Page 11 of The Locked Room

‘Evil ain’t picky,’ he said, and spat hard at the ground. ‘It was years ago. They say a man went mad and murdered his woman, and her ghost haunts the house still. Anyone who spends the night there is driven mad with the terror of it.’

The story sent an uneasy shiver down Harry’s spine. She squared her shoulders. ‘I don’t believe in ghosts.’

‘That’s what the others said,’ Dobbs replied, and his grin revealed several missing teeth. ‘All I know is no one has stayed there more than a few nights in all the years I’ve been catching round here, saving them what’s in there now. It does my business no harm to have an empty house. More rats then. More money from the neighbouring gaffs who want ’em caught.’

She did her best not to shudder. ‘But it’s not empty now.’

‘No,’ he conceded. ‘More’s the pity. But they won’t stay. It’s a shame after they spent all that money tarting it up. Even filled in the old coiners’ tunnel, so I heard.’

Harry blinked. Coiners was a term she’d come across in a number of Holmes’ adventures. It was slang for the criminal gangs who specialised in forging money, particularly coins. In real life, they had been rife before the turn of the century but several high-profile captures had seen the counterfeiters turn their attentions to other crimes. ‘Did you say tunnel?’ she asked Dobbs.

‘I did, leading right underneath this courtyard and coming out a full street away.’ He grinned. ‘Full of rats, it was. A tidy income for old Welcome, ’til they closed it up.’

‘Interesting,’ Harry breathed. She glanced up at the house. ‘You know what, I don’t fancy working there now. Not after hearing all that.’

Welcome Dobbs nodded approvingly. ‘You do right, lad.’ He tossed Rosie another titbit and sniffed. ‘Try Hamilton Square. You might get lucky if you mention my name.’

She smiled, because the advice was kindly given. ‘Ta very much. I – er – hope your traps are full, Mr Dobbs.’

He sighed as he turned towards the alley that led out of the yard. ‘Not as full as they used to be. Come on, Rosie. Let’s see what we can get for these wretches.’

Harry waited a full five minutes before she followed, gazing thoughtfully back and forth between number 48 and 50 and considering everything she had learned. She doubted the tall tales of murder and hauntings had any bearing on the theft of the Sora-Sora diamond but the fact that the property had been used by criminals in the past was definitely a point of curiosity. The coiners described by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle had been desperate, ruthless men and Harry had no doubt their real-life counterparts had been the same. Could the tunnel Dobbs mentioned have some connection to this new crime? It certainly seemed plausible, Harry mused as she made her way home to start her day all over again. In fact, it was just possible she had uncovered a significant clue.

It was by no means certain that Beth would receive Harry’s letter in time to meet her at twelve-thirty, but she set out for Regent’s Park all the same. Nor had she settled on the best way to approach the matter of infiltrating the Hot Spot with Seb. Her note had been brief, simply asking Beth to meet her beside the fountain in St John’s Lodge Gardens that afternoon, but Harry had spent much of the morning wrestling with the conundrum of how much she should confide in the young woman. Beth had proved trustworthy so far, but she knew nothing of Harry’s true identity. Introducing her to Seb would open a door that could never be closed again. And yet Harry couldn’t see a way round it: she needed Beth to be her eyes and ears inside the Hot Spot, to see what she could uncover. She had managed to persuade her brother to arrange entry to the club that evening, shamelessly dropping into the conversation that it had been Oliver’s idea that he accompany her. But she had not managed to convince him that, once inside, she would seek out Serafina on her own.

‘Absolutely not, Harry,’ he’d said when she had called him the night before, and the words had rung with unaccustomed steel. ‘I’ll get you in, but you stay with me for the duration of the evening and you leave by midnight. Lawrence will have my hide otherwise.’

‘But how am I supposed to find out what Serafina wants?’ Harry objected. ‘Everyone knows who you are – she probably knows you, at least by reputation, and even if she doesn’t, someone will tell her.’

Seb sighed. ‘I’m not sure what you expect me to do about that. Pretend to be someone else?’

It was a possibility that had occurred to her already, until she remembered how terrible Seb had been at amateur dramatics in their younger years. ‘Of course not, you’re far too easily recognisable.’ She paused. ‘But I’m not.’

He laughed. ‘I hate to break it to you, Sis, but the Hot Spot is – well – hot. Meaning the place will be teeming with people you know – the Goldsworthy sisters, the Chartwells and plenty more, as well as those who know you by reputation. If you’re hoping for an incognito meeting with Miss Eccleston then I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed.’

Harry hesitated, toying with the telephone cable, but she could not bring herself to suggest she wore a disguise. ‘I don’t know how I’m supposed to find out anything.’

‘Talk to people,’ Seb suggested. ‘Lips get surprisingly loose as the night wears on. And if nothing else, you’ll have some fun.’ He stopped as though reviewing his own words. ‘A very little fun.’

‘I might want to bring a friend,’ Harry said, giving in to the inevitable.

‘The more the merrier,’ her brother replied. ‘Anyone I know? It’s not Fortescue, is it?’

‘No,’ Harry said quickly.

‘No, I suppose that really wouldn’t do, would it?’ Seb mused. ‘All right, I’ll need your friend’s name by tea-time tomorrow to arrange the invitations. What do you want to drink?’

Harry thought back to the newspaper reports she’d read about the over-inflated prices charged by nightclubs and tried not to wince. ‘Whatever you’re having.’

‘Champagne it is,’ Seb said. ‘Don’t forget to call me with the name.’

Which had left Harry wondering how Beth would react to the suggestion that she join them at the Hot Spot. A small part of her hoped the other woman hadn’t received her letter in time; if she didn’t appear then Harry could spend a pleasant half-hour walking among the hidden passages between the winter foliage and then return to her office without having to risk her identity. But that hope was quashed when she reached the fountain and saw Beth waiting. Squaring her shoulders, Harry approached, waiting for the light of recognition to dawn on the other woman’s face. It did not take long.

‘Blimey, you scrub up well.’ Beth’s gaze was narrow as she took in Harry’s expensive shoes, fitted woollen coat and fashionable hat, in sharp contrast to her own clean but well-worn clothes. ‘You’ll be telling me next your name ain’t Sarah Smith.’

‘I think you already knew that.’ She held out a hand. ‘Harry White.’

Beth’s nose wrinkled. ‘Is that another made-up name? ’Cos you don’t talk like any of the Harrys I know.’