“It seems there may have been another witness that night, at least someone who was seen leaving the club immediately after Stephen Matthews’ murder—someone who matched the description of the man who was seen only days ago following Ellie Sutton.”
The smile deepened. “This is all very interesting, Miss Forsythe. However, that was ten years ago. Perhaps the persons who worked with Ellie Sutton are mistaken.”
His hand flattened on the desk very near that bank of speaking tubes with those call buttons.
“A man with a stocky build who was said to wear a rather expensive suit of clothes and a bowler hat. Not exactly what one sees every day. Do you recall seeing someone that night ten years ago matching that same description? It could be useful in finding the murderer.”
He rose from behind his desk. “I have no memory of anyone of that description, Miss Forsythe, and I must now ask you to leave. I have several appointments and am now late for one of them.”
I caught the movement of his hand toward that bank of speaking tubes, but instead of lifting one to communicate with someone, he merely pressed the call button beneath the farthest one.
I rose, as it seemed that our meeting was definitely at an end.
“A man with that same description has also been seen following me,” I told him.
“Yes, quite,” he replied.
I caught a movement at the corner of my eye, and an impression of someone—a man of stocky build.
“Our meeting is at an end, Miss Forsythe.”
His demeanor had changed completely along with his expression. For a moment I was certain I was looking into the cold, calculated gaze of the man who had abused and terrified his wife. A sudden movement behind me and an instinctive warning.
A few seconds more and I might have been able to defend myself. There weren’t a few seconds more, as the blow exploded painfully at the back of my head. I saw stars, and tumbled down the rabbit hole into a black void…
Twenty-Two
BRODIE
“When?”he demanded.
“I missed her by only a few minutes, according to the note she left at the office,” Munro replied.
“Matthews!” Brodie spat out as he moved a little too quickly from the chair at the desk in Alex Sinclair’s office and winced at the pain it brought.
“She met with the wife yesterday,” Munro went on to explain. “Afterward, she was certain Sir Edward knew something from the night Stephen Matthews was killed that was part of the recent murder. I found it in her notes at Sussex Square.”
Her damned notes! Brodie thought.
There were no accusations that Munro should have stayed with her, there was no time for that. She had not returned to the coach after that meeting with Matthews. If she was correct that the two murders were connected, she might be in grave danger.
What had she learned from Sir Edward? Something? Anything?
The fact that she had not returned from that meeting was proof enough that he was somehow involved. And the man had a ruthless reputation—he let nothing stand in his way.
There had long been suspicions of Matthews’ business dealings. Munro knew only too well from handling Lady Montgomery’s affairs. Those he couldn’t persuade to do business with Argosy were then‘persuaded’by other means.
In more than one instance, a merchant was either severely beaten or disappeared completely over a shipping transaction.
Lady Montgomery’s business dealing had been the exception, with Munro steadfastly advising her not to do business with the man. And now Mikaela was in the middle of a dangerous situation and had disappeared.
Mr. Hastings had waited for over an hour for her to return from the appointment, then made inquiries inside the shipping office. He was informed that Sir Edward had left the building some time before, and there was no sign of her.
It was then he made the call from the shipping office to Sussex Square. He had arrived at the Tower just before Munro, along with that mangy, foul-smelling animal Mikaela was so fond of.
That was the other part of it, that Brodie couldn’t ignore—the hound. He was usually docile during the day after spending the night on the street, content to find a place to sleep it off. But now the beast was restless, agitated, pacing back and forth in Alex Sinclair’s office as if the damned animal sensed something was verra wrong.
“What’s to be done?” Alex asked.
