Page 16 of A Measure of Menace

Lord Clifford winced. “Quite,” he whispered.

Chief Inspector Ferguson gave Lord Clifford a polite bow. Lord Clifford nodded and strode away with Cynthia, his nose in the air. Rather overdoing his haughty earl act, I thought.

Daniel lingered to murmur something to Ferguson I did not catch. Then Daniel joined us, taking my arm to walk me out. Thanos bade Ferguson farewell before he fell into step beside Daniel and me.

A glance behind me showed Chief Inspector Ferguson standing by the door to his office, watching us. His expression was neutral, so I could not tell if he were angry, resigned, or satisfied that we were taking Lord Clifford away.

“How did you convince Chief Inspector Ferguson to let Lord Clifford go?” I burst out to Daniel as soon as we were in the street. Lady Cynthia and her father moved swiftly ahead of us as we turned the corner from Great Scotland Yard and on into Charing Cross. I wasn’t certain whether Cynthia was searching for a hansom or intended to walk all the way home.

“He always meant to release him,” Daniel answered. “Sergeant Scott brought in Lord Clifford in case he’d actually committed the crime, but Ferguson is no fool. He’ll check Lord Clifford’s weak story, but I had the feeling he doesn’t think the earl had much to do with it. Or at least didn’t wield the heavy object that ended Mobley’s days. Lord Clifford is more a witness now than a suspect.”

“Thank heavens for that,” I said in relief. “Sergeant Scott is much more suspicious. He’s the sort who’d keep all the suspects under his eye until he decided which was the most guilty.”

“True. Sergeant Scott is a hard man, but like Ferguson, no fool.”

We strode onward, reaching the crowds of Trafalgar Square. Nelson’s column rose high in the square’s center, holding the admiral aloft from the ordinary rush of London. Pigeons rested comfortably on his shoulders and also flowed over the rest of the square, fluttering away as people walked through them.

Lord Clifford and Cynthia turned on Cockspur Street, heading for Pall Mall.

Mr. Thanos asked the next question. “What about the chap, Constable Wallace? He’s keen to have a go at solving the crime himself, to best his sergeant, I imagine. Wants to interview Lord Clifford himself.”

Daniel raised his brows. “Does he? Wallace is a bright young man, from what I have heard. Even Monaghan has mentioned him with grudging respect. If he’s careful, he’ll go far.”

“Should we let him near Lord Clifford?” I asked. “Sometimes ambitious policemen will coax a man to say whatever will incriminate him, whether that man is guilty or innocent.”

“I don’t know Wallace well,” Daniel admitted. “Or that entire office, in fact. Monaghan doesn’t have much dealing with them. I propose we allow the lad his interview. He might draw more from Lord Clifford than even we can, because Lord Clifford fears that anything he says to us will reach his daughter or wife. Wallace might be able to pry out the truth.”

“What is the truth?” I asked in exasperation. “I have maddeningly few details to go on.”

Daniel grinned down at me. “I will enlighten you then. Hiram Mobley was murdered in his office in the Strand on Sunday night, sometime between ten in the evening and midnight—as far as the doctor examining the body can ascertain. He was killed by a blow to the head with something wooden, heavy, and narrow, with a polished edge that left few splinters in the wound. A walking stick, perhaps. The charwoman of the building had already been and gone for the night, and she declares Mobley wasn’t there when she arrived at seven to do her nightly scrubbing. Wasn’t there when she departed at half past nine, either. His office door was locked, as usual, she claims.”

“All very convenient for the killer,” I said.

Daniel continued. “The man of business who lets the offices next door, Mr. Ogden, noticed Mobley’s door ajar when he arrived at six on Friday morning. He hurried inside, fearing burglars had been there in the night. He found Mobley’s body lying between the desks, fled, and looked for a constable. Fortunately, one happened to be passing as he ran out, who could secure the scene of the crime right away. He was one of Sergeant Scott’s and summoned him.”

I squeezed Daniel’s arm, grateful for this clearer picture. “Why do you think Mobley returned to his office on a Sunday night?” I asked. “Well after Lord Clifford’s meeting with him. Was the killer with him then, and accompanied him in? Or did he—or she—arrive for a late appointment?”

“A clandestine one,” Mr. Thanos put in as he strode beside us. “Both Mobley and the murderer must not have wanted anyone, not even the charwoman, to know they had the meeting.”

“Or did Mobley simply return to go over his books at a quiet time?” I pondered. So I liked to sit in the empty kitchen at night contemplating my recipes and putting my thoughts in order. “The killer saw a light in the office window and decided to catch him?” I pursed my lips. “Did they have an argument, and whoever it was seized the nearest object and bashed him? If the killer used a polished walking stick, that points to a gentleman or someone of means. Did Mobley have some sort of hold over this person—wanted to call in a debt, or threatened him in some other way? Perhaps the murderer went there with the express purpose of killing Mobley to alleviate the threat.”

Unfortunately, the scene I’d just painted was one in which Lord Clifford might feature prominently. Mobley could have vowed to expose his debt to the world—to his wife. Lord Clifford had already told me that Mobley had hinted that Cynthia or Lady Clifford might come to harm if Lord Clifford couldn’t pay.

“Lord Clifford is reluctant to say where he was at the time,” Daniel told me. “The chief inspector taxed him with it, but Lord Clifford is uncommonly stubborn.”

“We will have to make him tell us,” I said. “You say the chief inspector believes Lord Clifford is probably innocent, but I don’t think Sergeant Scott does. Can Sergeant Scott have him sent to trial if Chief Inspector Ferguson doesn’t agree?”

“Possibly, if Scott can persuade enough of his superiors that Ferguson is wrong,” Daniel answered. “A difficult task, but one that can be done.”

I watched Lord Clifford and Cynthia turn north at Waterloo Place, which would quickly become Regent Street. It seemed that they would walk all the way home.

It wasn’t terribly far, but as I’d noted before, my feet were aching. His lordship and daughter would be able to have a good rest when we reached the house, but I’d have to hurry down to the kitchen and cook dinner for them.

Mr. Thanos seemed to sense my fatigue. “Shall I fetch a hansom, Mrs. Holloway? Cynthia loves a good tramp, but not all of us are as robust.”

Now I felt enfeebled and querulous. “You are kind, Mr. Thanos, but it is no trouble.”

Daniel was already whistling to an empty hansom traveling in the other direction. The driver glared at him as the cab passed but then he checked the horse, wheeled the vehicle around, and stopped it beside us.

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