“It’s good to have you back,” she said.
But it would be a long way back.Back to where we left off.She sighed as she closed the door.Back to wherever that was.
CHAPTER 6
Amessage from the commissioner awaited Tennant when he arrived at the Yard the following morning.
The inspector glanced at the wall clock over the duty sergeant’s head. “Sir Richard is in his office?”
“Up this morning with the birds.”
Tennant read the note on his way to his first-floor office. He found O’Malley scanning the morning reports. “Command appearance in thirty minutes, Paddy. I spoke with the commissioner late yesterday afternoon, so something’s come up.”
“Didn’t I follow a pair of fancy suits and top hats into the building?” O’Malley said. “The looks on their faces were something brutal. ‘Mister Gathorne-Hardy to see Sir Richard,’ the younger fella says.”
“The home secretary. Well, well.” Tennant hung his overcoat on the rack and crowned it with his hat. “Has anything worth our notice come in?”
“The final report on the canvass of the wharf. The coppers found nothing to interest us. But a team is doing a door-to-door along Upper Thames just to be thorough.”
“Doctor Lewis’s postmortem concluded the obvious, and I doubt Doctor MacKay’s will find any surprises with the cabbie. But a message from Lady Styles should arrive today with actionable information.”
“The fellas who knew the whereabouts of Brigid Dowling?”
“That’s right,” Tennant said. “And we must inform the family she worked for in Clonakilty. Sir Hugo and Lady Browne. Lady Styles provided the name and address. I’ll send a telegram to the local constabulary, asking them to break the news. They’ll need to search her room for any letters.”
O’Malley stroked his bushy mustache. “I’m thinking about that ginger beard. ’Tis just about the only piece of evidence we have.”
“Put a pair of constables on it, Paddy. Have them check theatrical supply houses and the like. Businesses that cater to West End theaters and East End music halls.”
“Someone may remember a tall fella, well-dressed, who bought a ginger beard.”
Tennant reported to the commissioner at the appointed time. A dark-haired man in his middle thirties sat in an armchair across from Sir Richard, elbows on the armrests, fingers loosely laced. He turned his head at the inspector’s entrance.
“Inspector Tennant, this is Sir Lionel Dermott from the Home Office.”
Dermott unfolded his long legs and stood. He had dressed in the Whitehall civil servant uniform: a black, double-breasted frock coat and waistcoat, dark tie, and striped, gray trousers. Sir Lionel’s one deviation from a colorless palette was the red-and-gold paisley square he’d stuffed casually into his breast pocket.
“How do you do, Sir Lionel,” Tennant said, offering his hand. He looked around the commissioner’s office. “I understood Mister Gathorne-Hardy was here.”
“Here and gone, Inspector,” Sir Lionel said, resuming his seat. “Leaving your humble servant behind.”
The commissioner cleared his throat. “You’re not going to like this, Richard, but you’ll be accompanying Sir Lionel this afternoon to the Isle of Wight.”
“Nothing personal, I trust,” Sir Lionel murmured.
“You want me to leave London at the start of an investigation? Sir Richard, I—”
“Sergeant O’Malley can carry on for two days. I have orders from the Home Office. The queen wants to hear from the inspector in charge of the case.”
“Before I have anything meaningful to report?”
Sir Lionel waved away the objection. “Handholding. Must be done, old boy. You say, ‘Your Majesty, the investigation is running at full gallop.’ That sort of humbuggery.”
“A waste of police time,” Tennant said.
“To be sure, but for my part, I’m jolly glad to be your travel companion. Followed your ‘railway murder’ derring-do in theIllustrated Police Gazette. ‘Tennant of the Yard’ and all that.”
“Is that so?” Tennant looked at the commissioner and read his expression:Fellow’s an ass.
