“Yes.” Tennant nodded. “Undoubtedly, you’re right. Still, my chief wanted me to follow up. Several artists who suffered parodies of their work made a fuss.”
Stewart said, “Not . . . not the artist who painted here?”
“No. And I see no point in telling him. Well, it’s a tempest in a paint pot, in my opinion. Especially when I have more important matters on my plate.”
“Yes. Of course. I am sure you do. Well . . .” The secretary cleared his throat. “Is there anything else, Inspector?”
“I think that’s all.” He took a last look at the painting beforetucking it away. “A slave in a harem. Nice arrangement, for some.”
Tennant exited the club and turned right. He followed the club’s eight-foot brick wall and stopped at a carriage gate near the end of the property. A pair of bolted oak doors guarded the entrance.For tradesmen?No. He’d noticed that entry to the right of the front door.
Gates that opened into a courtyard. It matched Kathleen Morris’s recollections of where they’d taken her. Tennant crossed the street. From there, he could see the top of a portico over the wall.A covered entrance to the back of the club?She’d described that to Julia as well.
Tennant spotted a constable near the corner of St. Martin Street. The inspector approached him, pleased that the man looked like a seasoned copper.
Tennant identified himself and showed the officer his warrant card. “Have you walked this beat long, Constable?”
“Fourteen years, sir. Give or take a few months.”
“What can you tell me about the club on the corner? The Topkapi.”
The copper scratched at grizzled, graying side whiskers and considered the question.
“They pulled the building to bits about ten years ago and rebuilt it. Queer sort of place with all those arches, turrets, and blokes out of theArabian Nightsstanding out front.”
“Those oak doors leading to the rear of the building . . . that entrance doesn’t seem to have a purpose.”
“That’s what I’d have said, guvnor. Nothing much in and out. Still, back in the day, I’d spot the odd carriage or two coming and going late at night, but it’s been a while since I’ve walked the graveyard shift.” He tapped his temple. “That’s a lark for young lads with sharp eyes, not old blokes like me. I’m nodding over me fire by nine o’clock these nights.”
“Who’s on night duty now?”
“Gordie Havers. Bright lad.”
“All right, Constable. I’ll clear it with your divisional chief, but I’d like you and Havers to keep a sharp eye on the place. Note any unusual activity—any uncharacteristic comings and goings. But keep your interest quiet.”
“Can I know what it’s about, guv?”
“So far, there are only suspicions, but we may be looking at abduction and the trafficking of young girls for prostitution. And possibly the murder of a woman who procured them and the death of another.”
His face hardened. “I take great exception to that happening on my watch, sir. I have three daughters at home.” He nodded. “You can rely on me.”
“Thank you, Constable. Keep your eyes peeled for the next few days.”
An hour later, Tennant concluded an interview with the local chief inspector and left the station house with his full cooperation.
The inspector hoped his interview with the club secretary had achieved its goal. After rattling Stewart, the inspector wanted him to believe he was satisfied with the secretary’s explanations. Tennant sought to ruffle the fellow’s feathers, not pluck them. He didn’t want the cats inside the coop prematurely, only prowling nearby.
Can’t have our pigeons flying off.
CHAPTER15
Astretch of warm weather brought spring to the South Kensington Museum’s grounds.
The sun had coaxed shy buds into bloom, and color-drenched beds bounded the carriage drive. Waves of yellow and purple crocuses surged to meet swaths of creamy primroses like foam at a tide’s edge. Overhead, the fleeting green of early spring filled the trees, a hue that would soon give way to darker shades as the season matured.
On an afternoon in late April, Julia breathed the scented air, grateful Dr. Barnes was on duty at the clinic. She’d awakened that morning feeling buoyant, eager for the day. Her Saturday off was lovely, and it was a shame to go inside. But Mrs. Davies and Mister Lloyd had invited her to attend thePleasure Gardensopening, and she was curious to view the collection of Chinese art. The invitation had included her grandfather and great-aunt.
The walk and unaccustomed warmth had fatigued Dr. Lewis, so he and Aunt Caroline availed themselves of a South Kensington innovation: a museum tearoom. They would joinJulia at the gallery for the exhibit’s opening. She hadn’t spotted Mary or Louisa Allingham, but they would surely be there. The exhibition’s program included a warm tribute to Charles Allingham and his role in assembling the collection.
