Frances began to put together what she knew concerning recent events. A man had made enquiries at Munro & Son about empty properties and, so Inspector Payne thought, had obtained the keys to number 2 Linfield Gardens. He could well have been the man who lured Lancelot Dobree to his death. Why he should have chosen that time and place remained a mystery, as did the means of Dobree leaving the Lodge room. If Dobree had had an innocent associate who had assisted him, this person had not come forward, possibly because he or she feared being accused of involvement in the crime. Dobree had been trying to gather information about his son-in-law either alone or through a private investigator or both. The stolen snuffbox might have suggested to him that Salter was involved in the recent thefts. Perhaps Dobree had been lured from his meeting with a promise of secret intelligence. And was the murder of Mr Munro junior connected with the death of Dobree, or simply a coincidence?
‘Is it so easy to steal keys from the house agent’s office?’ asked Sarah. ‘They can’t be that careless.’
Frances cast her mind back to her visits to Munro’s. ‘The keys are kept in the back office. When young Mr Munro went to get them, his father was working there.’
‘And if someone took them, they’d have to put them back. All without anyone seeing or suspecting anything. But Munro’s didn’t only have the key to the yard?’
‘No, the front and back doors as well, all on the same bunch.’
‘Well there you are, then,’ said Sarah. ‘All that stolen stuff; why was it in a hole in the wall? Why not under the floorboards in the house? There’s something not right.’
Frances could only agree. At least she now had a description of the man who had called on her mother – Mr Green – and hoped to locate and speak to him. If he had been employed by Lancelot Dobree, the detective could well hold the clue to what had been troubling the dead man and give some insight into the murder. Frances studied the Kensington newspapers and local trade directories to see if there might be a private investigator called Green, and soon found what she wanted in the small advertisements. ‘Peter Green, Private Investigator, for expert Confidential Enquiries. Divorce, Watching suspected persons, Missing friends. Secrecy guaranteed. As recommended by solicitors.’ There was an office address in Kensington.
‘You’re not to go alone,’ said Sarah, sternly. ‘He might be a murderer.’
‘Then you will be by my side to protect me.’
‘One thing we don’t have is a description of the man who called at Munro’s about the house. The only man who spoke to him is dead.’
‘True, but if Mr Munro senior was in the back office at the time, he might have taken note of a caller. I wonder if he is well enough to be questioned? I will write to his brother and ask.’
Frances was interested in the idea of a private investigator who actually had an office address, something to which she did not think she could ever aspire, and in Kensington no less, although in the event it turned out to be in a backwater of that district, far from the fashionable parts. The houses were divided into offices of small solicitors and property agents, and Green and Co. was on the first floor of a building whose ground floor was a dowdy purveyor of furniture and porcelain.
A small outer office was guarded by a short, round, grey-haired woman who asked tersely in a thickly accented voice if they had an appointment with Mr Green. Frances was not to be deterred so easily. ‘We do not, but we are willing to wait until he is available.’ They sat down. From time to time there was the echo of footsteps on the stairs, and messengers went back and forth with notes, some of which the lady clerk stared at before handing on another note; other missives were important enough to be taken into the adjoining office where presumably Mr Green was holding court. It all looked a little drab and cheap, but then Frances supposed that someone coming to engage a private investigator was not concerned with the decor and the man himself might not wish to expend more than necessary on his workaday surroundings. Voices emanating from the inner office told Frances that a client was there, and eventually there was the sound of chairs scraping on a wooden floor, and the door opened. The client who emerged was a lady, heavily veiled, and she hurried out without a sideways glance. Showing her out was a plain-dressed man of about forty with thick eyebrows.
‘Mr Green,’ said the clerk, getting to her feet and offering Frances’ card, ‘Miss Doughty and Miss Smith have come to see you. Are you available now, or shall I make an appointment?’
Green looked at the card without a hint of surprise. ‘Ah, I thought you might call before long. Well, do come in ladies. I am at your service.’ He spoke the English of an Englishman, but his accent was a diluted version of the clerk’s, who Frances was beginning to think must be his mother.
He stood aside for them to enter.
‘Please do take a seat. What can I do for you?’
The inner office was simply furnished but tidy and clean. He brought forward two well-worn chairs, designed for solidity rather than comfort.
‘You know who I am, of course,’ said Frances.
He smiled. ‘I could hardly fail to know.’
‘And you are the man who recently called on Mrs Martin in Brighton, which resulted in her terrible collapse.’
The smile vanished to be replaced with an expression of regret. ‘That was very unfortunate. Please reassure me that she has recovered from her faint.’
Frances did not spare him. ‘It was not a faint, Mr Green, she has a weak heart. She is now very ill. She might have died.’
He paused for a long while. ‘I am extremely sorry to hear it. It is not unknown for ladies to faint away under questioning and I really thought it was nothing more, but I did summon assistance at once. Had I known the lady was in delicate health I might have acted differently, but I was unaware of the position.’
‘Can you advise me of the nature of your enquiries?’
‘No, Miss Doughty, and I am surprised that you should ask me such a thing. I am sure that if someone other than the police came to you and demanded confidential information then you would not reveal what you were sworn not to.’
‘You went to the police about your enquiries in Brighton.’
‘I did not. They came to me. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that they were looking into a criminal case, and the information I had uncovered was of importance.’
Frances was puzzled. ‘Then how did the police learn of your activities?’
‘I don’t believe I am at liberty to answer that question.’
‘If it was not for the fact that your client is deceased I might imagine that it was he who went to the police.’
Mr Green was silent but Frances could see that her comment had surprised him.
‘Are you able to tell me for whom you are now acting? Who instructed you to interview Mrs Martin?’
‘I think you can easily guess that I am not prepared to name my client.’
It was all perfectly friendly and business-like, but Frances could see that she would learn no more from him. The visit raised several new questions. Who had alerted the police to Green’s enquiries? After Dobree’s death had another man been instructed to continue on his behalf? It could not be Marsden so perhaps it was Alicia Salter’s new solicitor, Kingsley.
Frances didn’t know if it was relevant, but she was always interested in secrets that people were unwilling to divulge. Once home, she wrote to Tom and Ratty asking if a watch could be kept on Mr Green’s office to see if anyone went in whom they recognised.