Page 15 of A Measure of Menace

Scott had had enough of us. “Mrs. Holloway.” He pointed to the door. “Mr.— er …”

“Thanos,” Mr. Thanos supplied cheerfully. “We will depart, do not worry. But if Lady Cynthia and Lord Clifford are here longer than they should be we will return with solicitors. Good afternoon.”

Mr. Thanos offered me his arm and escorted me to the door. I noted the constables taking surreptitious glances at us as we passed. It was unlikely they’d ever witnessed ordinary folk twitting their severe sergeant.

Mr. Thanos and I exited into the hall. There were no seats about, as this was a thoroughfare and not a lounge, but I hovered, not minding standing. Or in my case, pacing.

The plainclothes constable who’d been painstakingly typing slipped out a few minutes after our departure and quickly closed the door behind him. “Sir? Madam?”

Voice quiet, he indicated that we should follow him along the corridor to another small office. This one was dim, lit only by one narrow window. It was apparently unused, if the mismatched and much-scarred desks pushed against the walls were any indication. Storage for superfluous items, I guessed.

“I am Detective Constable Wallace,” the young man addressed us. He had a freckled face and dark red hair, his eyes a deep brown. “I am working on the Mobley case, though my sergeant likes me to keep out of the way. But I am very certain the murderer was not the Earl of Clifford.” He paused, glancing behind him as though fearing one of Sergeant Scott’s toadies would follow to report on him. “If I have his lordship released, would he be willing to tell me all he knows?”

Chapter 7

While I debated how to answer Constable Wallace, Mr. Thanos spoke. “Only if you guarantee Lord Clifford can come home with us.”

I was grateful to Mr. Thanos for grasping the essentials. “He might speak to you,” I put in, trying to decide whether the young man was trustworthy. Constable Wallace seemed it, with his quiet confidence and steady gaze. He’d welcome our help, that gaze said, but he’d continue on his own course of action with or without it.

“I will arrange things,” Wallace said. “The chief inspector can only recommend that Lord Clifford remains in London, preferably at home, until a hearing, and that is only if the inspector believes him guilty. Leave it with me.”

“Thank you,” Mr. Thanos said fervently. “You are a good man.”

That remained to be seen. Wallace was ambitious, I saw, perhaps wishing to solve this case before the sergeant and catch the attention of Chief Inspector Ferguson. But if Wallace succeeded in having Lord Clifford released and proved he killed no one, I would not quibble about who the constable displaced as he moved up the ranks. If Sergeant Scott was competent, he’d deal with the lad or else learn to use his talents.

“Out of curiosity, who do you believe killed Mr. Mobley?” I asked Wallace.

The constable fixed me with cool assessment worthy of Inspector McGregor, then shrugged.

“His partner, most like. Man called Parkin. With Mobley gone, he takes over the business and any moneys Mobley might have had locked away. Placing Parkin at the scene is proving difficult, though. I’d like to hear what Lord Clifford has to say about his last visit to Mobley, and what else he observed, if anything.”

My indignation rose. “If Mobley had a partner who inherited everything, why is Sergeant Scott not interrogating him? A much more likely candidate to be a murderer than poor Lord Clifford.”

“The sergeant and the chief inspector have their eyes on him,” Wallace assured me. “Sergeant Scott is thorough, if slow and careful. Me, I’d rather have Parkin sitting before me, and not let him out of the building until we are certain he did nothing. Parkin apparently is in Manchester, and was at the time of the murder, but that has yet to be determined. The police in Manchester have no reports to confirm him there.”

“I am certain Lord Clifford will be happy to speak to you,” I repeated. “Once he’s at home.” I would make sure he didn’t flee back to Hertfordshire before Constable Wallace could turn up.

Constable Wallace gave me an understanding nod. “Wait here. I’ll bring him out soon.”

He departed, leaving Mr. Thanos and me alone in the dim and somewhat dispirited room. I’d speculated, when we entered, that unwanted things were stored here. At the moment, those unwanted things were myself and Mr. Thanos.

Mr. Thanos slid out a chair that was the least battered of the discarded lot, and gallantly gestured for me to sit. I did, as my feet were tired, and who knew how long we’d be kept waiting?

It was about twenty minutes, in fact. We heard voices in the corridor and emerged to see Chief Inspector Ferguson himself usher Lord Clifford, Lady Cynthia, and Daniel out of the main office. Constable Wallace and Sergeant Scott were nowhere in sight.

Lord Clifford’s face was gray and haggard, but he walked with his head erect, his eyes filled with defiance. Cynthia had hold of his arm, and Daniel stuck close to his other side, as though to prevent him running off.

The chief inspector nodded at Mr. Thanos but ignored me. “As I said, please remain in Town for a few days, your lordship. Until everything is cleared up.”

“He will,” Lady Cynthia assured him in a firm voice.

“I will think on it,” Lord Clifford said loftily. “It is my business if I return to Ardeley Hall. Everyone knows where it is.”

He referred to his estate in Hertfordshire, near St. Albans. Lovely countryside, I had been told. I’d never been there myself.

“All the same,” Ferguson said wearily.

“We will stay in London a while longer,” Cynthia told the inspector. “There’s no need to worry my mother about all this, is there, Papa?”

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