Employing a detective does not come cheap and the Chief and I had only been able to afford a week of Mr Fillingsworth’s time, despite the fact that he’d given us a small discount and also promised to pick up the cost of putting a missing person notice in the Glasgow Herald. Presumably, then, he thought our case was interesting, or more interesting than hunting for runaway goats.
We now had a week to wait and only a few shillings left in our purse. We’d have to try to get a job at the docks to earn some money.
“But what are we to do with the necklace in the meantime?” the Chief wondered. “I can’t carry it with me while I’m shovelling coal, or doing whatever the job may be.”
It was a problem, of course, but the Chief himself came up with the solution. Digging deep in the inside pocket of his jacket he produced the letter Signor Fidardo had given us in case we needed help with anything in Glasgow. 168
“We can maybe ask Lady Kilvaird to look after the necklace for a while?” the Chief said.
I nodded. It seemed a good idea.
With the help of our street map of Glasgow we found our way to the Park district which, as the name suggests, is situated next to a large park in the middle of the city. The Chief had been in Glasgow many times before, but this district was new to him. Grand, four-storey houses with bay windows, stucco ornamentation and small, elegant balconies over the park lined the empty streets. Rows of gleaming motor cars, some of them Rolls-Royces and Bentleys, were parked along the pavements.
A doorman wearing a long, red woollen coat and an air of superiority was stationed at the entrance to 12 Park Terrace. The Chief handed him the letter of introduction from Signor Fidardo and after a brief hesitation the doorman let us pass.
The tall double doors gave onto a large hall with a polished marble floor and a chandelier on the ceiling. A concierge in white gloves and a black dress suit stood waiting behind the wide mahogany desk and the Chief showed him the letter.
“Ah yes…” the concierge said. “I’m sorry to say that Lady Kilvaird is not here.” 169
The Chief’s shoulders sank. “Oh dear,” he said. “When will she be back?”
“I’m afraid I can’t discuss Lady Kilvaird’s programme with you,” the concierge answered snootily. “I can, however, enquire if Lord Kilvaird—her son, that is—will receive you.”
We had to wait for a quarter of an hour before the bell on the lift pinged and a young man stepped out into the hall. Dressed in a suit, with an elegant silk scarf at his throat, he had a friendly face and laughter lines at the corners of his eyes.
The man looked at me with a mixture of surprise and amusement before turning to the Chief and saying, “Let me guess now… You came to try to sell your ape to my mother?”
The Chief answered by passing him the letter from Signor Fidardo. He read it and then smiled apologetically.
“Forgive me, my dear fellow. I beg your pardon most sincerely,” he said offering his hand to the Chief. “My dear mother buys so many unusual things, you know. I’m Lord Kilvaird, her son. Mama is away for a few days, but perhaps I can help you in some way? Does it perhaps have anything to do with the necklace mentioned in the letter?”
The Chief took out the chamois leather bag containing the pearls and explained how it came to be that we needed somewhere safe to keep the pearls for a time. 170
Lord Kilvaird smiled again and gave the Chief a friendly pat on the shoulder.
“I know exactly what you mean, old chap,” he said as he put the bag of pearls in the pocket of his jacket. “One can’t be too careful in this city. I shall lock the necklace in mother’s safe and all you have to do is come here when you want it back.”
The Broomielaw is the name of a long quay running along the northern shore of the River Clyde. It’s full of life, bustle and a never-ending stream of ships either tying up or casting off. From dawn to dusk there are vessels loading or unloading cargo to and from the storehouses. Crowds of dockers, seamen and customs officials mingle with the ordinary citizens waiting to board one or other of the paddle steamers that traffic the river.
There’s a pub on the Broomielaw called the Cross Keys Tavern and that’s where the gangers go in the morning to hire any labour they need. By dawn the Cross Keys Tavern is already full of unemployed men, some of whom are chosen by the ganger, some not. At times this leads to arguments and fistfights about a job.
During the following week the Chief and I went to the Cross Keys Tavern early every morning. We were sometimes lucky 171enough to get a day’s work, and sometimes not. But at least we were earning enough to afford our rent at Mrs Grimes’s house.
After a week had passed we returned to Gibson Street to meet our detective. We were excited. Had he found Rose Henderson or not? We knew he had at least been trying because we’d seen the notice about Rose he’d put in the Missing Persons column in the Glasgow Herald.
We arrived at Mr Fillingsworth’s door five minutes before our agreed time. Just as the Chief was about to ring the doorbell, the door of a taxi parked by the pavement opened and a man in a crumpled suit stepped out on the passenger side.
He raised his hat and said, “Excuse me, if I’m not mistaken you must be Henry Koskela?”
The Chief turned round. “I am,” he said. “Who is asking?”
The man gave a friendly smile and moved towards us. He had sad eyes and smelled of cheap aftershave.
“My name is Mortimer Gordon,” he said, holding out his hand. “Just call me Gordon—everyone does. I’m a close friend of old Humph… Humphrey Fillingsworth, I mean. He asked me to come and fetch you.”
“Fetch us? But why?” the Chief said as he shook hands with the man who wanted to be called Gordon.
“To be honest with you, I don’t know,” Gordon said. “Humph never says anything about his cases, but he’s obviously come 172across someone he wants you to meet. He didn’t have time to fetch you himself, so he sent me.”
“I see… That’s kind of you,” the Chief said. “But where are we going?”
“A place in Oswald Street. It’ll only take a few minutes.”
The Chief and I briefly exchanged glances. This certainly sounded promising. We climbed into the back seat of the taxi, Gordon sat by the driver and we set off.