Chapter 8
Harry went to check on Goliath and take something for him to eat, while I returned to the hotel to see if the police had linked the man in their sketch to the Mayfair Hotel.
I was still some distance away when it became clear the journalists had returned.
There was quite a mass of them out the front, but they weren’t being too disruptive.
Frank was back on duty alongside the second doorman, and guests came and went without being bothered, so I guessed the presence of the press had nothing to do with our porter being the main suspect, and everything to do with Louis Arkwright being inside.
My uncle’s denial was no longer believed.
I was relieved about Goliath, however. If the journalists hadn’t realized the man in the sketch worked here, then it was likely the police hadn’t either.
I was wrong. Peter intercepted me as I crossed the foyer.
“You’ve returned,” I said. “How did you go?”
“Fine.” He glanced around then stepped closer. “Mr. Hobart is with two detectives in his office.”
I groaned. “Latimer and Fanning?”
He nodded. “They came while I was still out, and asked the front of house staff if they recognized the man whose picture was in this morning’s Daily Advertiser. They’d received a tip from the public that he worked here.”
“Oh no.”
“They’d already spoken to the two doormen, a porter and Terence before Mr. Hobart saw them. All four assured me they didn’t say anything. Apparently Mr. Hobart has been with the detectives for a few minutes now.”
I followed his gaze to the corridor housing the senior staff offices.
Peter lowered his voice even further. “It’s you-know-who in that sketch, isn’t it?”
“It’s a terrible mistake that Harry and I are trying to fix.”
“I never doubted that. He’s a gentle giant and wouldn’t harm anyone.”
“You know him well, Peter, as does Frank. But not all of the staff do. If the police question them… You can see how it looks. He hasn’t shown up for work and was very enthusiastic about the pirate’s treasure.”
“It’ll be all right, Miss Fox. Mr. Hobart won’t let them question anyone else, and if they do, the staff won’t say a word about Goliath.” Peter dropped his voice to a whisper to say his name. “We’re a family at the Mayfair, and family look after each other.”
Tears sprang to my eyes, earning me a reassuring smile from Peter. His comforting words were just what my frayed nerves needed to hear.
I spotted Mr. Hobart and the two detectives emerging from the senior staff corridor and quickly turned my back to them. While they knew I worked here, I wasn’t in the mood to talk to them. I was about to walk off, but Peter said he had more to tell me.
“There’s something you should know about that list of insurance clients.”
“Did Mr. Symond miss one of his calls yesterday?”
Peter shook his head. “He called on them all, and each meeting began at the appointed time. But according to the last client he saw, he left at a quarter to noon. It’s walking distance to the lodging house from there. It took me fourteen minutes at a regular pace.”
“Mrs. Jeffry says she arrived home at twelve thirty. She thought she was alone, given Bradbury wasn’t due back until one and he made no noise in his study.
Presumably he was already dead, so that means Symond had time after leaving his last client and before the landlady returned.
He could have killed Bradbury then left before she arrived home.
Thank you, Peter. That’s enormously helpful. ”
Behind me, I heard D.I. Latimer ask Mr. Hobart to give his regards to his brother, the inspector’s former colleague. I slyly watched them leave and released a pent-up breath once they were gone.
Mr. Hobart joined Peter and me. There was an air of seriousness about him, but not concern. “As long as the press don’t get wind of the tip the police received that sent them here, there shouldn’t be a problem.”
“What did you say to the detectives?” I asked.
“They told me they’d received two tips from the public who thought the man in the sketch was a porter here, but they couldn’t give a name.
I studied the sketch and said I didn’t see a resemblance to anyone, then I pointed to the line in the article that mentioned the man was very tall.
I told them we did have a very tall porter who worked here, although it was his day off today.
I suggested the members of the public must simply have confused one tall fellow with another.
It’s easy to do. Since the staff members they’d already questioned out here didn’t recognize their colleague in the sketch, the policemen decided we couldn’t all be lying.
” Mr. Hobart gave a satisfied sigh and looked around, from the porters pushing trolleys, to Terence at the post desk, and the clerk at the check-in desk, to Frank holding the front door open for two guests.
“We’re family,” Peter told him.
“Indeed we are, Mr. Leyland.” Mr. Hobart gave a perfunctory bow and went to welcome the new guests, his eyes sparkling.
