Mrs. Jeffries Pinches the Post (7 page)

“Is that a common practice?” The inspector was rather sure it wasn’t. In most large households, he’d noticed the servants didn’t speak unless they’d been spoken to first.

“Of course not.” Duffy pursed his lips. “We were all rather surprised. As a matter of fact, we weren’t really sure what he was talking about. I could tell the rest of the staff was confused, so I asked Mr. Nye to clarify what he meant. He said if we were ever caught gossiping about him or his bride, that it would be grounds for instant dismissal.”

The inspector said nothing for a moment as he digested this information. Then he asked, “Has anyone ever been dismissed for gossiping?” He was fairly certain the killer wasn’t a disgruntled former servant. Harrison Nye didn’t strike him as the type to go all the way to Fulham in the middle of the night to meet with a former maid or footman. But he felt he had to ask the question anyway.

“No one.”

“Did you ever hear Mr. Nye mention someone called Miss Geddy?” The inspector held his breath, hoping against hope that there might be a connection between the victim and the place where he’d been found dead.

“No sir, I haven’t. Is she a friend of Mr. Nye’s?”

“We don’t know. But he was found stabbed to death in her garden. Frankly, I was rather hoping you might have heard of her.”

Betsy didn’t want to be rude to Smythe, but honestly, if he didn’t quit dogging her footsteps, she was going to scream. They’d separated when they reached Fulham, but every time she came out of a shop, there he was.

“Will you please go somewhere else,” she said. She pointed toward the hansom stand at the end of Hurlingham Road. “There are cabs over there. Go talk to the drivers or something. Having you under my feet is making me nervous.”

“I’m not tryin’ to get under your feet,” he insisted. “I’m trying to find that lad I was talking to this mornin’.”

“Why don’t you try looking on Dunbarton Street. Isn’t that where he lives?” Betsy stepped off the curb, her destination a grocer’s shop across the road.

“There’s police all over Dunbarton Street.” Smythe sighed and fell into step next to her. She shot him a glare. “Now, now, don’t look so, lass. I’ll not be interferin’ on your patch. I’m takin’ your advice and goin’ up to the cabbie stand. Uh, ‘ow much longer do you think you’ll be?” The sun was sinking in the west, and he wanted to make sure they headed home together. She was an independent sort, but he didn’t want her out on London’s streets on her own once it got dark.

“The shops will be closing in another hour,” she said. She knew he wouldn’t give up, not this late in the day. She decided to give in gracefully. “I’ll meet you at the omnibus stop over there”—she pointed back the way they’d come—“and we’ll go home together. All right?”

“The omnibus will be crowded, we can take a hansom.”

She opened her mouth to argue with him, then clamped it shut and grabbed his arm. “Oh no, don’t look now, but there’s Inspector Nivens.”

Smythe looked in the direction she was staring. Nigel Nivens stood on the other side of the street, staring at the two of them. “Blast a Spaniard,” he muttered. He quickly took Betsy’s arm and waved at the inspector. ” ‘Ello, Inspector. Fancy seein’ you ‘ere.”

Nivens waited till they’d reached the curb before he spoke. “I was just thinking the same about you two,” he said. He stared at them suspiciously. “This is an awfully long way from Upper Edmonton Gardens, isn’t it?”

“It’s only a few miles,” Smythe retorted. He racked his brain to think of a good reason for them being here.

“I wanted to see where the murder took place,” Betsy said boldly. “It’s my afternoon out, so I pestered Smythe into bringing me over here. Smythe and I are engaged, Inspector. Did you know that?”

Nivens’s eyes widened a bit, but he managed to nod. “Congratulations.”

Betsy could tell by the expression on his face that he got her point. He’d not pester her again; policeman or not, he was no match for Smythe in any way. “The inspector’s cases are ever so interesting, don’t you think so, Inspector Nivens?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call murder ‘interesting,’ w Nivens said pompously.

“Inspector Witherspoon would.” Smythe, who thought he knew what Betsy was up to, decided to join in the fun. “Course, maybe that’s why he’s so good at catchin’ killers. He thinks solvin’ murders is real interestin’ and real important too. Guess ‘e just sees things in a different light as you.”

Nivens flushed angrily. “That’s not what I meant. Of course it’s interesting, but it’s hardly a spectator sport. 1 wouldn’t go rushing over to visit die scene of a crime merely because I found it amusing.”

