“And the seaman-boyfriend, Arnie Stackpole?” Tennant said. “Is he still in the wind?”
“I have two lads walking the docks and checking pubs and boardinghouses for him. Not a whisper so far. They’ll go back tomorrow.”
What was left to do was search the victim’s flat. Tennant and O’Malley headed by hansom cab to Margot Miller’s address in Chelsea. They drove the route she might have taken from Kensington, riding along Queen’s Gate to Brompton Road, passing the gardens.
“I peeled away two coppers from the park search to check the cab and omnibus stands as you asked,” O’Malley said.
“That should produce something.”
“The cabbies and ’busmen wouldn’t be forgetting her. She was a fine-looking woman, that Margot Miller.”
“And what about Micah Miller?”
“The lads will be showing Miss Herford’s likeness of him as well. Someone will recall the fella if he was hanging round about.”
When the hansom crossed into Chelsea, O’Malley said, “The Harvey Nicols store is only a quarter mile from Margot’s street. ’Tis just off Brompton Road.”
“Interesting, given the doorman’s evidence that Franny Riley walked in that direction.”
The cab stopped at the last of five houses on a quiet, tree-lined street.Turn of the century,Tennant guessed by the look of the symmetrical windows that flanked a columned entryway.At some point, a builder had divided the house into upstairs and downstairs flats; Margot had occupied the ground floor. Two Kensington constables waited at the front door. One enterprising officer had located the key under a stone near the front porch. He handed it to Sergeant O’Malley.
“Impressive address for a shopgirl, Paddy,” Tennant said.
“Someone with a coin or two is footing the bill for this place.”
“Let’s see if our constables can find out who it is.”
“All right, lads,” O’Malley said. “Crack on with a neighborhood door-to-door. We want the landlord’s name and a description of any recent male visitors.”
The sergeant inserted the key, and the front door swung smoothly on its hinges.
“’Tis arctic inside,” O’Malley said. “The coal burned down hours ago.”
They entered the large, light-filled, and well-appointed main room of the flat. Creamy yellow-and-blue upholstery covered the parlor furniture in a style Tennant recognized as French provincial. Doors opened into a kitchen and a dining room; a hallway led to the flat’s two bedrooms, the smaller of which was unfurnished.
A large, four-poster bed stood in the center of the occupied chamber. O’Malley opened a wardrobe filled with women’s dresses. It also held a gentleman’s smoking jacket and two shirts. A man’s slippers sat on the cabinet floor next to pairs of women’s boots and shoes. A shaving mirror, table, and bowl occupied the corner near the wardrobe. Women’s intimate clothing and night things filled most of a bureau on the opposite wall, with one drawer reserved for a gentleman’s use.
“Impressions, Sergeant?”
“All in all, a cozy setup. The furnishings look new. Top quality.”
“All right, Paddy, go through everything in the bedroom. Check garment pockets, look under the mattress, and lift the carpet. You know the drill.”
Tennant returned to the parlor, where an easel by the north-facing window caught his eye. A half-finished still life rested against the wooden panel. Tennant paged through a sheaf of discarded sketches; several showed signs of a second hand at work, suggesting changes of line and shading.
Someone was giving Margot drawing lessons.
Tennant moved to the opposite side of the room where a writing desk held a marble pen holder, an inkwell, and a supply of inexpensive writing paper. He picked up a sheet and held it to the light, looking for a watermark.
The inspector turned his attention to the first of the desk drawers. He found more writing paper that matched the sheets on the desk, a pile of envelopes, and a box of one-penny stamps. He jiggled the locked pulls on the middle and bottom drawers. Tennant was about to force one open when he spotted the edge of a key between the inkstand’s legs. It slipped into the lock and turned.
The middle drawer held a brass-embellished teak box. Tennant’s eyebrows shot up at the wad of five- and ten-pound notes he found inside. What he discovered underneath the bills was more surprising still.
“Paddy, come, please.”
The sergeant appeared at the door. “Sir?”
Tennant placed the box on the desk. “Take a look.”
