The Formula for Murder (18 page)

31

He sticks out his hand to shake, an unusual gesture by a man to a woman, but one that sets well with me. I shake hands, giving him a tight grip. My instinct is that I can trust this man. And I’ll feel better about my gut reaction if he comes clean and tells me truthfully what he has to do with Hailey.

“H. G. Wells. My friends call me H. G.”

“Sounds like the chairman of the board. What do your non friends call you?”

We agree on “Wells.” I tell him he can call me Bly, but we agree upon Nellie when he says that sounds too formal.

So much fencing just to come up with names to call each other. I sense this sort of verbal dueling is a foreshadowing of our future discussions.

“I’m a teacher,” he says.

“Fine. You’re a book learner who teaches others how to learn from books. Now tell me what your relationship was with Hailey.”

“I had no relationship with Miss McGuire. Never had the pleasure of meeting her, though I heard she was a very fine young woman.”

I stare at him with exasperation. It is clear that information doesn’t pour from him. “If you didn’t know Hailey, why did you try to get access to her things? Why are you following me across England and trying to snoop in my luggage? Why are we having this conversation?”

He shakes his head with wonder. “Was your mother a Gatling gun?” He quickly holds up his hands to warn off my attack. “I apologize. This is hard on me. Actually, that is a dumb statement. It’s obviously much harder on you because you lost your friend. I was trying to get information about Dr. Lacroix.”

“Why?”

“He owes me money for research I conducted for him.”

I am not comfortable with his answer, though I’m not certain if it’s an outright lie or an embellishment of the truth. Running to different towns and getting on and off trains are hardly the way a debt is collected.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to lay a claim in court with his spa? It looks like a place where mud is turned into gold.”

“It’s—it’s not just the money, he took something else from me, valuable information from my research. It’s personal and I’d really rather not go into it. But he owes me and I expect to collect.”

“Why have you been following me?”

“I read up about you.” He grins and shrugs. “You are known for finding and uncovering things people want hidden. Dr. Lacroix is hiding. I’m certain he is, and not on the continent.”

“Why are you sure he hasn’t left the country?”

“Because I’m certain he set up a laboratory in the Devonshire area. He’s been quite secretive about it, but I became aware that he was shipping equipment and supplies to Exeter. Very complex items, not the sort of thing you duplicate at two places or in some cases, duplicate at all.” He shakes his head. “No, I’m certain that he is somewhere around Exeter. Which is one of the reasons I continue to follow you. You must have found a lead to Exeter. What is it?”

I ignore the question for the moment. “How did you know I have been trying to locate Dr. Lacroix?” My statement isn’t exactly true—I have been trying to unravel Hailey’s last days and the trail has simply set me upon Lacroix’s own path.

“James Anderson.”

“Who is…?”

“The front desk attendant at the International News Building. He was a classmate of mine.”

That little rat. James had been holding back on me. “Okay … but I never told James anything about Dr. Lacroix.”

“I know, you spoke to him about the reporter that killed herself. That’s originally why James contacted me. She was going to do a story about the spa. James said she was fascinated by the subject of rejuvenation. She believed women back in New York would be excited about the research.”

My heart skips a beat. “You spoke to Hailey?”

“No, we never were able to get together. James conveyed her wish to meet and talk about the subject, but I’d had complications from an injury and was indisposed at the time.”

He did appear to be a bit pale.

“By the time I felt better, she…”

“Yes. Why did you pretend to be her brother? What did you expect to find in her room?”

“Ah, you know about that. I’m embarrassed to admit I was playing detective. I knew she had made trips to Bath and I hoped she might have a lead that I’d find in her notes. As you know, the ruse didn’t work. That Mrs. Franklin is one mean-spirited woman.”

“Is that why you searched Hailey’s office and burned papers?” A shot in the dark, but I’m certain it’s a good one. And I know I’ve hit the mark by his attempt to suppress a grin.

“Guilty of going through her office, not of burning any papers. I sent a telegram to Miss McGuire after I felt better and got back a reply that she’d contact me upon her return from Bath. After James told me she had taken her own life, I got him to let me take a peek in her office.”

