“For the love of God.” O’Malley shuffled through a stack of hand-printed envelopes. “They’re addressed to all of them—to Miss Allingham and the rest. And five names we’ve not heard before.”
“We’ve found our poison pen.”
“What’s in the bottom drawer?”
Tennant inched it out and found two wooden boxes carved with lotus leaf motifs. One held twelve stoppered bottles wrapped in tissue paper; the other had ten bottles and two empty slots. The inspector unwrapped a small blue flask, its label stamped at the top with a company’s name and a lotus leaf crest.
“Laudanum,” Tennant said. “Two dozen bottles of a preparation sold by S. Cooper of London.”
“Two dozen? That’ll leave you fluttered and your head in bits the next morning. She was something of a chancer, our Margot Miller. What was she doing with such a supply?”
“Well, there’s nothing illegal about it, but it’s far more than one would have on hand for personal use.” Tennant replaced the bottle. “Anything to interest us in the bedroom?”
“Clean as a whistle.”
Tennant stowed the boxes in the drawer, and they left the house, locking the door behind them. One of the coppers doing the rounds waited at the gate.
“What have you got for us, lad?” O’Malley said.
“The bloke next door gave us the name of the rent collector, so my partner’s gone off to sort him out. His office is a quarter mile along Brompton Road.”
Tennant asked, “And the door-to-door?”
“The upstairs flat is empty. Has been for the past year, according to the neighbor.”
“What about the other addresses on the street?”
“The ladies at home answered a few questions. All of them had seen Mrs. Miller coming and going.”
“Well, now . . .Mrs.Miller, was it,” O’Malley said.
“A widow-lady, they thought. The sharp-eyed missus one house up sniffed and said she’d spotted a gentleman who arrived by hackney cab at all hours. Day and night.”
“Could the lady identify the gentleman?”
“Rolled by with its shades drawn, she said. Bashful bugger.”
O’Malley grunted. “Married bugger, most like.”
The constable looked at Tennant. “Anything else, guv?”
“Just your final report. I need it by tomorrow morning. I especially want to know the name on the lease.”
* * *
The following morning, O’Malley examined a late-day find from the park. A sharp-eyed constable spotted Margot Miller’s handbag shortly before the search was suspended for the evening. He’d found it in a hedge near the northwest entrance to the park.
“Located it a distance from the maze,” the sergeant said. “Looks like the killer walked north toward Kensington Road after doing the deed.” O’Malley handed Tennant an inventory he’d made of the bag’s contents. “It has a few surprises tucked inside.”
Tennant scanned the list. “An empty change purse . . . a robbery gone wrong or meant to look like one? A wedding ring, and a note addressed to Miss Miller from . . .” He looked up, astonished. “From Louisa Allingham?”
O’Malley passed him the letter. “Asking Margot to tea on the day of the murder. That explains why the lass was in the neighborhood.”
“The note mentions a three o’clock appointment.”
“Fits the time of death.”
“This invitation strikes me as odd, Paddy.”