“Are you on this case, then?” Betsy asked innocently. She knew he wasn’t. “Is that why you’re here? Mind you, I didn’t realize you and our inspector would be working together again. I’ll be sure and tell him we saw you this afternoon “

“We’re not working together.” Nivens’s face turned even redder.

“Then you’re like us, just ‘ere to ‘ave a bit of a snoop?” Smythe grinned amiably. He loved watching Nivens squirm.

“Certainly not,” Nivens snorted. “I’m on my way to interview a robbery suspect over on Hobbs Lane. I do have cases of my own, you know. It’s merely a coincidence that I ran into you two. I must be on my way.” With a curt nod, he turned on his heel and hurried away.

Betsy sagged against Smythe in relief as they watched him disappear around the corner. “That was a close one.”

“But you ‘andled it just right. He’ll not say a word to our inspector about seein’ us ‘ere.”

Betsy giggled. “When I first spotted him, I started to panic a bit. Then I realized that sometimes you can get rid of a problem by just telling the truth. We are here because of the murder. Even if Nivens said something to our inspector about seeing us, it wouldn’t make any difference. Inspector Witherspoon knows how curious we are about his cases.”

“But it’s not your day out,” Smythe reminded her.

“The inspector isn’t likely to know that, is he?” Betsy laughed. “He leaves that sort of thing to Mrs. Jeffries.”

“That he does. Let’s just hope that our inspector doesn’t start to figure out that we do more than just have us a look at the murder scene. Speakin’ of which, I’d best get to that hansom stand before they’re all gone. It’s gettin’ late.”

“And I want to have another go at that girl who works at the greengrocer’s,” Betsy said.

They each went their separate ways. Betsy was relieved that Smythe hadn’t noticed the way she’d announced her engagement to Nivens. It might have led to some pointed questions, and she didn’t want to have to lie to him. She retraced her steps and was soon back at the greengrocer’s. But the young woman who’d been too busy to talk to her earlier was gone. Standing behind the counter was a tall, thin-faced young man wearing a dirty brown apron.

He glanced up as she entered die small enclosure. “Hello, miss, can I help you with something?” he asked.

Betsy gave him her best smile. “I’m not sure what I want,” she said. “Those apples look very nice.” She pointed to some pippins at the front of the large fruit bin. “I’ll have three of them, please.”

“Certainly, miss.” He bustled out from behind the counter to get her order.

“Isn’t it awful about that man being murdered?” she began. “Honestly, it makes a body frightened to go out the front door.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “We were all shocked when we heard the news. Absolutely shocked. Things like that don’t happen around here. This is a decent neighborhood. Not like some. Mind you, when I found out where the poor fellow was found, I wasn’t surprised.”

Betsy decided to play dumb. “Really? Why? What was so special about where he was found? I’ll take one of those cauliflowers, too.”

He put the apples on the counter. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No,” she admitted. She said nothing else and apparently that satisfied him because he kept on talking.

“He was found in Miss Geddy’s front garden. She disappeared a couple of months back.” He slapped a cauliflower down next to the apples. “Will there be anything else?”

Betsy wasn’t about to lose him now. “Yes, I’ll need some carrots. Have you got any pears?”

“We’ve some right over here.” He went toward a bin on the other side of the apples.

“Do go on with what you were saying,” she reminded him. “It was ever so interesting.”

“I do hope this Mr. Daggett has something useful to tell us,” Witherspoon said, as he and Barnes approached the front door of the town house on St. Albans Road in South Kensington. The sun had gone down behind the homes lining the west side of the road, plunging the area into the gray gloom of early evening.

“He must know something, sir,” Barnes replied as he reached up and banged the door knocker. “According to what the footman told me, Daggett’s visit was the reason Nye decided to go out last night. Otherwise, he’d have sent the footman to order him a hansom to pick him up at a prearranged time. The lad swears Nye always ordered a hansom in advance for his late-night outings. Besides, cabs are hard to find after ten o’clock.”

The front door opened and a nervous-looking housemaid stuck her head out. “Oh, you’re not Nelda.”

“No, we’re the police. Who’s Nelda?” asked Witherspoon.

“She’s the upstairs maid and she’s been gone since last night,” the maid said quickly. She glanced over her shoulder, took a deep breath and then plunged on. “Mrs. Benchley’s all in a state about it and refuses to let us report her missing to the police. Mr. Daggett won’t hear of it either, but I’m worried. I think we ought to do something.”

