I had most of the same notes in my notebook. That would have to do until I could find Brodie. I quickly erased everything on the chalkboard, tucked Brodie’s notebook into my bag, and then locked the office behind me.
I encountered Mr. Cavendish on the sidewalk.
“If Brodie should return, I need to speak with him immediately. And if anyone else inquires, you haven’t seen him today.”
“I haven’t seen him,” he replied.
“It’s just that…”
“No need to explain, miss. I’m just a poor street beggar, livin’ in that alcove.” The grin deepened and he winked. “I don’t know anything about Mr. Brodie’s work or where he is.”
“Mr. Dooley spoke with you?”
He nodded. “I’ve known Mr. Dooley a long time. For all he’s with the MET, he’s a good man.”
“Be careful,” I cautioned.
He nodded. “Best to have the hound with you. Mr. Brodie would insist on that.” He turned and whistled for Rupert.
The hound suddenly appeared from the alcove, an old boot hanging out of his mouth. I did hope there hadn’t been a foot in it.
“I might just take meself off to another place for a while,” Mr. Cavendish added. “But I’ll have people I know and trust keep watch for Mr. Brodie and warn him if he should come back here.”
“How will I find you if I need to get word to you?” I asked.
“The hound will find me sure enough. Just bring him round if you need my help.” He waved down a cab for me.
“I’ve locked the office door,” I told him as I climbed aboard and the hound followed.
Mr. Cavendish nodded. “Right you are, miss. Not that it would make a difference with the likes of Mr. Abberline.”
“Do be careful,” I told him.
He tipped his cap. “And you as well, miss.”
I kept my appointment later in the afternoon with the owner of the leather goods shop, regarding the counterfeit case, and made notes that included the name of the customer who had paid with those counterfeit pound notes to pass on to Sir Avery at the Agency.
A legitimate excuse to go there and hopefully find out when they had last heard from Brodie. Or at least what he was off andabout, even as what I’d learned from Mr. Dooley kept turning over and over in my head.
Who was the woman? Whom had she seen murdered almost ten years before? Why had she come back to London? And who would have killed her?
Abberline was obviously determined to connect Brodie to her death. And it was worrisome that I had no idea where he was.
So much for happily married bliss.
Then again, I was not the dutiful wife waiting at home for the husband to return. Most particularly if Brodie was in trouble.
We arrived at the high street near the Tower. I say‘we,’as that included my companion. It was difficult to ignore the hound, either by size or the smell that usually accompanied him. It did seem that fish, with the underlying scent of old boot, was the fragrance of the day.
Perhaps I could persuade one of the groomsmen at Sussex Square to give the hound a bath, since it seemed very likely that we were going to be spending some time together.
As we approached the Tower, a coach drew up at the street-side entrance, and two men stepped down from the coach, one in a constable’s uniform and the other…Chief Inspector Abberline!
The man was nothing if not persistent, apparently turning over every stone in search of Brodie. And this in spite of the fact that there was no love lost between Abberline and Sir Avery Stanton, who was head of the Special Services Agency.
I had detected the dislike on Sir Avery’s part in the past. Something mentioned about‘meddling incompetence and overreaching one’s intelligence.’Which I thought described Abberline quite well. I was inclined to agree.
Under any other circumstances, I would have continued to the Tower entrance and simply ignored Abberline. Hewasrather easy to overlook.
