like his own information source, gathered here and there from people he knew.
I liked the man, and it was safe to say that he was much like a partner in our inquiries.
I bent down and scratched the hound’s ears, a familiar routine, then climbed the stairs to the office.
My chalkboard across from Brodie’s desk, where I usually wrote our clues in a pending case, was glaringly barren. Another indication of the scant information we had at present for the inquiry into Amelia Mainwaring’s murder.
Brodie was at his desk holding up the telephone earpiece with an expression reserved for a select few— a mixture of anger with a healthy dose of resentment thrown in for good measure.
“Of course,” he bluntly replied and then slammed down the earpiece in a way that I was surprised it didn’t shatter. He came out from behind the desk and went to the coat rack.
“We’ve been summoned to police headquarters,” he announced, drawing his umbrella from the stand much like a weapon.
“Summoned?”
“Chief Inspector Abberline has requested our immediate presence.”
Abberline.
Now there was a despicable piece of human existence if ever there was one.
I had no liking for the man most particularly after his refusal to inquire into my sister’s case. However, Brodie’s resentment went farther back, to the time he was an inspector with the MP.
There had been some difficulty— and I gathered that was putting it mildly —over some case Brodie was involved with. There had been an accusation made against Brodie of taking a bribe, tolook the other wayas the case involved someone high placed with the MP.
According to Mr. Dooley who had worked with Brodie, it wasn’t true.
“Some of the lads might do such a thing, but not Mr. Brodie,” he insisted.
It was Brodie’s word against those who made the accusation.
Threatened by the chief inspector when he learned of it, Brodie had been prepared to make known Abberline’s involvement in the disappearance of evidence in another case that Brodie had learned about that resulted in charges being dismissed. It was a case of quid pro quo— an advantage traded for something else, as it were.