“What did you find?”

“Nothing about Bath. I took nothing out with me and certainly never burned anything.”

“Did you see burned materials in the wastebasket?”

“They could have been there, but I didn’t notice them if they were. What I saw appeared to be years of accumulation of news stories. I assumed that there was no current notes because she kept them with her. What do you think was burned?”

What I think is that I’m not going to give information to him until I have more answers.

“So why didn’t you simply approach me if you thought I was seeking the same information that you are?”

“I’ve heard that you’re a lone wolf. You work completely alone and are not in the habit of sharing information.”

“That analysis of my methods is from my friend Hailey to James to you?”

“Yes, though I did do a bit of reading about you. What would you have done if I had contacted you in London? From what I’ve learned, you would have picked me clean of what I know and gave me nothing, like you are doing right now.”

It’s my turn to smother a grin. He’s right. I’m wringing him dry of information and have told him nothing.

“How did you find out I was going to Bath? I never told James.”

“I was waiting in your hotel lobby, arguing with myself as to whether I should approach you, when you went into the telegram kiosk and sent off two.”

“That was you with your head buried in a newspaper?”

“Once again guilty. Anyway, I used an old schoolboy trick to read one of your messages—pretending to write out a message myself, I took the blank pad of sheets you used and rubbed my lead over the imprint your pencil left on the top sheet.”

“Good lord, and you accuse me of being a secret operator? You could go to work for your government as a spy.”

“Why, thank you.” He smiles broadly. “I have taken quite a fancy to this detective work. I must say the procedures are not unlike chemical experiments. You keep trying different things until something works.”

I don’t bother asking him how he traced me to the westbound train. The clerk and porter at my hotel knew I was taking this train.

I turn and look at the passing scenery to get my thoughts organized. He is an intelligent man, but in terms of what it takes to deal with violence and criminals, he is a babe in the woods. He’s a book learner and dealing with the likes of Radic and Burke takes skills that are learned on the street—where I learned them. That’s where my guts got honed to deal with undesirables—sometimes by having my face rubbed in the dirt.

Bottom line: We see the world in two radically different lights and would be at odds at almost everything if I let him come along with me.

“Are you an artist?” I ask in reference to his comic doodling.

“Not at all, though I write a bit. Articles on science.”

It is easy to see from his clothes that neither his teaching nor his writing has brought him much financial reward. He dresses respectfully, but modestly—not unlike a counter jumper.

It is time to brush him off. “Well … I must say, I am very impressed with your efforts at getting information, very much so.”

“But not enough to share information with—or team up with me.”

He doesn’t pose the remark as a question. He has already decided upon an answer.

I smile demurely. “I’ll give some thought to that.”

He chortles at my vague and evasive response. “Well, I suppose I deserve that for permitting you to cross-examine me, turning me upside down, and shaking all of the thoughts out of my brain. However, I’ll respect your decision. But do watch yourself with that other reporter.”

“What other reporter?”

“Why,
your
Mrs. Lambert, of course.” Like the Cheshire cat in Lewis Carroll’s
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
, he gives me a triumphant grin. “You are aware, I’m sure, that she works for the most contemptuous newspaper in the entire empire, a gossipmonger that prints anything but the truth.”

A chuckle starts deep in his belly and rumbles like distant thunder as he delivers yet another blow. “But, of course, a smart woman like you knew you were being had—didn’t you?”

32

I make a quick check with the conductor about train schedules out of Bristol before returning to the car that holds Mrs. Lambert and my valise.

“Mrs. Lambert…”

“Yes, dear…” She looks up from her crocheting. “Is everything all right?”

“Well … not quite. Could you join me at the back of the train car? We should take our belongings with us.”

“Why, of course, my dear.”

The train is just pulling into Bristol as she packs up her stuff and I grab my valise.

“I’m afraid I won’t be going on with you to Exeter,” I tell her in a confidential tone. “I’ll be leaving the train here in Bristol.”

