Page 11 of A Measure of Menace

The police must have removed anything suspicious, because I found mostly empty drawers. No ledgers, no stacks of cash or bags of coins, no strongboxes. No convenient letters from clients threatening to kill Mr. Mobley if they weren’t given more time to pay back their loan, outlining the exact day and time they’d do it.

Nothing to point to anyone, including Lord Clifford, that I could see. Sergeant Scott must be a thorough young man.

I had not heard of Sergeant Scott, so I had no idea who his inspector was—not McGregor, whose subordinates I’d met. I would have to find out more about him.

At Regent Street, I paid the cabbie more shillings than I truly wanted to part with but also gave him my thanks for staying with me. He drove away with a brief nod and didn’t look back.

I entered the tall house that was my destination, hefted my basket, and made my way upstairs to a higher floor. I did not see the landlady on my way, so I could not inquire whether the gentleman I sought was at home. He might or might not be at the Polytechnic, where he’d become ardently absorbed in his work, but I had to try. If he wasn’t here, I’d make my way to Cavendish Square and hope to be admitted to his office.

I tapped on the door at the top of the long flight and was rewarded with a thin voice saying, “Enter.”

A slender young man with very dark hair and a pair of spectacles hunched over a desk against a wall, absorbed in the three books and several sheets of paper spread before him. He did not look up when I walked inside and closed the door, as though he’d forgotten anyone had knocked.

“Mr. Thanos?” I ventured.

His head jerked up. Mr. Thanos swung around in his chair, blinked a moment, and then hurtled to his feet.

“Mrs. Holloway.” He bounded across the carpet to me, beaming a wide smile. “What a delight. Sit down, sit down. I’ll have my landlady bring us up some tea and as many cakes as you wish.”

When Mr. Thanos expressed delight to see a person, he meant it. Any other man might simply attempt politeness, hiding his annoyance that I’d interrupted him, but Mr. Thanos was quite sincere.

“No need.” I held up my hands to keep him from rushing out to the staircase and calling for the tea. “I must leave at once. I have come to ask if you could find Daniel—Mr. McAdam—for me.”

Mr. Thanos’s dark eyes widened behind the thick glass of his spectacles. “What makes you believe I can find McAdam any quicker than you can? The man is as elusive as a ghost. And ghosts do not exist, as you know.”

I shook my head. “What I mean is, I need help finding him. I would rush about London seeking him myself, but it is not my day out, and I cannot stay away from home much longer.”

As my desperation reached him. Mr. Thanos softened with sympathy. “Of course, my dear Mrs. Holloway, I will be most happy to assist. You seem unhappy. Is something amiss?” His concern, like his joy at my visit, was true.

“Cynthia’s father has been arrested.” Before Mr. Thanos could splutter questions, I rushed on. “I need Daniel to find out what is happening and make certain Lord Clifford is released. At once. He no more killed the moneylender in the Strand than I did.”

“Good heavens.” Mr. Thanos stared. “Are you speaking of that murder? It was in the newspapers. Why the devil should anyone believe Lord Clifford had anything to do with it? He’s a congenial chap. I’ve had fine chats with him.”

“You read the newspapers?” I asked. This was the most astonishing statement in Mr. Thanos’s last speech. He rarely lifted his nose from thick tomes on calculus, electromagnetism, and other mysterious topics.

“My landlady peruses them all.” Mr. Thanos waved fingers stained with ink. “She especially loves sordid crimes—as long as they happen far from her. She told me of it. But why?—?”

“I will explain everything in time, Mr. Thanos,” I assured him. “I must hurry off. Please, if you find Daniel, send him to Scotland Yard at once. Or send word if you are unsuccessful. I have other means of prying him out if necessary.”

“Of course, of course. I will go immediately.” Mr. Thanos snatched a coat from the stand beside the door and began to put it on wrong-side out.

I slid it from him, turned the sleeves the right way around, and helped settle it on his shoulders. He thanked me profusely, grabbed his hat, and opened the door for me, ushering me out ahead of him.

We went down the stairs together. Mr. Thanos offered to find—and pay for—a hansom to take me home, but I declined. It wasn’t far, and I’d run to Mount Street faster than a horse and cab could wind through the heavy traffic.

I thanked him, letting Mr. Thanos wring my hand. He’d come out without gloves but still wearing his spectacles, which he disliked being seen in. Before I could mention either, he spun from me and dashed up the street, waving at hansoms who rushed past him.

I turned my steps for Mount Street. I was right that I could reach the house quickly, and soon I was clattering down its outside stairs to the kitchen. My basket was still empty of comestibles, but that couldn’t be helped.

Tess looked up from where she chopped onions, her eyes streaming from their pungent emissions.

“Oh, Mrs. H., I’m that glad you’re home. Lady Cynthia’s here. She’s upstairs in her chamber, but very upset, Mrs. Redfern says. She wants to see you, and was that unhappy when Mrs. Redfern told her you were out. You’d better?—”

Before Tess could finish telling me what I needed to do, the backstairs door banged, and a harried tread sounded in the flagstone hall.

A moment later, Lady Cynthia, dressed in well-tailored trousers and man’s coat, strode with her usual vigor into the kitchen.

“There you are, Mrs. H.,” she proclaimed. “I was about to tramp the streets searching for you. Mummy told me my errant father escaped his tethers and came to Town. We haven’t heard a blasted word from the man since. Mrs. Redfern says he arrived here, but he’s gone off again. Do you know what the devil has become of him?”

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