It had been expanded somewhat and now included a wardrobe for our clothes as well as a water closet.
My great-aunt had also seen to it that we had what she considered ‘appropriate furnishings’ for a professional office.
All in all, the office at #204 on the Strand had been transformed in no small part to her efforts.
“Ye may do as ye see fit with the place, but dinna touch my desk,”Brodie had told me at the time.
In addition to the expanded office and furnishings, we had decided to have a lift installed beside the alcove near thesidewalk, mostly for the ease of Mr. Cavendish, so he could access the second floor.
He had previously used a bell at the end of a rope near the landing to let us know that someone arrived or a message had been received. The loyal former soldier had been with Brodie since he first began offering his inquiry services. Mr. Cavendish had previously lived in the alcove at the bottom of the stairs along with the hound.
Rupert belonged to no one and usually occupied the alcove near the street when the weather turned. However, he and I got on quite well.
I had given the hound his name. He reminded me of the hunting dogs my father kept when I was a child, that included one in particular I was quite fond of, also named Rupert.
In spite of his habit of scrounging the streets for whatever dead creature might be found and bringing it back to the alcove, he had proven himself to be a stalwart friend and fierce protector on more than one occasion.
When Brodie emerged once more from the adjacent room, he was dressed in common worker’s clothes—black woven-cotton trousers, a black jumper, and scuffed boots, instead of the fine worsted coat, shirt, and tie that he had worn earlier.
He might have been any drayman or cabman on the street, with overlong hair in need of a trim, full beard, and a billed cap.
“I will leave word for Mr. Dooley,” he told me as he retrieved his jacket from the coat stand. “If he should return here, I want very much to see the police report that was made about the matter.”
I was tempted to ask when he might return but did not.
He then went to his desk, opened the top drawer and retrieved the revolver he always carried when he went out on the street while on a case—old habits, he once explained.
“Leave a message with Mr. Cavendish if ye need to get word to me.”
I nodded.
“And dinna go about alone after nightfall.”
“I still would like to help,” I said once more.
“Aye, but I need you here, and there is the Ambersley inquiry.”
“You will be careful?” I added. “I would hate for something to happen to you and leave me with all of this.”
He reached out and touched my cheek.
“Careful as church mice.”
And then he was out the door, down the stairs, with a word to Mr. Cavendish, before disappearing among the crowd of carts and coaches on the street.
We had taken separate cases in the past. Still, I preferred when we worked together. I had learned a great deal from him. And admittedly he had learned a few things as well. Still…
As I was about to close the door, the hound appeared and slipped through the opening.
“Gave you the word, did he?” I commented.
The hound looked up at me with those large dark eyes, grinned, and then went to the coal stove and lay down on the rug before it.
“I thought so.”
My appointment with Lady Ambersley to begin my interviews with servants was slated for later in the afternoon.
That would give me the opportunity to question servants as well as inspect the residence at St. John’s Wood the way I had learned from Brodie.
