Mrs. Jeffries Takes the Stage (27 page)

Mrs. Jeffries took a deep breath. If she was wrong, she’d give up snooping about in the inspector’s cases. “Theodora Vaughan,” she said firmly. “She killed Hinchley to keep from losing Edmund Delaney.”

No one said anything for a moment, then Hatchet
cleared his throat. “Mrs. Jeffries, how did she get the body to the canal? Hinchley was small, but as you yourself pointed out, he was dead weight.”

“She had an accomplice,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. “Rather. Hinchley’s butler.”

There was an ominous silence from the others. Mrs. Jeffries began to understand what an actor felt like when the play ended and the audience booed and hissed. Not that any of them would do that; they were far too polite. But from the incredulous expressions on their faces, she was going to have talk hard and fast to convince them.

“Rather?” Hatchet finally said. “May we ask why?”

Mrs. Jeffries wasn’t sure how to persuade them she was on to something, but at least no one’s life was at stake at the moment, so she had time to make her case. “Because he lied to the inspector. Rather told him that both he and the housemaid had planned on being gone well before Hinchley came back from America. But Lilly, Hinchley’s maid, told Betsy that working at the Hinchley house was the easiest position she’d ever had and she’d had no plans to leave.”

“But that was after the murder, Mrs. Jeffries,” Betsy
said softly. “When she knew he definitely wasn’t coming back.”

“I know, Betsy.” Mrs. Jeffries couldn’t think of how to express what was really more a feeling than a fact, but she was sure she was on to something. “But I got the impression from you that the girl had never had plans to go anywhere. Isn’t that what you thought?”

“Well, yes,” Betsy agreed, somewhat reluctantly. “But I don’t see how Rather telling one fib to Inspector Witherspoon makes the man a murderer.”

“Not a murderer, an accomplice,” she corrected. “All he did was carry Hinchley’s body to the canal.” They were still staring at her like she’d lost her mind, so she plunged straight on, telling them some of the other reasons that led to her conclusions about the killing.

“So you see,” she concluded, “we’ve got to get the inspector to keep a watch on Rather. I suspect that before he leaves London, he’ll be contacting Theodora Vaughan. He’ll want money for his silence.”

“How sure are you about this?” Luty asked.

Mrs. Jeffries glanced around the table. Luty’s doubts were mirrored on several other faces. For a moment, she wasn’t sure at all about it. What if it was like the last case and she was completely and utterly wrong about everything?

“We’d best get crackin’, then,” Wiggins said as he stood up. “The butler’s plannin’ on leavin’ tonight.”

“Tonight?” Smythe exclaimed. “Well, why didn’t ya tell us?”

“I tried to this afternoon,” Wiggins cried defensively, “but everyone told me to get out of the kitchen and go ’ave a rest. I didn’t know the man was an accomplice, did I? Rather’s plannin’ on takin’ a night train to the coast
tonight—that’s what Lilly told me when we was on the omnibus today.”

“You spoke to Lilly?” Betsy said.

Wiggins nodded excitedly. “It were ’ard work too, gettin’ her to talk. Lilly was right upset about the solicitor tossin’ ’er out on ’er ear. Would ’ave been really narked only she’s got another position. You’ll never guess where she’s goin’.” He paused dramatically. “Theodora Vaughan’s country house. Lilly said the offer come right out of the blue. Miss Vaughan sent ’er a note this mornin’, tellin’ her to go down there and see ’er ’ousekeeper if she were interested in a position. Well, Lilly ’adn’t been, but then Rather and the solicitor put their ’eads together and before Lilly knew it, she was out of work and Rather was packin’ his trunks. He’s goin’ to America on a ship.”

Smythe flicked a glance at the clock as he got up. “What time’s ’is train?”

Wiggins shrugged. “She didn’t say.”

“Should I go find the inspector?” Smythe asked Mrs. Jeffries.

“Yes, but give me a moment.” Her doubts about the case had vanished. She knew she was right. But she didn’t understand why Theodora Vaughan would offer Hinchley’s housemaid a position. “Wiggins,” she asked, “why did you say you thought Hinchley’s servants were robbing him blind?”

“Because when I was carryin’ Lilly’s case out to the platform, the latch sprung open on one end. When I put it down to try and shove it back in, she got all nasty and pushed me away. Told me she’d fix it ’erself. I got suspicious about the way she was actin’, so I ’ad a good look inside.” He grinned at his own cleverness. “She couldn’t put the latch back in without poppin’ open the other end,
and when the lid tipped open a bit, I saw all sorts of bits and pieces in ’er case. There was a silver candlestick and a bit of crystal inside. You know, things no ’ousemaid would own. Why? Is it important?”

“I’m not sure,” she said, frowning slightly. “But I did wonder.”

“So Rather’s got the place to himself,” Mrs. Goodge said derisively. “He’s probably filling his cases with Hinchley’s belongings right this very minute.”

As soon as the words left the cook’s mouth, Mrs. Jeffries understood. She couldn’t believe she’d been such a fool as not to see it sooner. “Rather’s there alone. Oh, my goodness, we’ve got to hurry,” she exclaimed. “Gracious, I’ve been so stupid about this. I only hope we’re in time.”

“What’s the rush?” Luty asked. “Theodora Vaughan ain’t goin’ nowhere. Just this butler feller. The inspector can send a wire to have him picked up before he boards his ship.”

“He won’t be boarding that ship,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “If what I suspect is true, Rather won’t be going anywhere.” She turned to the footman. “Wiggins, go and get me some of your notepaper and then I want you to go and find the inspector. But you must listen carefully. It’s imperative that you follow my instructions to the letter. Otherwise, someone else is going to die tonight.

