When he’d changed clothes and pocketed the revolver, he left a hasty note for Mikaela, then followed Mr. Dooley out onto the landing along with the hound and set the lock in the door.
In spite of the early hour, Mr. Cavendish had arrived. The flat he now shared with Miss Effie was behind the Public House and very near the office.
“There’s a problem with the lock on the office door, I had to pick the lock last night,” Brodie told him, a reminder to get the lock repaired.
“It’s locked now.”
“It had to be changed,” Mr. Cavendish informed him as he reached inside his jacket pocket, retrieved a new key, and handed it to him.
“Miss Mikaela found the office door open when she arrived yesterday.”
That stopped him. “Open? It was secure when I was last here, and she would not have been so careless to leave it unlocked. Was anythin’ taken?”
“She said there didn’t appear to be anything missing. Then, had me contact the locksmith.”
Brodie nodded as he pocketed the new key.
He was certain neither of them left the office unlocked. That could only mean that someone had picked the lock, then continued inside.
But for wot reason? And nothin’ missing? With her typing machine and the few personal items they kept there, there was almost nothing of value.
Or was the door tampered with for some reason other than thievery?
Did that explain the hound’s peculiar behavior the night before, the animal’s thorough inspection of the place, and then his reaction near her desk?
Mikaela’s scent would be there, of course. Yet, had the hound sensed someone else?
“Aye, ye did well, Mr. Cavendish. I’ve left a note for her when she returns.” He glanced down at the hound on the sidewalk.
It was instinct and might mean nothing at all. Still, with himself off and about and her as well, and the realization that someone had been inside the office?
“You might have Miss Effie provide food for the hound, and tell Miss Mikaela when ye see her that she should keep him with her.”
Mr. Cavendish grinned. “I will do that. And be careful yerself, sir.”
Brodie nodded.
Mr. Dooley had used one of the public transit drivers instead of a constable provided by the MET and held the driver over when he arrived.
They climbed into the coach and Mr. Dooley provided the late chief inspector’s address in Hammersmith.
The constable who had been positioned outside the entrance of the terrace home was young, perhaps new to the force, Brodie thought as they arrived. Mr. Dooley gave him a cursory nod.
“A consultant with the MET,” he told the young constable by way of introduction, and they entered the residence.
There was no one inside as the housekeeper had taken herself off to her sister’s house in another part of the city.
Supper had obviously been prepared, a single place set at the small dining table with a covered pot of food, the scent still in the air.
Mr. Dooley turned on the electric, and they went into the small parlor where the chief inspector’s body had been found by the poor woman.
There were obvious things that stood out when inspecting the scene of a crime—signs of a struggle, things overturned, drawers emptied in the situation of a robbery, blood from the victim if the attacker had been caught in the act.
Yet here, nothing was disturbed. There was no indication that the attack had been for the purpose of robbery. Still, there were signs of a struggle in front of the hearth.
“The body was found just there on the floor,” Mr. Dooley explained. “It seems that the chief inspector was caught unawares from behind. As you see, there was a struggle before the person took the knife to him.”
“Did the housekeeper mention anything of value that might have been taken?”
