BACK AT THE GUEST HOUSE, Mrs. McWade was sitting right where I’d left her. “So you did come back.”
“I wanted to hear what you really thought happened.”
She smiled. “I knew you would understand. I didn’t want to bother Inspector Hamilton with random speculation. And I didn’t want to step on his toes. After all, he is being paid to put the facts together. I rang for some tea, so do help yourself, or would you rather I played mother?” She picked up her knitting. “I don’t think the message had anything to do with the murder. He didn’t try to hide it from Mr. Prescott-Smythe.”
I wanted to tell her the message probably had nothing to do with anything now that we knew it wasn’t going to give him an alibi, unless she was wrong about the times. “What exactly happened?”
“The telegram was delivered just as we were finishing our luncheon. Mrs. Prescott-Smythe brought it in to him on a silver tray no less. A bit much, I think, unless you are a proper butler, but that’s neither here nor there. In any case, Mr. Sharma brought it upstairs to read so I couldn’t see his reaction.”
“So you think he knew what it said before he opened it?”
“No, I think he knew Mrs. Prescott-Smythe was interested and didn’t want to let her in on it. She isn’t nosy exactly, but she is overly concerned with the reputation of this place. This was all in the front hall, which I’m sure you noticed can be seen from here. He was gone for about five minutes, really just long enough to read the message, then he came downstairs in quite a hurry but trying not to look like he was, and started asking for Mr. Prescott-Smythe. Well, Mr. Prescott-Smythe was in here, helping me get this steam heater just right, so I was able to hear everything. Mr. Sharma asked if the telegraph machine was working. Mr. Prescott-Smythe said it just needed a bit of tweaking and it would be perfect, so Mr. Sharma said to let him have a go at it.” She paused to try one of the biscuits.
“And they got to work?”
“Apparently. They crawled around a lot and Mr. Prescott-Smythe did something up top and Mrs. Sharma fiddled under the table, and the whole thing started to buzz. I don’t mind telling you I almost ran out of here when that happened, but I didn’t want to offend Mr. Prescott-Smythe.”
“So they were both tinkering with it?”
“Yes, for a good twenty minutes.”
“And Mr. Sharma was able to repair the telegraph?”
“Oh yes, he was crawling under the table, fiddling with wires and all that sort of thing.”
“Fiddling?”
“Twisting them together, wrapping them with something, cutting things.”
I tried not to look disappointed. If he’d just been fiddling, maybe he wouldn’t have been capable of disabling the telephone at Parkside House, but twisting and cutting wires sounded like he knew what he was doing. “I wonder why he went to so much trouble to sent the message from here. Was there more than you told Inspector Hamilton?”
“Not much. I started knitting it as soon as I realized what he was doing. It couldn’t have been more than a few characters off.”
So there wasn’t some hidden meaning to it then. “By the way, what are you knitting?”
“A jacket for my grand-nephew. He won’t mind a bit of code on the back. He might find it exciting.”
“He probably will. Do you have any idea what the message Mr. Sharma got was?”
“I’m afraid not.”
Inspector Hamilton would probably try to find the office that had delivered it, and would probably be able to get the text of it. I was fairly certain I would not be able to unless I asked Mr. Sharma directly. “Do you know where he went when he left?”
“I’m afraid not, but I had the impression it was more of an annoyance. I rather thought that young woman, Miss Carrollton, might have been involved, but that was just an impression, of course, nothing concrete.”
“And is he in now?”
“No, he went out this morning.”
“Do you know when he’ll be back?”
Mrs. McWade shook her head. “But I do know where he’ll be later. I heard him tell Mr. Prescott-Smythe he could be reached at the Henderson Tea Room if another message came through. The young lady again, I think. You’ll make certain he’s not framed, won’t you? It would certainly be exciting to tell them back home that I shared a hotel with a murderer, but he’s such a nice man, I’d rather it wasn’t him. And it’s exciting enough to have the police around. You know, he brought me a box of chocolates as a thank-you for being their chaperone? None of the others did that. So you will look out for him, won’t you?”
Did every suspect have someone that wanted me to look out for them? “I’ll make certain Inspector Hamilton is fair.”
“Thank you, dear.”
Back on the street, I considered my options again. I couldn’t remember the name of the tea shop where I had met Miss Carrollton, but if she was the person he was meeting, it would make sense that it would be there. Not that I had any idea of what to ask him now. Of all of my suspects, who seemed the most suspicious? I didn’t like any of the answers I came up with, so I decided to try a different order. Who I most wanted it to be did not seem like a very professional way to go, certainly not one that Glamorous Gladys would have embraced. The one with the most unanswered questions, now that was a good, logical route to take. And the answer was easy. Mr. Williamson had not given a good account of his whereabouts, and if he was guilty, I wouldn’t have minded one bit. I took the Underground to his bank.
~ * ~ * ~
When I got to the bank, I spotted the bespectacled clerk from the other day. He perked up when I approached his desk. “Can I be of assistance?”
“I hope so. I came to pick up the information on the accounts Mr. Carrollton was switching to.”
“I’m afraid I can’t give out any personal information.”
It was worth a try. On to plan B. “I’m afraid I wasn’t clear. I didn’t mean on his current accounts, just the general information on the new account types so he can compare them to what he already has. I think Mr. Williamson meant to bring them last week, but he didn’t leave anything.”
“I don’t think — well, let me go check the file.”
I waited while he went into the office. He returned with a thin file of papers. I could see the top sheet from where I stood. It was what I had asked for, a very general description of a type of account.