“Too bad Parks wasn’t at home,” Barnes said to Witherspoon. He grabbed onto the strap hanging from the ceiling of the hansom as the cab suddenly dipped. “After hearing what that Mrs. Seldon had to tell us, if I was a bettin’ man, I’d say Parks has a lot of questions to answer.”

“He most certainly does,” Witherspoon replied. “It
was good of Mrs. Seldon to come forward. Er…Constable, you don’t think we’re on a wild goose chase, do you?” He was a bit concerned that the note that Wiggins had brought around to the Yard had been written by a crank. “I mean, there were spelling errors in the note. It suddenly occurred to me that it might be some prankster having a bit of fun with the police.”

“I don’t think so, sir,” Barnes assured him. “Young Wiggins said a girl brought it round to Upper Edmonton Gardens herself. A prankster would’ve sent it by post, not shown up on your doorstep and risk bein’ identifed later.”

“But this girl didn’t give Wiggins her name,” Witherspoon protested. “She simply shoved the note in his hand and ran off. That’s most odd.”

“Not really, sir,” Barnes replied kindly. Sometimes the inspector was so innocent. It was as plain as the nose on his face why the girl hadn’t wanted to come to the police station and make a statement. “The lass didn’t want to risk being questioned, but her conscience was botherin’ her because she’d seen Rather on the night of the murder.”

“But why wouldn’t she want to be questioned?” Witherspoon said.

“Because she’d probably slipped out to be with her young man in the park, Inspector,” the constable explained patiently. “You know, to be alone…” he looked at Witherspoon meaningfully.

It took a moment for him to get it. “Oh,” he exclaimed. “You mean they were…”

“Most likely, sir,” Barnes grinned. “Now, the girl couldn’t come forward with what she’d seen, not if she’d been playin’ about with a man in the middle of the night, could she? She’d lose her position.”

“Yes, yes, I see.” Satisfied with the explanation, Witherspoon
sat back and patted the pocket containing the grubby, wrinkled message. He glanced out the window and saw the North Gate entrance to the park up ahead. “Driver,” he yelled. “Pull over in front of the park entrance, please.”

The hansom bounced one last time, then pulled up and stopped. They got out, paid the cabbie and then waited until it pulled away. Witherspoon pulled the note out of his pocket, unfolded the paper and held it close to the lamplight. Squinting, he read it through one more time.

“Ready, sir?” Barnes asked.

“Yes. Let’s see what Rather has to say for himself.” They started across toward Avenue Road. There wasn’t much pedestrian or vehicle traffic on Albert Road and none at all that Witherspoon could see on Avenue Road. As they crossed the intersection, their footsteps echoed heavily in the silent evening. Witherspoon felt the back of his neck tingle, as though he was being watched. He whipped his head around, but saw nothing but an empty street.

“Something wrong, sir?” Barnes asked as saw the inspector looking behind him.

The inspector felt a tad foolish. Gracious, he was getting silly. Of course he wasn’t being followed. “No, Constable.”

They turned up the walkway leading to Hinchley’s house. Barnes stopped. Witherspoon, thinking something
was amiss, stumbled to a halt next to him. “Look, sir”—the constable pointed at the house—“the door’s ajar.”

“And not many lights on,” Witherspoon mused. He could only see the faintest of glows from inside the house. “Let’s hope that Rather hasn’t already scarpered off and left the place wide open…” He broke off as a loud, ear-splitting bang filled the air.

“That sounds like a gunshot, sir. It came from inside.” Barnes leapt toward the front stairs and took them two at a time. Witherspoon was right behind him.

They bounded into the house and slid to a halt. Inside, it was eerily quiet. The front hall was dark but there was a dim light from the far end. “The butler’s pantry,” Witherspoon yelled, hurrying in that direction.

They raced down the hall. From the pantry, they heard a soft groan and the sound of scrapping. The inspector thought he heard the front door slam behind him, but he didn’t stop to look. Flying into the room, Witherspoon stumbled over a large object on the floor. Barnes, seeing the inspector stumble, jumped over it.

“Egads,” Witherspoon cried. “It’s Rather.”

Rather moaned softly.

Simultaneously, both men dropped to their knees. Even in the poor light, they could see blood seeping out of the butler’s shoulder. Barnes pulled the man’s coat away from him. “He’s bleeding, sir. But it doesn’t look too bad.”

Rather lifted his hand and gestured toward the door. “Go after her. I’ll be all right. Hurry. In the park. Go, go. I’ll be fine.”

Barnes and Witherspoon looked at each other for a split second and then raced out. They flew back the way they’d come. Witherspoon was behind the constable by a nose as they sprinted down the steps and leapt onto the pavement.
Their prey had reached the entrance to the park by the time they cleared the walkway and dashed into the road.

“Halt in the name of the law,” Witherspoon cried. But the figure kept on running, hurtling through the gate and heading straight for the bridge.

“Stop, I tell you,” the inspector cried. His breath was coming in short, hard gasps and beside him, he could hear the constable wheezing as they gave chase.

She was fast, so fast that Witherspoon was afraid they’d never catch up and the suspect would make it across the canal bridge and into the park, disappearing into the night.

All of a sudden, another figure leapt out from the shadows of the bridge and hurled itself at the fleeing criminal.

There was a scream of rage and pain as the two shapes merged for an istant before crashing against the pavement with a loud thud.

Witherspoon and Barnes skidded to a halt beside the struggling bodies. “Ow…” one of them cried just as the constable waded in and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. With surprising strength, he flung him toward the inspector, who surprised himself by getting a grip on the fellow’s arm. Then the constable yanked other one to his feet.