Chapter 5 #2
I pointed to the capital letter W on one of the letters from Will and compared it to the W on the anonymous missive. “These are different. The anonymous one is more rounded, the one from Dr. Iverson is quite sharp. They’re written by different people.”
“’I dare to write this knowing I may be rebuffed,’” Harry read from the brief letter. “’Yet I must write it. I admire you and would like to know you and be known by you, if you dare. If you are curious to see who sent this, meet me outside 59 Regent Street at nine next Tuesday evening.’”
“That’s tonight. What’s at 59 Regent Street?”
Harry shrugged. “Just shops, I think. We can check now. It’s on the way to the address we have for Mrs. Linton.” He folded the letter in half and placed it on top of the others before retying the ribbon around them. “So Isabel Kempsey had a second admirer, one who is more succinct than the doctor.”
“Her husband and sister did say she was popular,” I said, taking his arm to stroll along the tree-lined path. “He must be considered a suspect now, in light of the affair with Dr. Iverson, and perhaps this second one.”
“As should Mrs. Iverson. She could have killed her husband’s lover at his clinic to punish him. Even if he doesn’t ultimately get arrested, the murder will damage his reputation.”
“Damaging her husband’s reputation will damage her own as well, not to mention cause financial hardship, which would also affect her. She’d be a fool to risk it.”
“Perhaps she acted out of rage, rather than with a cool head.”
“I’m not convinced,” I said. “Mrs. Iverson struck me as very practically minded.”
“Even practical minds can be overruled by strong emotions.”
The gruesome discussion was at odds with the beautiful setting of Regent’s Park.
The cooler weather kept most people away, so it was peaceful, yet stunningly beautiful with its display of autumn leaves in varying shades of gold.
I would have liked to stroll with Harry a while longer, especially since it was far enough from the hotel that I wasn’t worried about being caught by anyone we knew.
We had a great deal to still accomplish, however, and idle walks would have to wait for another time.
We maintained a swift pace all the way to Regent Street and took shelter under the awning of the jewelry shop at number fifty-nine as it began to rain.
We peered through the window, past the glittering display of gemstones and gold to a couple inspecting a ring under the bright light of a lamp at the counter.
The jeweler stood ready with more to show if that one proved not to their taste.
“Shall we go inside and speak to the jeweler?” I looked at Harry to discover that he was no longer peering through the window. He surveyed the street.
I followed suit. We were at the Piccadilly Circus end of Regent Street where most of the shops catered to the well-heeled residents of Mayfair, but it was also near the theater district and more eclectic area of Soho.
Harry’s office wasn’t far, and the Mayfair Hotel was a short walk in the opposite direction.
On one side of the jeweler’s was a leather goods seller, and a toy shop occupied the other premises.
Across the way were the four columns marking the entrance to the Café Royal, and next to that was a bootmaker and a dressmaker’s clothing boutique.
Was the venue for the meeting place significant or random?
“Why tonight?” Harry mused.
I watched as two gentlemen left the Café Royal and simultaneously put up their umbrellas. “What do you mean?”
“The letter was dated last Wednesday, so why not meet earlier than tonight? Why wait?”
“Perhaps the letter writer was busy.”
Harry turned back to the jewelry shop and once again peered through the window.
“It will be closed at nine PM,” I pointed out. “It’ll be night, but not too dark with all these streetlamps on, so privacy isn’t guaranteed.”
“Especially since they’re electric. Regent Street was converted from gas years ago. It was easier to have clandestine meetings in those days. The light was softer.”
“Did you have many clandestine meetings in those days?”
His lips curved with his wicked smile. “Not on Regent Street.”
“Dare I ask more?”
“If you do, I’ll answer you honestly. I have no secrets from you, Cleo.”
I knew Harry was more experienced than me when it came to relationships. I’d even met one of his former lovers during a previous investigation. But I decided not to delve any further into his past. It would change nothing between us.
As much as I wanted to loop my arm through his as we walked, I kept my hands by my sides. We were much too close to the hotel to risk it.
Harry had obtained the address of Mrs. Mary Linton from her file at Dr. Iverson’s clinic.
She lived quite a distance from Harley Street, in a short street lined with two-story row houses.
The street was so short that it quickly became obvious the address was wrong.
It had been listed as number twenty, but there were only twelve houses.
We walked up and down twice before giving up.
“Perhaps it was noted down incorrectly,” I said. “Miss Wainsmith may have misheard.”
“Or Mrs. Linton gave a false address.”
A woman and little girl emerged from number twelve. The woman clutched the girl’s hand tightly as Harry smiled at them. He removed his hat and politely asked if she knew anyone named Mary Linton.
The woman frowned, glanced at me, then looked at Harry again. “If this is a joke, I don’t understand it.”
“It’s not a joke,” Harry assured her. “We’re private investigators looking for Mary Linton. She gave her address as number twenty, but we can see it doesn’t exist.”
The woman apparently did understand the joke this time. “Seems to me someone’s pulling your leg, sir.” She pointed to the adjoining road where another street met it on the opposite side. “That there is Mary Street. Follow it and you reach Linton Street.”
Harry thanked her and we did just that—followed Mary Street until we arrived at the intersection with Linton Street.
The coincidence was too great to ignore.
The patient who’d claimed to return to the clinic to look for her glove had given a false address located near to two real streets of the same names as her own. Her own equally false name, that is.
“Miss Wainsmith called the patient young, pretty and confident,” I reminded Harry. “Not their typical patient, she said.”
Harry looked around at the buildings near the intersection.
“Sister Dearden said Mrs. Linton wanted to use the Electro Therapy Machine in that session, even though it was her first appointment, and the doctor hadn’t yet diagnosed her.
” He sighed up at the sign for Linton Street. “We’ve been led on a wild goose chase.”
“Not necessarily.”
Like him, I studied the buildings. On two corners were houses, each one at the end of a row of identical houses.
They were bigger than those located at the address Mrs. Linton had given us, although not as large as those found in Mayfair.
The occupants coming and going were well dressed, and there were basement service rooms accessible from the pavement.
Arlington Square Gardens occupied a third corner of the intersection, and a pub stood on the fourth.
I pointed to the houses. “I think she used Mary and Linton as her name because she sees these street signs every day. Perhaps she often walks through this intersection, or perhaps she lives in one of these buildings, either as a resident or servant.”
Harry didn’t agree, however. “If I were choosing a false name and address to disguise my identity, I wouldn’t choose them based on real places near where I lived.”
“Not everyone is as smart as you, Harry. Most people would say whatever came to mind.”
“In that case, we need to find out what the woman who calls herself Mrs. Linton looks like. Then we’ll return here and watch the vicinity. But first, shall we eat a late lunch?”
After lunch Harry used a silence cabinet in a local pharmacy to telephone D.S. Forrester and update him on our progress. The troubled look on Harry’s face when he emerged from the booth worried me.
“They released Dr. Iverson,” he said as we exited the pharmacy.
“That’s good news! So why are you frowning? Do you think the doctor will cancel the contract he has with you now?”
“He may, but it’s not that. Forrester wasn’t interested in hearing about our progress. He was curt on the telephone, cutting me off mid-sentence.”
“That’s not like him,” I agreed. “Should we go to Scotland Yard and insist he listen?”
Harry placed his hand at my lower back as we walked. It was comfortably reassuring. “Not yet. Not until we’ve solved the murder. He won’t be able to ignore us then.”
I leaned into him a little, and he shortened his strides to match mine. “Where to now, lead investigator Armitage?”
“We call on the doctor. He has a lot of questions to answer.”