I caught the frown on Munro’s face.
“Stubborn chit,” he muttered after she left.
“Hmmm, yes,” I commented. “However, she is hardly a child any longer.”
That sharp blue gaze met mine. “Next, she’ll be thinking of takin’ herself off on some dangerous adventure.”
There had obviously been some difficulty there.
“We cannot keep her here forever,” I replied what Brodie had said to me. “And she does have that strong Scots temperament.”
I could have sworn I heard a muttered curse as I departed.
Lights glowed along the streets as I returned to The Strand, and from the office windows on the second floor. With a single light that shone below the sign that had been recently added and announced, “Brodie and Forsythe Private Inquiries,” even though it had met with some resistance.
“I dinna need a sign for people to know where we are. They find their way easily enough,” Brodie had commented rather strongly when he first saw the signage, which was quite discreet without the usual garishness of some of the other signage along The Strand.
“It’s not as if that fella over on Baker Street has a need to advertise his services.”
It was a fact that most all of our inquiry cases came through people we knew or on the recommendation of others. Still, I thought it looked quite professional.
He did have a point. I would not be surprised to return to The Strand at some point and find the signage had been removed with the excuse that it was due to weather or the occasional sort who left somewhat colorful chalk messages on the sidewalks or on the front of buildings over some complaint.
“Mr. Brodie arrived a short while ago, and in somewhat of a temper,” Mr. Cavendish informed me. “A warning, miss. It seems that he did not have an agreeable day.”
Interesting.
“I was about to take meself over to the Public House for a bit of supper,” Mr. Cavendish added as he guided the platform that he sat upon to the curb.
“I could bring a carton back,” he suggested.
“No thank you.” I replied. “We’ll be along.”
As I entered the office, I appreciated the warmth of the fire in the coal stove along with the bottle of Old Lodge whisky open on his desk, and the man who stood before the chalkboard where Lily had made our notes earlier.
So far it seemed safe enough, I thought as I smiled to myself and closed door behind me.
Then, without turning, without even the least acknowledgement, he gestured to the board.
“It seems that yer day might have been much the same as my own.”
I approached where he stood before the board, took the glass from him and downed some of my great aunt’s very fine whisky, from Old Lodge in the north of Scotland.
“And your inquiries at Marlborough House?” I inquired.
I went to the desk and refilled the glass, then handed it back to him.
“The Lord Steward arranged for me to speak with the people on the list ye gave me and several others. Only one manthoughthe recognized the man in the sketch, though he couldna be certain.”
There was more.
“And His Highness’s staff is to be commended. The landing where the man pitched young Huntingdon over the edge has been thoroughly cleaned of any unsightly matter.”
“What of your conversation with the Master of the Stables? Did he see the man Lily went after?”
“It was dark, impossible to see anything more than the figure who ran past and then disappeared. And not a mention about a limp or difficulty as the man ran.”
Once again, I was not surprised.