“Really? That man you spoke with, the one I kept from getting into your luggage must have told you something. I hope he’s not tricking you. I know you can’t confide in me, but I’ve come to think of you as a sister. As a woman, I am proud of you and your accomplishments. Why what little you’ve told me, simply thrills me.”

“Well…” I glance around to give the affect that I’m making sure no one is listening and tell her in a confidential tone, “I must have your word of honor that you won’t speak a word to anyone.”

“Of course, my dear. My lips are sealed.”

“I’ve learned something from an absolutely reliable source. But remember, you must keep this a secret.”

“Yes, yes…”

“That doctor I told you I’m investigating—I’ve learnt that he isn’t in Exeter, but is staying at a manor house outside of Worcester.”

“
No!
Are you certain?”

“Absolutely. The man I spoke to was there and he spoke to him. The problem is the moment this train stops in Bristol, I have to make a mad dash for the northbound Worcester train. It’ll be leaving almost at the same time we arrive. I’ll have to buy a ticket on board. No time to waste.”

We hug and I promise to write her, already having exchanged addresses during our previous trip together.

“I shall not forget this little journey we’ve had together,” she says, as we are pulling to a halt and I get ready to disembark and run for the train on the opposite set of tracks. “You don’t know what you have done for me—adding excitement into my drab little life. Thank you, my dear.”

“I won’t forget you,” I say as I dash off.
And I doubt you’ll be thanking me later.
What a con artist. I could kick myself for falling for her words. Never again.

“You’ll be hearing from me,” she yells.

I seriously doubt that.

As I go up the steps and onto the northbound train—and down the steps out the other side—I move quickly to get out of sight.

Once both the northbound and southbound trains clear the station, I come out of hiding and make my way to the ticket office.

“Excuse me, sir.”

Behind an open wooden booth, a ticket officer looks up from a mess of paperwork. He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. “Yes, Miss, what can I do for you?”

I hand him my ticket. “Is this still valid to Exeter?”

He puts his glasses back on. “Yes, it is.”

“When will the next train be arriving?”

“In an hour.”

“Thank you. Can you recommend a café for lunch?”

“There’s one across from the station. Food’s good; tell Mary I sent you.”

As I enter, a waitress approaches me. “Your gentleman is waiting over there.”

“Excuse me?”

She points to H. G. Wells who grins and waves from where he’s sitting.

I take a deep breath and stand perfectly still for a moment.

He obviously is not as gullible as the scandal press reporter. I still need information about Dr. Lacroix from him, so I might as well give up the ghost in terms of getting rid of him and join him for tea and clotted Devonshire cream with scones.

With my best smile, I approach him.

“Wells, I have to admit that you are as hard to get rid of as poison ivy. And just about as welcome.”

“Nellie, you will not regret your gracious invitation to have me join you in this quest. I will always be there for you.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

33

On the train en route to Exeter, I am in an aisle seat facing Wells. Next to him is a man engrossed in a newspaper. The seat next to me is empty.

I remind myself to make the best of the situation. Wells outsmarted me, but the game is not over yet. And I do find his comments about the situation keen.

Earlier over lunch, after I told him about my growing suspicion that Hailey had discovered something about the death of Lady Winsworth and had been killed to keep her silent, he made a salient point: Dr. Lacroix is very much a ladies’ man.

“That’s the main reason Radic wanted him as a partner. Radic is a shady businessman with all the charm of a viper, but Lacroix attracts society women. There are rumors that he was having an affair with Lady Winsworth.”

“I had already presumed that he was romancing rich women for their money.”

“That might be true, but if it is, it wouldn’t be for personal gain. The man is a true fanatic when it comes to his research. I understand he puts every dollar into it and I don’t doubt that some of the money comes from older women who are captivated by his attention. Lacroix had a society medical practice before he went into partnership with Radic and created the spa. But don’t confuse the knowledge of the two. Radic claims to be a licensed doctor in Romania, but he’s not one here, which makes me doubt his claim. Few people doubt that Lacroix is a brilliant doctor and scientist, but almost everyone in the medical profession and scientific community rejects his hypothesis.”