13

Scotland Yard, Wednesday, June 9

I asked the desk sergeant for Inspector Ethington and was directed down a long hall lined with offices to my right. It seems Special Branch is more interested in reports than fieldwork, I thought. There are more offices down this one hall than in the entire Spitalfields Police Station. As I passed each door, I saw earnest young men with stacks of paper and photographs on their desks making notes and looking at maps. The last door on the right was closed, however, and on it was painted in black letters: Inspector J. Ethington.

My knock got a muffled response, then the door was opened from inside and a bleary-eyed “J. Ethington” stuck his head out. Napping, I thought. We’ll make this short. At least I don’t smell whiskey.

“May I help you, Madam? Have we met before?”

I’d briefly considered delivering the report dressed as Pennyworth, but as I had other errands to run that day, decided it wasn’t worth the effort. An inspector in Special Branch should be accustomed to deception. I wondered what reaction I would get from him. Shock? Laughter? Outrage?

“Yes, Inspector, we have, though not in the traditional sense. My name is Margaret Harkness. I was Professor Bell’s companion when you met us at the Marlboro Club.” Seeing his puzzlement, I continued. “This was shortly before we went to Germany.”

Inspector Ethington peered closely at me, still bewildered. “I apologize, Madam, as I am quite proficient at remembering names and faces, but I recall Bell’s companion as a slender middle-aged bookish gentleman who was going as his translator, and no one else. Besides,” he cleared his throat, “the Marlboro Club bans women from entering their premises unless they are in service.”

“Quite so, and you flatter me that my disguise fooled a professional like yourself. I sometimes assume a waistcoat to open doors closed to petticoats.”

Ethington’s face pinked up in a most becoming way. Embarrassment. How quaint.

“I see,” Ethington gulped. “Or think I do, at least. You and the professor . . .”

“Are dear friends who have faced danger together before, though there was none this time, thankfully. I was in male attire to gain entrance to the Marlboro Club. I have the professor’s report here.”

I handed over the three-page summary of our brief foray into espionage, then nodded toward the gap in the door he was still guarding. “I’m willing to remain while you read it over if you offer me a seat, in case you have any questions. Otherwise, I’ll be on my way.”

He backed into his office as he opened the door wider, nearly bowing. “Yes, of course. Terribly sorry. I was on surveillance duty last night and got very little sleep. I’m afraid you’ve not caught me at my best. Do sit down.”

Still better than last time, I thought, but outwardly I only smiled as Ethington removed a stack of reports from the only other chair in the room. Other than this pile, his office was well-organized, the only ornamentation on his orderly desk was a silver-framed photograph of him and a young girl around twelve who shared his slender, pointed nose. His left hand rested upon her left shoulder, and she had her right hand over his: A beloved daughter, whose likeness was placed so that he could glance up and see it whenever he wanted. It was angled for his own frequent contemplation, not put there to impress others.

My father had never requested a likeness of me.

I studied the man while he read Bell’s report through. My friend generously gave me full credit for discerning the source of the leak within the Secret Police, and Ethington whistled a low tone when he got to the part describing the listening apparatus within Herr Adler’s office.

“That’s solid work, Miss Harkness,” he said. “No danger, you say, but a nice adventure all the same. Learning the name of the head of their section will impress my superiors. Do you know what happened after the device was found?”

“I heard the man they believe placed the telephone was still at large when we left Germany. I do not know his name or if others were involved. Once we did our jobs, the Germans were rather anxious that we leave. I think they were embarrassed we were able to find the leak so quickly, though grateful it was literally plugged.”

I noticed the inspector leaned forward as I spoke. He didn’t interrupt me. Unusual. Not unpleasant though.

There was a pause, which lengthened until he reddened again and coughed. “How did you and Bell become involved in this enterprise? Are you a detective?”

I laughed. “A female detective! Is there such a thing?”

“You seem skillful at disguise and deduction. You bested the German Secret Police and found the source of the leak before even the famous Professor Bell. If you’re not a detective, what are you?”

“An author and a friend of the professor’s. I’ve observed his methods and learned how to apply them, though not as well as he.”

“Yet you deduced the solution before he did. How?”

“The light fixture was on the ceiling, of course, so out of his direct line of vision. While Professor Bell’s powers of observation of people far exceeds my own, I had the advantage in this instance of being a woman. The style of the new fixture in the colonel’s office was different from those elsewhere in the building and markedly larger, yet the size of the electric light bulbs was the same. The decor in the spymaster’s office was spartan, yet the fixture was elaborate. Why was that so? Certainly not at the insistence of its occupant.

“I can assure you, Inspector, that no woman would have selected a fixture for the chief of Secret Police so different from its fellows, so I deduced the electrician who emplaced the fixture had his own reasons. As it was the only possible explanation for the leak of information, it had to be the correct one.”

“Brava! An accomplishment worthy of Holmes himself. And how does a lady author become a friend of a man such as Bell and go off with him on adventures?”

I found myself enjoying the man’s intent gaze and admiration. He seemed genuinely interested in my intellect, and as I noted the depth of his brown eyes I felt a flush of heat that had nothing to do with the early summer weather. “We worked together once before, here in London. Though I am not a detective, I do have confidences to keep involving the matter.” And to keep me out of prison.

“Ah, a woman of mystery. Now I recall my parting words to you at the Marlboro, ‘There’s more to you than meets the eye.’ You and Bell must have howled once I was out of earshot.”

His honest admission of his error made me more charitable then I’d felt at the time. “I took it as a compliment, sir, that I could fool an inspector from the Special Branch of Scotland Yard in good light and close quarters. Don’t worry, sir, your reputation is safe with me.”

Ethington flinched at the word “reputation.” There, I’ve said the wrong thing again, I thought.

“Well, Miss Harkness,” he said, now businesslike, “this was most enlightening. I’ll be sure to pass this report on to my superiors. I believe this concludes the official matter. I do have something else I would like to discuss with you, however.” Straightening himself in his chair, he said, “May I ask you to dinner, where you can tell me more about the adventures of lady authors?”

I nodded toward the photograph on his desk. “Wouldn’t your wife disapprove of such a meeting, Inspector?”

He paused and looked at the photograph of his daughter. “My wife, Alice, has been dead for the past two years, Miss Harkness.”

He held up his hands. I grew warmer still, but now in embarrassment. No ring.

“I assumed a woman with your apparent talent for observation would have noticed the absence of a wedding band.”

I swallowed. A nice man. He didn’t deserve me accusing him of infidelity. “I apologize, sir. Our greatest blunders usually follow hard on the heels of our triumphs.”

Ethington looked down at his desk for a moment. “Yes, my life has demonstrated that pattern better than you know.” Then, looking directly into my eyes, “But you didn’t answer my question. Would you join me for dinner tomorrow night? Seven? Name the place, and I’ll be there.”

He’s a good sort, at least when he’s sober. Why not? Least I can do after . . . “Delighted. I know a lovely café where you can interrogate me further. A well-done lamb chop does make me more talkative, Inspector, especially if accompanied by a good Bordeaux. You’ve been warned.”

I confess I left with a new spring in my step. I had intended to visit the ticket office to book passage after my visit to the inspector, but I changed my mind. I had a dinner engagement to prepare for. Australia wasn’t going anywhere, just yet.