I asked Peter if he’d seen Flossy, but he claimed he had not.
I went in search of her, but she wasn’t in her suite, or with Aunt Lilian.
Neither Uncle Ronald nor Floyd had seen her either.
As I was about to return downstairs, I changed course and walked along the fourth-floor corridor, past the hotel’s best and biggest rooms, until I reached Mr. Arkwright’s.
The nurse answered my knock. “I’m afraid Mr. Arkwright is napping,” Sister Meersham said. “He heard about all the journalists outside and got a little agitated, so I gave him something to calm his nerves.”
“I’ll come back later,” I said.
She bestowed a benign smile on me. I had a feeling Mr. Arkwright would be conveniently napping then, too.
Perhaps my cynicism was a little unfair. He was elderly, after all, and hadn’t been given long to live by his doctor. It was understandable he required regular naps.
I doubted I’d find Flossy in the restaurant, but I looked anyway. “Have you seen Miss Bainbridge?” I asked Mr. Chapman as he stood at the reservations desk. It was lunchtime, but being a Wednesday, there were only a smattering of guests and walk-ins dining there today.
“She wouldn’t dine in here without a chaperone, Miss Fox. She’s a young lady of good breeding.”
His snooty comment was a snide reference to me, someone who roamed around the city without a chaperone on a daily basis.
I wasn’t so easily stung, however. “A simple no would have sufficed.” I went to walk off, but doubled back.
I suspected I already knew the answer to my next question, but I asked it anyway.
“Do you know who’s coming to the special dinner on Friday? ”
Mr. Chapman looked down his nose at me and said nothing at all.
I smiled at him. “Thank you for that.”
“For what? I didn’t tell you anything.”
I walked off, smiling to myself, despite feeling the stab of his glare in my back.
I hadn’t expected an answer to my question, just a sign as to whether Mr. Chapman knew.
Clearly he did not, otherwise he would have smugly told me he did, then refused to give more details.
He wouldn’t be able to resist rubbing my nose in the fact he knew and I didn’t.
So if no one had confided in the steward, or Harmony for that matter, the list of who did know was extremely small.
So small that it included only my uncle, Floyd and Mr. Hobart.
Perhaps Aunt Lilian, too, but I wasn’t going to question her given her frailty.
The diners must be important people indeed for so few to know.
As I left the hotel and passed the journalists hoping to speak to Louis Arkwright, I wondered how long it would be before the diners coming for the secret dinner knew the press were watching the venue closely. If they were staying at the hotel as guests, they may already be aware.
* * *
I met Harry at his office as we’d agreed. Going anywhere near his flat would be suspicious, given our relationship was just a working one as far as the world knew. I didn’t want to attract any attention to his home while Goliath was hiding out there.
Over a small bowl of spaghetti alla Napoletana, I told Harry what Peter had discovered about the timing of Mr. Symond’s departure from his last client. “He had ample time to return home and kill Bradbury before Mrs. Jeffry returned.”
“We’ll confront Symond and see what he has to say for himself. Did you speak to Arkwright?”
“No, nor Flossy. Now that I’ve met Ida Gainsborough, I want to know what scandals were included in her biography that she didn’t like.”
“She doesn’t seem too perturbed about them anymore, whatever they are.”
“So she says.” I stabbed my fork into the spaghetti and twirled the strands around it. “She could be acting. We both thought she was reciting lines.”
* * *
After we finished our pasta, we headed to Threadneedle Street to speak to Mr. Symond at his place of work.
He looked annoyed upon seeing us, but quickly schooled his features and invited us into a meeting room for a private discussion.
The wood paneled walls, worn leather chairs and lingering smell of cigar smoke made it feel as though we were in the smoking room at the hotel.
Being a gentleman’s domain, it seemed appropriate for Harry to lead the interrogation.
Usually he began with charm to disarm suspects, but worry for Goliath made him blunt.
He got straight to the point. “Yesterday you told us you left your last client’s house and went directly home, yet we’ve learned you left that client at a quarter to twelve.
You weren’t seen at your lodgings until an hour later when Mrs. Jeffry was screaming about the murder.
It doesn’t take an hour to travel between the two locations. So where did you go?”
“Ah. Yes, my apologies for not saying so when you first asked, but I couldn’t tell you the truth in front of Mrs. Jeffry.”
“Were you with Mrs. Corrin?”