“As we’re here now, I think you’d better let us in,” Barnes said calmly. The girl might chatter like a magpie, but he was fairly certain she’d spotted them coming, seen his uniform and beaten anyone else to the front door. Clever girl. The master of the house hadn’t wanted the police called, but the lass had seen her chance and taken it.

“This way, please.” She flung the door open wide and stepped back.

“Who is it, girl?” Oscar Daggett stepped out of the drawing room and into the hall just as the policemen stepped inside. “It’s blasted inconvenient having Mrs. Benchley laid up like this. These girls don’t know the proper way to open the door and announce people at all….” He broke off complaining as he caught sight of the two men standing in his foyer.

“It’s the police, sir,” the girl said cheerfully. “They want to see you.”

Witherspoon stepped forward. He was suddenly quite glad he’d listened to his constable instead of going home. This case was indeed getting strange. Another missing girl? What next? “I’m Inspector Gerald Witherspoon, and this is Constable Barnes,” he said. “Are you Oscar Daggett?”

Daggett took a deep breath before he answered. “I am. What are you doing here? What do you want?”

“We’d like to speak to you, sir. We’ve a number of questions for you.”

“If it’s about that missing maid, it’s all a tempest in a teapot.” He glared at the maid. “I told you to leave the police out of this. How dare you go against my orders.”

“I didn’t go to the police,” the girl protested. She edged behind the inspector. “Really I didn’t, sir.”

Witherspoon decided he didn’t much care for Oscar Daggett. “We’re here about an entirely different matter,” he said firmly. “But if you’ve a missing girl in this household, we’d like to know about that as well.”

“The girl isn’t missing,” he said, but he’d lost some of his bluster. “She’s run off home. These country girls can’t be trusted. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve an engagement for dinner, and I need to get dressed.”

“We won’t take much of your time,” Barnes said. He gestured toward what he thought was probably the drawing room. “Can we sit down, please?” His words were polite enough, but the tone of his voice brooked no argument.

Daggett pursed his lips and turned on his heel. “This way,” he muttered. He stalked toward an open doorway.

The maid scurried out from behind the inspector. “Nelda wouldn’t have run off like that,” she whispered. “She’s a good girl, and she’s my friend. She’d have told me if she was going home, besides, she wouldn’t leave her young man. I don’t care what he says. Something’s happened to her.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll be down to speak to you about your missing friend,” Witherspoon assured the girl, as he and Barnes followed Daggett.

“Thank you, sir.” She hurried off down the hall.

They entered a nicely furnished drawing room. It was done in masculine colors of forest green and brown. There were the usual hunting scenes on the wall and heavy, dark-upholstered furniture. Daggett sat on a chair near the marble fireplace. “What’s this about?” He didn’t invite them to sit down.

Witherspoon didn’t mind standing up. As a matter of fact, sometimes he thought being on his feet gave him a distinct advantage. “Do you know a man named Harrison Nye?”

Daggett nodded slowly. “Yes. I’ve known him for over fifteen years. We were in business together.”

“What kind of business, sir?” Barnes asked.

“A variety of things, Inspector. Insurance, shipping, mining, overseas investments.” He waved his arm expansively. “As I said, a number of things. Now, what’s this all about?”

“When was the last time you spoke with Mr. Nye?” Witherspoon asked.

“Last night. I popped around to have a word with him about a business matter.” He shrugged. “Unfortunately, he was in the middle of a dinner party. But we had a quick word together. Why?”

“Harrison Nye was murdered last night.” Witherspoon watched Daggett carefully.

Daggett’s mouth dropped open. He bolted up from his chair. “Murdered! But that’s absurd. No one would murder Harrison.”

“But I’m afraid someone did,” the inspector said. “Do you happen to know if Mr. Nye had any enemies?”

“He was a businessman. He could be ruthless at times, but I don’t know of anyone who’d actually want to murder him.”
 

By the time Inspector Witherspoon climbed the stairs to his front door, his head was pounding and there was a dull ache in his lower back.

Mrs. Jeffries was waiting for him in the front hall. “Good evening, sir,” she said cheerfully.

“Good evening, Mrs. Jeffries.” He handed her his bowler hat. “I’m sorry to be so late. I do hope Mrs. Goodge isn’t put out.”