Page 51 of Holmes Is Missing

“Arthur Conan Doyle?” said Poe, still catching his breath.

“Isaac Asimov,” said Holmes. “I’m branching out.”

“Are you calling me incompetent for taking a swing at a police captain?”

“That’s different,” said Holmes. “You were defending the honor of a woman with child.”

“Children,” corrected Poe, holding up two fingers.

They were through the revolving doors now and standing on the sidewalk in front of Poe’s car. A traffic citation was stuck under the windshield wiper. Poe swiped it up and read it. “A hundred and fifteen dollars?”

“Cost of doing business with cretins,” said Holmes.

“What now?” asked Poe.

“I need a lift to Penn Station.”

“Meeting a train?”

“No. Taking one.”

“To where?”

“Delaware.”

“To find what?”

“I’ll let you know when I get there.”

Poe pointed toward his illegally parked Oldsmobile. “If you pay the fine, you can take the car. I’ll Uber back to Brooklyn.”

“No, thanks,” said Holmes. “I’m in the mood for a little nineteenth-century transportation.”

“Make sure you take that new pocket watch,” said Poe. “You’ll fit right in.”

CHAPTER55

MARPLE HAD EXPECTEDto end up at the iconic New Scotland Yard headquarters in Westminster. Instead, the car pulled up in front of a much smaller building a few blocks south along the Thames. The entrance was guarded by a single officer and a pair of stone gargoyles that looked like they might have survived from the reign of Henry VIII.

“Keeping your doula in a dungeon, are you?” asked Marple.

“It’s an annex,” said Dodgett as they exited the car. He patted the roof to signal the driver. The armored sedan pulled away, leaving Marple and the constable on the rain-soaked sidewalk. “We’ve been running the hospital case out of here,” said Dodgett. “More privacy. Less press. Our own little black site.”

“How have you managed to keep a lid on this?” asked Marple as they headed up the entry walk.

“The hospital is King’s Grove in Kensington—small and exclusive. The four newborn babies who were taken were the only ones on the floor that night. We’ve closed the ward under the guise of equipment upgrades. So far, the staff have held. They don’t want this kind of publicity any more than we do.”

Marple remembered that one mother of the missing babies had an uncle in Parliament. “I suppose having an MP involved doesn’t hurt when it comes to pulling strings.”

“Doesn’t help when it comes to pressure,” said Dodgett. “Lord Essom is a backbencher with a big mouth, and he wants his little grandniece found. So far, we’ve convinced him that discretion is key to the investigation. But if he gets impatient, he could break.”

Dodgett held the door for Marple as they entered. Inside, the classic stone building had been renovated in a generic office style. The austere lobby was lit with institutional fluorescents. A dour-looking female officer sat at a sturdy metal desk in front of an open staircase and a single elevator. She looked up as Dodgett approached.

“Did they bring her into L3?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” said the desk officer. “Soon as you rang.”

“Working today?” He nodded toward the elevator.

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