Page 77 of The Secrets of Lord Grayson Child
Seated in his customary armchair in the office, Gray watched the process of distributingThe Crierthroughout the city get underway, remarkably smoothly. The staff had done this many times before, as had the delivery lads, and it showed. Mary accepted the order slips, and after she logged the details into a ledger and gave the go-ahead, Horner and Matthews loaded the correct number of copies into the waiting youth’s arms. If there were more than the lad could carry, he’d cart them out to where his mate waited with a handcart, then return to get the rest of his order. Meanwhile, Mary handed Digby the annotated order slip the youth had tendered, and Digby scampered across to the office and delivered it to Izzy.
She, in turn, wrote out invoices to match the slips and also kept a running tally of the number of copies dispatched.
She saw him taking note of the tally and explained, “Depending on when in the day we get to four and a half thousand copies dispatched, we’ll make a decision on whether to run the press again.”
He’d seen Lipson, his son, and Maguire working about the press and remembered her earlier comment about running the machine again. “I wouldn’t mind seeing the press in action.”
She briefly smiled. “I wouldn’t mind seeing it in action again myself, as that will signal we’re well on the way to making a windfall profit on this edition.” She paused, then frowned. “Is it morally wrong to profit from a murder?”
He snorted. “What do you think your competitors would say? And besides, you and the staff here are doing this to avenge Quimby. Your principal motive is to find his killer, and by definition, that can’t be morally wrong.”
She arched her brows. “It’s certainly true that we all want the killer caught.”
Digby raced in with another invoice. She accepted it and returned to her task.
Not long after, Baines and Littlejohn arrived. After pausing in the foyer and taking note of the ordered activity there—and being duly noted by the delivery boys—the policemen came into the office.
Izzy briefly glanced up, acknowledged their nods, and waved at the armchairs near the window. “Take a seat, gentlemen. We’re going to be busy for some time.”
Baines grunted. “Waiting for a case to break is something we’re used to.”
After exchanging nods with Gray, Baines and Littlejohn retreated to the chairs by the window.
Minutes later, just after Digby, who was popping in and out of the office like a jack-in-the-box, had rushed out again, a man carrying a camera and tripod—presumably Donaldson—tapped on the door frame.
When Izzy glanced up, Donaldson held up the camera. “I was thinking I should take a few shots of the boys picking up the copies, preferably now while there’s still stacks of copies on the counter.” He glanced toward Baines and Littlejohn. “And perhaps a shot of the inspector and sergeant standing before the counter holding up a copy of the first true hue and cry edition.”
Baines frowned, but before he could refuse, Donaldson added, “I could run you each a copy of the photograph. You never know when it might come in handy in the years to come.”
Baines paused.
Littlejohn had already shifted to the edge of his seat. “He’s right, sir,” Littlejohn murmured. “Having such a photograph to show at our next boards won’t hurt at all.”
Baines shot his sergeant a look, then returned his gaze to Donaldson. “If we agree, we get to see the picture before it’s used in the paper.”
Donaldson glanced at Izzy, who had paused in her scribbling to follow the exchange.
She nodded. “Just make sure the picture’s a good one.”
Donaldson grinned, looked at the police, and tipped his head toward the foyer. “We could do it now, if you like?”
Littlejohn looked eagerly at Baines.
Baines sighed. “Might as well.” He hauled himself out of the chair and, with Littlejohn, headed for the door.
Izzy caught Donaldson’s satisfied gaze. “A moment, if you would.”
Donaldson stepped back to allow the policemen through the doorway, then set down his tripod and came to the desk.
Izzy smiled approvingly. “I don’t suppose Baines and Littlejohn have had their photograph taken before—it won’t hurt to get them used to the process.” She waved at Gray. “And this is Lord Child, who was with me when I found Quimby dead and, ever since, has been assisting with the investigation. No doubt he’ll be present as matters progress.”
Gray held out his hand, and Donaldson, mildly curious, grasped it and shook.
“A pleasure, my lord.” Releasing Gray’s hand, Donaldson cut a shrewd glance at Izzy. “It would save time to know if his lordship has any objection to being photographed.”
Izzy arched her brows at Gray. “Do you?”
He thought for a moment, then said, “Provided the photograph relates to the investigation or the pursuit of Quimby’s killer”—he met Donaldson’s gaze—“I have no objection.”
