I thought that might be a little difficult to explain.
I replied instead, “He had asked me to meet him there.”
“Did he say what it was about?”
A proposition? How was I to explain that?
“Do you have any idea what the motive for the attack might have been?”
No more so than the countless people across London that he managed to offend with his articles that exposed affairs, scandals, and all manner of bad deeds. However, I did not say that and instead replied that I did not.
“What can you tell me about the weapon you were found carrying?”
The revolver Brodie insisted I always carry when out and about, due to his experience on the streets.
“The man was obviously stabbed to death, not shot,” I pointed out. “The revolver has not been fired.”
I had been transported to the Yard in a police van, with several others who were ‘detained,’ an unforgettable experience, and then questioned about the incident at the Old Bell.
Upon arrival I had immediately requested to speak with Inspector Dooley, who had worked with Brodie when he was with the MET and on several of our inquiry cases.
He appeared now, a frown on his face.
“Lady Forsythe... I was only just informed that you were here.” He turned to the constable who had been plying me with such insightful questions.
“What is the meaning of this, Constable Jeffers?”
He was handed the report that had been written up after my arrival.
“Are there others in custody?”
“A half-dozen others were brought to the Yard who claimed to have seen the episode, sir. And several others who were present at the tavern afterward.”
“Then I suggest you see to them.”
“But, sir...”
“Lady Forsythe and her associate, Mr. Brodie, are consultants to the MET. I suggest that your attention be best directed to the others who were brought in.”
Constable Jeffers quickly rose from behind the desk, nodded to Mr. Dooley and left.
Mr. Dooley had made inspector two years previous, and in return, we had provided him with information on other cases that came to the MET.
He was Irish, with sandy red brows over a blue gaze, thinning hair, and a bristly red moustache that twitched when he was excited.
“Knee-deep in murder once more, is it, Lady Forsythe?”
“So it would seem.”
He nodded. “Contacted Brodie as soon as I was made aware that you were here. You do have a habit of popping up in the most difficult situations.”
He had ordered coffee from another constable and explained that I was not a suspect and was to be given every courtesy, red moustache twitching when he then dismissed him.
“That will be all.”
No sooner had he made that comment than Brodie arrived.
There is much to be said for knowing someone well—one’s habits, reactions, which had often included disbelief, frustration, and obvious questions with a healthy dose of disapproval thrown in for good measure.
