The envelope had been addressed to me as well. It was possible that I might be able to assist in some manner. I went to his desk, seized the envelope, and opened it.
In response to your request, the Home Secretary has contacted the
necessary parties at New Scotland Yard and advised you are to be
provided every accommodation in the matter of the death of Chief
Inspector Dawes, late of the Metropolitan Police.
You are to keep the Home Secretary advised of your progress.
It was signed by Sidney Fairfield, Undersecretary to Mr. Asquith, the Home Secretary.
So, Brodie was aware of the death of the chief inspector. That, along with the fact that he had chosen to contact the Home Secretary, made it quite obvious that he was pursuing information in Dawes’s death as well.
Two murders. Constable Martin and now the retired chief inspector, whom both men had served under.
Were they somehow connected?
Brodie had been quite clear that my assistance was not needed since I had my own inquiries to make on behalf of Kitty Ambersley.
Yet, the case I had had been resolved.
Two persons could make inquiries far more efficiently than one, as I had pointed out in the past. Even Mr. Holmes worked in partnership with an associate.
I returned the note to the envelope, gathered my notebook and tucked it into my bag, then called for Rupert.
I handed the envelope to Mr. Cavendish when I arrived at the sidewalk on the street below the office.
“Please see that Mr. Brodie receives this as soon as he returns. It is important.”
It was very possible that the C.I.D., the criminal investigation division at New Scotland Yard, had information that might be useful.
In the meantime, there was someone I wanted to question in the matter. That paragon of virtue and truth, Theodolphus Burke of the Times.
He was admittedly one of the most detestable persons I had ever encountered: sneaky, conniving, and, to quote something Brodie once said of the man,‘he would no doubt sell his mother for a lead on a story.’
I had the dubious privilege of experiencing each of those attributes, aside from selling his mother, and had managed to navigate my way around his schemes by making him an offer that someone of his low morals could not possibly refuse.
His weakness—that insatiable appetite for the ‘story’ that would provide him the enviable advantage of being able to be the first to report about one of London’s more sensational crimes of the moment.
It was a bargain impossible for him to refuse, considering his low character. It was merely a matter of staying a few steps ahead of him.
Brodie had initially disapproved of using the man’s unscrupulous methods for getting the story before his fellow reporters at the other tabloids. However, he was forced toadmit that an exchange of information in the past had provided valuable clues in solving a case.
I hailed a cab and gave the driver the address of the Times newspaper offices, then climbed into the cab. Rupert immediately followed.
I didn’t argue the matter. Like another, he could be quite stubborn.
“If you must,” I commented. He looked up at me from the floor of the cab and grinned.
Eight
BRODIE, #204 THE STRAND
The driverof the coal cart let him off at the edge of Piccadilly—it was beyond his usual route, and he would go no farther. The man wanted to get on with his deliveries.
Brodie walked the rest of the way, cutting down cross-streets, past the usual street vendors and the Public House, even though he hadn’t eaten since the day before.