“I don’t see any notes in the file, and Mr. Carrollton already has our most advantageous accounts as he is a good client. I don’t know what you were told—”
“Mr. Williamson paid a call on Mr. Carrollton’s solicitor. He said he had more advantageous accounts for him if he wanted to change.”
The young clerk snapped the file shut. “I should have known. There have been rumors, but I wouldn’t have thought—”
“Is something wrong?” I tried to look bland and innocent, although I sensed I was near an explanation.
“That man’s ambition knows no bounds, but to stoop to poaching clients...”
“Poaching clients? Why would he do that?”
“There have been rumors that he wants to move to Coutts & Co. I’ll bet that’s what he was doing, trying to get some of our best clients to defect along with him.”
I didn’t think Mr. Carrollton’s business would be enough to impress a bank which had the Queen herself as a depositor, but some of the more prestigious ones in the area might very well look at it as a sign of his loyalty to a new employer. And it would be something he’d try to hide. “How reliable are these rumors?”
“Well, he was seen leaving Coutts last Saturday.”
I looked up. “The day he went home sick?”
“Exactly. Leaving us short-handed on a Saturday when it’s all hands on deck to pursue another post.”
“Well, maybe the directors will reward your loyalty with his position.”
“Now, that’s a thought.”
I left him with his dreams of promotion.
As I walked to the Underground, I debated telling Inspector Hamilton about this development but decided against it. He would be angry with me for investigating, and it might be valuable as an excuse to visit Scotland Yard or as a bargaining chip when I needed information.
I glanced at my watch. By now it was near enough to Mr. Sharma’s appointment that I could catch him at the tea shop if that was, in fact, where he was meeting Miss Carrollton. I took the Underground to Oxford Circle. When I got there, I was still a bit early, so I walked down Regent Street to the corner where it met Conduit Street. I had met Miss Carrollton there before, so if she was the one Mr. Sharma was meeting, it seemed a good place to wait. I bought a newspaper and found an out-of-the-way lamppost to lean against while I pretended to be looking for an advertisement. I didn’t have long to wait. I hadn’t even started to attract stares when I saw a group of young women come out of a brown brick building with a blue door four shops down. I scanned the group and spotted Miss Carrollton towards the back. I retraced my steps down the street so I could appear to have happened upon her without her knowing I’d seen her secret destination.
I followed Miss Carrollton until we were near the tea shop we’d visited on our first meeting. I glanced at the sign. Miss Beaton’s Fine Teas. Not where Mr. Sharma was, then. But it did seem like a safe place to reveal myself to her, so I called to her as she passed the shop. She turned when she heard me and looked around. I could tell she was wondering how much I’d seen. She waited for me to catch up before she asked, “Were you looking for me?”
I made up a quick, and upon reflection easy to disprove, story. “Your maid said you had another piano lesson, so I took a chance that you frequented this tea shop every time.”
That seemed to calm her. She stopped scanning the block and looked at me directly. “So you’ve been waiting here for me?”
“Not very long. Could we talk a bit?”
“I suppose. But I haven’t found anything out for you. And I even had a good cover story.”
“What was it?” I was hoping to get on her good side by complimenting her detective work.
“I asked him if I could see the books so I could tell Mr. Sharma that his fears were groundless, but Uncle Edgar just snapped at me that I wouldn’t understand them. Which was very odd since he normally doesn’t mind if I looked at company records. I suppose it must be stressful for him.”
“With everything that’s been going on.” I purposely kept it vague to see how she would interpret it.
“I suppose so, with the merger falling apart, and he’d just gotten Mr. Warland properly broken in.”
“So Mr. Warland hadn’t been his secretary for long?”
“About a year. Uncle Edgar has a complex filing system and the book-keeping, and — well, it takes a while for someone to learn all of it.”
“And Mr. Ainsworth?”
“Oh, he’s been with Uncle forever. He’ll be impossible to replace.” She sighed. “So you can see why he’s terribly worried. I can’t get any information for you. I am sorry.” I could see she was eager to be gone.
“Thank you for trying, though. Would you like to have some tea?”
“No, I need to be getting back.”
I couldn’t tell if she was in a hurry to get home or to be away from me. Either way I said, “Thank you for your help then. I might get something anyway. The scones we ordered last time were very good.” It gave me a good excuse to stand there considering the menu taped to the window until Miss Carrollton found a cab to take her home. When it disappeared into the traffic, I went back to the corner and down Conduit Street to the blue door.
“Merrman School of Art” was painted on the window in swirling script. There was a class schedule taped to the window. Only one class met Monday and Thursday at 2pm. Life drawing. No wonder she didn’t want anyone at home knowing about it. So, was she a student or a model?
The blue door opened and a young man came out, fixing his collar and tie as he did. He was tall, blond, it would not have been a stretch to call him an Adonis. He saw me staring and gave me a very white, very charming smile.
That answered that. He was clearly the reason all of the young ladies were flocking to the drawing course. I was almost tempted to sign up myself. Then he continued down the street and the spell was broken. I gave the model a chance to go where he was going then started for the tube station.
Miss Carrollton was a dead end. I’d have to come up with another line of inquiry if I wanted to help Mrs. Pomeroy.
There was Mr. Sharma's meeting. His card had been in Miss Kurtfield's room. It seemed my best chance.
Back on Regent Street, I went into a post office with a telephone box to consult the directory. There were three tea shops with Henderson in the name listed, spread out all over London. I chose the one closest to the Prescott Guest House and took the Underground back there.