“Nothing?” Wilberforce sat behind his desk, a look of incredulity on his face. “I had a man inside a house party the very weekend a theft took place, and you saw nothing?”
Charles shifted in his own chair. “Nothing to indicate who the thief is.” And blast the man, whoever he was. The thief had left another one of his little enamel pins at the scene of the crime. Shaped in the design of a pair of lips. A thank you kiss for his ill-gotten gains? A kiss goodbye, as in the victim would never see his or her property again? Charles clenched his hand so hard a knuckle cracked. Or was it supposed to say ‘kiss my arse’?
“I’ve narrowed down the time of the theft from ten Friday night when Mrs. Shelton said she saw her pin before going to bed, and two on Saturday when she discovered it missing.” A deuced inconvenient timeframe. He might have a hope of tracing everyone’s movements in the morning after the guests had come down for breakfast, but if the thief had been daring enough to sneak into the Shelton’s room while they’d slept, there was no way Charles could account for the location of his suspects.
Wilberforce tunneled a hand through his dark hair. He wasn’t much older than Charles, but the hair at his temples was just starting to turn to silver. With the stresses of managing this agency, it wasn’t a wonder.
“Do you have any leads?” the man asked.
“I have my processes.” Charles slapped the small ledger that contained his notes against his thigh. “We’ve already checked into obvious connections between the guests common to all events where thefts occurred. Now I’ll dig deeper into each name. Discover the history of each person. Who his friends were at school. His past mistresses.” He would even learn what everyone’s favorite food was, damn it. “I will find this man.”
“Or woman.”
Charles shot a sidelong glance at the woman seated next to him. Ever since leaving him to face the music for the crashed bureau, Miss Moore had been back to her usual placid and colorless self. If she was trying to make him forget just how much trouble she was, she wasn’t succeeding.
Wilberforce stood and slowly walked to the small fireplace in the office. “Do you have reason to suspect a woman is committing these crimes?”
“No, I just wouldn’t rule it out.” She cocked her head, a small furrow appearing on her brow.
Wilberforce went through the motions of procuring a cheroot from the silver box on the mantel, lighting a spill, and bringing the flame to the end of his cigar. All the while he warmed his bad leg in front of the fire.
He exhaled a stream of smoke and nodded. “Best not to rule anything out at this stage. Lady Mary said you were most observant. Did you learn anything that Mr. Strait has not?”
Charles tightened his grip on his notes. “Sir, Miss Moore has reported her observations to me. They were included in my report.” If he emphasized the word my a bit, so be it. It was best that everyone understood their correct positions from the start.
Miss Moore hesitated before giving Wilberforce a bland smile. “I did not learn the identity of the thief.”
Wilberforce stared at her a moment. “Well, you two aren’t getting paid to sit around here chatting.” He nodded towards the door. “Get to work.”
Charles followed Miss Moore to the outer office. She’d set up at a small desk pulled next to his, even added a cushion to the wood chair. She sank down on it and began peeling off her gloves. “I wasn’t entirely forthright with Mr. Wilberforce just now.”
He snapped his gaze off the long, slender fingers she revealed. “What do you mean?”
“Only that I did learn something of note. Or perhaps it is irrelevant.” She shrugged. “But it is motive.”
“And what is that? And why are you just telling me this now?”
“I overheard it yesterday morning before we left but in the rush of packing and our departure forgot.” She gave him an exact copy of the smile she had given the agency’s manager. Temperate. Cool. Disinterested. A wealth of emotions could be hidden behind those smiles of hers. “Mrs. Hayward is most put out at her husband’s gaming. She said he wouldn’t allow her a new wardrobe because he had spent the money elsewhere.”
“He has debts?” Hayward. Charles had spoken to the man, but only briefly. An importer, he believed. Made his fortune in trade from the Americas.
Miss Moore lifted a shoulder. “His wife believes so. Though I did notice the woman has a tendency towards exaggeration. But worth looking into, yes?”
Most definitely. Charles rested his hip against her desk. “Why didn’t you mention this to Wilberforce?”
She blinked. “Well…I didn’t think, that is to say, I wouldn’t want you to think that I was attempting to impress Mr. Wilberforce at your expense.”
“What’s important is the investigation.” Miss Moore had tried to protect him? How absolutely absurd. He was the lead investigator; she a mere assistant. Her skills, such as they were, were no threat to him.
He rubbed his knuckle against his breastbone. But her attempt was also a bit…sweet. It was nice to know that she wasn’t angling for his position, absurd as that idea was. “Next time, be free with your information.”
He straightened and tossed his notes on her desk. “While I’m gone, write these up into a report. Also, create a schedule. Indicate who you saw, where, at what time. I’ll add my observations to it when I get back.”
She jumped to her feet. “Where are you going? I’ll accompany you.”
He snorted. “That won’t be necessary. Just the notes, please.”
He grabbed his coat from the hook by the door and swept out of the office. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad. Miss Moore wasn’t stupid, at least. She seemed to have a sensible head on her shoulders, when she wasn’t toppling over furniture and knocking over trunks. If she could take the drudgery work off his hands, he would be able to find his thief that much faster.
