Mrs. Ryan had long since bid me good night as the clock at the mantle struck one o’clock in the morning.
I stood from behind my desk. I had a headache from staring at the pages of Dr. Bennett’s book, the notes he had made along with those from Sir Reginald, the daily newspapers, and that intercepted coded message.
I stretched, sorted through the notes and dailies one more time, then gave up and went upstairs to bed, and lay there, thoughts churning, that code and other bits and pieces of information nagging at me.
Somewhere after two of the morning the downstairs clock chimed and I drifted off.
I had discovered when writing my first novel, that the page is never finished, the light is never quite turned off, and sleep is merely a lie we tell ourselves as I sat upright in bed no more than three hours later. I threw back the covers and ignored the ice-cold floor as I raced downstairs, ignoring the fact that I might have fallen and broken my neck.
I turned on the electric in the small parlor that was my office and went to my desk. I sorted through everything I had been reading earlier— notes, papers, that coded message Lily had deciphered, that photograph Sir Avery had given us, then the dailies. One after the other tossed aside, like a mad woman, everything scattered about and covering the floor about the desk.
“It’s here. I know it is. Bloody hell!”
“Saints preserve us, miss! What are you doin?” Mrs. Ryan, dragged from her own sleep by the noise I had made, or possibly my curses, stood in her nightshift and cap at the entrance to the parlor.
I waived the daily I was looking at her. “It’s here. I knew that I had seen it!”
She stared at me as if I was that madwoman.
1—8—1—2
It was right in front of me all along. And now I was certain I had discovered more.
Fourteen
I puta telephone call through to the office on the Strand, however there was no answer.
I frowned. It was then after six o’clock in the morning. It appeared that whatever Brodie had been pursuing, he had not yet returned.
At the more reasonable hour of eight o’clock, I had dressed, placed everything into my travel bag, and called for a driver.
On the ride to the office on the Strand, I kept thinking about my visit with Sir James, and the comments he had made about those in positions of power. For a man of his rumored wealth that seemed unusual. And then there had been his comment about Brodie— acommon manas he had called him.
In consideration of the early hour, before the usual daily traffic on the street set in, I arrived at the office in good time.
I paid the driver then crossed the Strand to the sidewalk below the office. When I would have gone to the stairs, Mr. Cavendish appeared quite suddenly in front of me and blocked my path.
“Is Mr. Brodie in?” I asked.
“He came back a while ago. Wait, miss!”
I was more than a little surprised as he tried to stop me.
“Thank you,” I replied and stepped around him.
There was immediately the sound of the bell that rang furiously at the top landing, used to announce an arrival. I did wonder what that was about as I gathered my skirt and ran up the stairs.
I was met by Brodie, as he stepped out of the office and blocked my going any further. However, not before I caught a glimpse inside.
A man was seated on a chair in the middle of the room and Mr. Conner was standing over him. The man in the chair was quite bruised and bloodied.
“Now, let’s start over,” I heard Mr. Conner say.“And ye will give me the information I want this time…”
Then Brodie closed the door.
“What is that about?” I asked.
Brodie’s response was to seize me by the arm and turn me back toward the stairs. The expression on his face was like stone.
