“The ‘artistic’ collections made a tidy profit, according to Rawlings. They turned things around for Allingham’s foundering firm. The books sold for thirty pounds each. We found shipping details for their domestic and international clientele at the factory. It included some eye-popping names.”
“What about the murder of Franny Riley,” Julia said. “Could it have been Rawlings?”
Tennant shook his head. “According to the girls, he showed up later. The timing places him at the brothelafterFranny’s death. And none of them ever saw the girl who was locked away. I’m convinced it was Franny, but I can’t prove it.”
They sat for a few moments, listening to the fire crackle. Then, Julia clapped her hands to her skirts, pushed herself up, and stood before Tennant’s chair. She extended both her hands.
“Up,” she said, and he allowed her to help him to his feet. ‘You must be longing to go to bed.”
A corner of his lips turned up. “Longing . . . indeed.”
His slight smile, the flicker in his eyes, and his tone of voice made his meaning plain. Julia felt a flush rise. He held on to her hands, and she wondered if he could feel her beating pulse. Finally, he released his grip, and she turned.
“Come, Grandfather, you’re next.”
At the door, Dr. Lewis patted the inspector on the arm. “Richard, my boy, you’ve done fine work these past weeks.”
“It’s back to the beginning for the murders, I’m afraid. I’ve missed something.” He sighed. “I’ll take Sunday morning off, go for a long walk, and clear my head. Then I’ll start again.”
Julia retrieved Tennant’s hat and handed it to him. “I’ve started on Doctor Scott’s journals. Nothing so far, only that he was mean about money. Gloating over pennies and farthings saved.”
“People are unaccountable. The fellow was rich.”
“He was also incredibly vain. He recorded every little compliment, especially if it came from Lady So-and-So or the Honorable Mrs. Whatsis.” Julia shrugged. “But I’ll soldier on with it. Something might turn up.”
“Thank you.” Tennant glanced over his shoulder at the waiting carriage. “And thank you, sir, for the services of Mister Ogilvie.”
“My pleasure, my boy.”
Julia smiled. “As your sergeant would say, ‘It’s knackered you are,’ and you’ll be glad of a ride.”
* * *
After a long night’s sleep, Inspector Tennant hiked through Hyde Park to Green Park and back again.
He’d pushed his leg to the limit and looked around for a pub with a Sunday license. He ate a ploughman’s lunch and then took a cab to Dr. Scott’s address on Harley Street. He wanted another look at the doctor’s checkbook. Earlier, Tennant had noted the considerable balance, but a thorough examination of the entries was in order, so he settled behind Scott’s desk and started reading.
Tennant flipped through the counterfoils. The doctor had been a meticulous creature of habit, writing predictable checks for identical amounts, month after month until . . .
Starting in October, Scott had written a monthly check for twenty pounds in cash. He’d issued the last one in February.
The inspector inched out the stiff bottom drawer. There, he found stacks of canceled checks returned by the bank. Tennant sorted and found the ones made out for twenty pounds; Margot Miller had countersigned them all. The payments stopped the month of her murder.
Blackmail?But how could she have threatened Scott without endangering herself?Twenty pounds is the going rate.... Perhaps she was supplying inexperienced girls for the doctor, getting around Allen, and keeping both halves of the fee. Both theories provided a motive for killing Margot Miller.But who murdered Scott?
Bloody hell.Tennant shoved the materials back in their drawers. He locked up and left for Russell Square, where he asked his housekeeper for dinner on a tray in the library. After he finished, he poured himself a whiskey and stared into his fireplace.
Sidney Allen? Maybe Scott told him about Miller’s blackmail, and the publisher decided to eliminate both loose cannons.
Damn it, Allen is still in the wind.
Tennant sat all evening in his chair, thinking about a poisoning, a stab wound to the neck, and a second poisoning....
* **
Mary and Louisa returned to Kensington on Sunday evening. They’d spent ten days on the Isle of Wight, Mary sketching and her sister-in-law reading in the sun.
Louisa handed her hat and wrap to the housemaid and went upstairs to rest before dinner. Alfred, who’d opened the door for them, drew Mary aside and asked if she’d heard the news about Dr. Scott.
