Page 23 of The Secrets of Lord Grayson Child
Littlejohn pocketed his notebook and, with a kindly expression, waved Digby ahead of him. “Come on. Let’s take a look.”
Everyone watched the pair go down the workshop and into the darkroom. Digby insisted they put up the Occupied sign and closed the door.
The others looked at each other and shifted, but otherwise waited in silence.
After quite a few minutes, the door opened again, and Digby, paler than before, emerged, escorted by Littlejohn, who shut the door behind him.
Digby returned to Lipson’s side.
Littlejohn resumed his position beside Baines and drew out his notebook. “The lad and I looked through all the cabinets, and there weren’t any other plates like those on the table left stored away. The lad did a quick count, and he thinks all the plates Quimby ever had are on the table, and the lad is quite certain they’re all useless now.”
Digby nodded. “Wrecked, they are! Poor Mr. Q would be roaring…” He broke off and looked down, then mournfully shook his head. “To have all his work ruined like that. Senseless, it is.”
Gray suspected that, far from being senseless, wrecking the photographic plates had been the murderer’s principal aim.
Baines thanked Digby for his help, then thanked the staff as a whole, ending with, “I doubt we’ll need to question you again, but we might be back to check on this or that.”
Lipson looked at Izzy. “Best we get back to work, then.”
At Izzy’s nod, the staff drifted away, returning to what they’d been doing before.
After a murmured comment to Littlejohn, Baines turned to Izzy. “If we might have a word, ma’am?”
“Of course.” Izzy briefly met Gray’s eyes as she led the way into her office. He wasn’t surprised to see flaring concern in her emerald gaze.
He followed on her heels, not about to be shut out of the coming exchange. While Izzy returned to her chair behind the desk, he reclaimed the armchair he’d previously occupied and waited to hear what Baines had to say.
Littlejohn shut the office door. Along with Baines, Littlejohn remained standing.
Baines hadn’t expected Gray to be there; he shot him a wary glance, then, rather uncertainly, faced Izzy. “Mrs. Molyneaux, this morning, the superintendent was asked to review the evidence in this case. Littlejohn and I were called on to report our findings from yesterday and, once we return, will add what we’ve learned this morning from your staff.” Baines glanced briefly at Gray, then returned his gaze to Izzy. “I have to warn you that there’s pressure mounting from the local force for the Yard to make a quick arrest. The locals feel there’s evidence enough regarding who might have done the deed, and despite what I admit is very tight timing, you, ma’am, remain the principal suspect.”
Apparently unmoved, Izzy stared at Baines, patently waiting for his next pronouncement.
Gray nearly laughed. “She isn’t going to run.”
“Heh?” Baines looked at him, then faintly colored.
Gray smiled a sharklike smile, then turned to Izzy. “It’s an old trick. If you have a person you decide is guilty but have insufficient evidence to prove it, you suggest that they are about to be arrested and wait for them to try to flee. If they do, you have all the proof you need—they’ve made the case for you.”
Izzy’s emerald eyes hardened. Her expression severe, she trained an adamantine gaze on Baines and, enunciating excruciatingly precisely, inquired, “You didn’t just try to make me incriminate myself, did you, Inspector?”
Baines turned several shades of ugly red, but to his credit, didn’t deny the accusation. He shifted his weight and when, brows arching haughtily, Izzy waited, conceded, “There’s a lot of pressure to close this case, ma’am.”
Before Izzy could respond, Gray coldly stated, “If we’re to speak of pressure regarding this case, Inspector, you might wish to ponder the fact that Mrs. Molyneaux has friends in what are generally termed high places, and they, like myself, will take a very dim view of Scotland Yard attempting to prosecute a case against Mrs. Molyneaux without any sound evidence beyond the circumstantial linking her to the crime. Miscarriages of justice tend to turn very messy for the policemen involved.”
From the look on Baines’s face, he knew that was true. Nevertheless, he asked, “Are you threatening me, your lordship?”
Gray smiled. “Good heavens, no, Inspector. I’m merely drawing your attention to an irrefutable truth.”
He was increasingly certain that Baines—much less his superiors—had no idea they were proposing to arrest an earl’s daughter. She might be Mrs. I. Molyneaux, yet she was still Lady Isadora, daughter of the late Earl of Exton and sister of the current earl. Arresting her on the flimsiest of evidence would create a furor few would forget. Yet from Izzy’s refusal thus far to own to her title and the warning looks she was casting him now, it seemed clear she didn’t wish that side of her identity to be revealed.
Given she was now the proprietor of a gossip rag, perhaps that was understandable.
On top of that, having been absent for the past decade, he didn’t know how the land lay between her and her family. For all he knew, they might be estranged. He couldn’t quite imagine that, yet regardless, making unnecessary assumptions at this point wouldn’t be wise.
Baines and Littlejohn were trading unhappy looks while Izzy was still staring warningly at Gray.
Acknowledging the wisdom of winning the Scotland Yard officers—neither of whom seemed all that keen to prosecute the case against Izzy—to her side, Gray ventured, “Perhaps the best way forward for all concerned would be to search for further clues as to who entered the workshop via the back door Quimby left unlocked. That person—the killer—must have left via the same route, so at two separate times between the hours of five and six o’clock yesterday evening, he was walking along the rear lane.”
