He made a good point. Finding the book was secondary to finding the two women taken from Moray Place. With the effigy linking the theft to their abductions, we were now involved, whether we wanted to be or not. We might as well be of use and, as Oscar implied, the wheels of Edinburgh’s constabulary may grind as slowly as those in London.
I agreed to question the hotel staff but, first, I needed something from Mr. Defoe. “If you and Miss Wheeler wish to help, then it would be appreciated. Four heads are better than two. But I need your assurance that once the book is found, you won’t try to take it from us.”
“You have it,” he said. “You bought it, Professor. It’s yours.”
I couldn’t bring myself to fully trust him, but accepted his word. We might need some of his financial support to fund the search if the police were unhelpful. Money had a way of loosening tongues. After we got the book back, Oscar and I would need to be extra vigilant in keeping it out of Mr. Defoe’s clutches.
“Shall we begin?” I asked him.
“Not me. I was going to read some papers on the train, but I might as well do it in my room. Adele will assist you.”
He looked amused, while Miss Wheeler watched Oscar carefully, almost defiantly, as if daring him to scoff or protest that a woman could be of use.
She didn’t know Oscar like I did. I wasn’t surprised when he asked her if she was ready to begin immediately. “I’m sure Mr. Defoe can carry his own valise back to his room,” Oscar finished.
Mr. Defoe picked up the valise then moved closer to Miss Wheeler. He whispered something in her ear then brushed past me and headed up the stairs.
I cleared my throat as I gathered the courage to finally utter a retort I’d thought of earlier in our exchange. “I’d like to point out that pencils can be very dangerous, in the right hands.” This time, I felt self-conscious as I pushed my glasses up my nose. I felt even more self-conscious when Mr. Defoe laughed without slowing his pace. I wished he hadn’t glanced over his shoulder and seen me blush.
“Why do you work for that man?” Oscar asked Miss Wheeler.
“Why do you ask such impertinent questions?” She set off down the stairs. “I was in need of employment, and Defoe offered me a position as his assistant. Given the color of my skin and my background, few men would. Probably none. Whatever you think of him, he has always treated me well.”
“Your background?”
“Is none of your business.”
Oscar smiled.
We reached the hotel foyer where Oscar made inquiries about extending our stay before asking the clerk if he’d seen anyone go up the stairs who wasn’t a guest. He had not, but nor had he worked overnight. We spoke to the manager, housekeeper, porters and doormen, but no one suspicious had been seen around the hotel. The night porter had finished his shift but was still there, and he also denied seeing any strangers entering the hotel.
We had to go to the police empty-handed, after all. Oscar seemed more frustrated than me as he strode across the foyer and pushed open the door himself before the doorman could reach it. He waited on the pavement while I asked the doorman for directions to the police headquarters. It wasn’t far, so we walked.
“I think we should question Kinloch and his staff,” Oscar said.
Miss Wheeler stamped the end of her umbrella into the uneven pavement with each step, using it as a walking stick. “So you do think he stole it back despite what you said to Defoe?”
“There’s something we haven’t told you. Something that links the theft of the book to the abduction of two women from Moray Place.”
Miss Wheeler’s eyes widened. “What is it?”
“We’ll tell you on the way.”
“To the police station,” I said sternly.
Oscar kept an eye on Miss Wheeler’s umbrella as it firmly struck the pavement. “Since we’re going to work together, may we call you Adele?”
“No.”
He wasn’t put off. Indeed, he seemed to delight in her prickliness. “You may call me Oscar if you like.”
“I don’t like. Remaining formal is best, given our brief acquaintance.”
“It may be brief, but it has been intense up until now, with the likelihood of it becoming even more so by the time this endeavor is finished.”
One gloved finger tapped on the umbrella handle. “How is your shin, Mr. Barratt?”
“Bruised, but?—"
