The Problem of the Missing Miss (29 page)

Dr. Doyle had ingested several sandwiches and a cup of tea. He now tried to follow Mr. Dodgson's reasoning.

“So: our murderer is a man, tall enough to heave Keeble over the Chain Pier railings, in a brown suit, missing a button off his waistcoat, who was in Brighton on Friday night, but wasn't supposed to be?”

“Could be anyone!” Inspector MacRae scoffed.

“Add to that,” Mr. Dodgson continued, “that he had to have had access to Lord Richard Marbury's typewriting machine, he had to have known that Miss Marbury was to come to me, and he had to have some acquaintance with me and my, um, habits.”

“That narrows it down a bit,” Inspector MacRae agreed.

“Yes, it does. Unfortunately, the description matches two persons connected with this case. I cannot accuse an innocent man,” Mr. Dodgson said firmly. “Inspector MacRae, will you be able to prolong your visit to Brighton by one more day? There is someone who witnessed a meeting between Keeble and the man who probably killed him on the night in question.”

“A witness? And why hasn't he come forward, then?” Inspector MacRae asked fiercely.

“Because he has the greatest dislike for, um, Peelers,” Mr. Dodgson said. “If I can persuade him to give his evidence, we may be able to trap this man before he kills again. He is quite desperate now, and may strike at any time.”

“A madman?” Touie gasped out.

“No, far worse. A desperate man. He will do anything—anything!—to keep Lord Richard Marbury from getting the Criminal Amendment Bill passed. It is his livelihood, you see, that is at stake.”

“Good Heavens!” Reverend Barclay gasped.

“And his self-esteem,” Mr. Dodgson went on, serenely eating a sandwich. “A man may do almost anything to preserve his own opinion of himself.”

Dr. Doyle stood up. “Gentlemen,” he announced, “I have spent a good deal of this weekend on this business, but it is, after all, my honeymoon. I said I would see Miss Marbury found, and I have. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall take my wife to Muttons for one last bowl of turtle soup before we go back to Portsmouth. My practice, such as it is, awaits me.”

Mr. Dodgson smiled suddenly. “But the adventure is not yet over, Dr. Doyle. Would you not like to see the story through to its final chapter?”

Dr. Doyle glanced at his wife. “Of course, but …”

Mr. Dodgson nodded. “Henry,” he turned to his friend, the Rector, “can you arrange to have tickets sent to Dr. Doyle and his wife, for seating at the protestation meeting tomorrow night?”

“Of course, but—”

“And Inspector MacRae,” Mr. Dodgson smiled at the Scotland Yard representative. “You can, of course, obtain further leave?”

“You're not trying to pull one of those fancy scenes, the kind in detective stories?” MacRae asked suspiciously.

“Oh no,” Mr. Dodgson said. “But I am going to try to convince the witness to make a positive identification that will solve your problem, and mine, to both our satisfactions.”

“In that case, sir, I will remain in Brighton one more day,” MacRae said.

Inspector Wright straightened his jacket and nodded to the assemblage. “I thank you for your information,” he told Mr. Dodgson. “Abduction is a serious crime, and if, as you say, we find the same paper, with the same scent, as that ransom note, then we've got enough to send Miss Harmon off to Pentonville for a few years.”

“And then what?” Dr. Doyle asked sharply.

“And by then, with the Lord's help—” Reverend Barclay began.

“And Lord Richard Marbury's help—” Mr. Dodgson added.

“By then, as I say, the Criminal Amendment Bill will be passed, and there will be less opportunity for the likes of Miss Harmon to flourish,” the Rector finished.

“Amen to that,” Dr. Doyle said. He crooked his arm. “Touie, shall we stroll?”

Before they could take their leave, the butler announced: “Lord Richard Marbury and Lady Patricia Marbury.”

“I have come in answer to your telegram,” Lord Richard explained, advancing on the Rector as the most obvious representative of the Church of England in sight.

“My telegram?” the Rector looked confused.

“Inviting me to attend your meeting,” Lord Richard said.

“Oh, that telegram!” The Rector beamed at his honored guest speaker. “There was some slight difficulty, but I am so relieved that you are here. There is to be a meeting here at the Rectory tonight to complete the plans for the protestation meeting.”

“Then you did not get the message from Scotland Yard?” Inspector Wright interrupted the Rector's effusions.

“Message? What message?” Now it was Lord Richard's turn to be confused. “I received a telegram from Mr. Barclay yesterday, summoning me to speak at this protestation meeting. My wife and I left London shortly after noon. If there was any other message, I never got it.”

Mr. Dodgson cleared his throat. “Miss Alicia Marbury has been found,” he announced.

The announcement was unnecessary. “I heard Papa!” Alicia bounded into the parlor, clad in a serviceable but plain dress of nautical cut and decoration, her red hair still tangled but her spirits unquenched.

“Alicia! My baby!” Lady Pat enveloped her child in her arms.

“Mama! I have had such adventures!”

“But you are quite all right now?” Lady Pat turned to Dr. Doyle, who smiled benignly.

“As you can see, my lady, the child is none the worse physically for her escapade.”

“Thank God for that,” the girl's mother said fervently. “Now, Alicia, dear, we have brought Nanny Marsh with us. She is putting our rooms at the hotel to rights, but as soon as we can, we shall take you to her. She will take good care of you.”

“Where is Mary Ann?” Alicia asked.

Lady Pat looked about her in confusion. Mr. Dodgson took Alicia by the hand.

“Your attendant, Mary Ann, met with … an accident,” he said gently.

“They killed her to get me!” Alicia cried out. “Oh, they are wicked, wicked people, and I hope you put them all in jail!”

“We shall do that, my dear,” Mr. Dodgson said, patting her hand. “Now, you must go back upstairs. Mrs. Barclay's maid will give you and Kitty a good supper, and then you will go with your mama and papa to the hotel?” He looked about him for confirmation of these plans.

“Perhaps the child could remain here at the Rectory,” Lady Pat suggested. “I can send Nanny Marsh to care for her. The hotel is no place for a child.”

“And Kitty must stay with me,” Alicia insisted.

“Kitty?” Lady Pat inquired.

“The menial at the, um, establishment. She was very helpful in retrieving your daughter,” Mr. Dodgson told her.

“She was my friend,” Alicia stated. “And I promised her she could come to London with us, and be my maid. And a Waltham never goes back on his word. Isn't that so, Papa?”

Lord Richard smiled down at his daughter. “Quite right, Alicia. Your Kitty may take Mary Ann's place, at least until we get back to London. Nanny Marsh will show her what to do. Now, say good night, and go back to your room, Alicia. We have a great deal of work to do.”

Alicia curtsied politely to the grownups and turned to go. Suddenly she turned back. “Papa, are you going to be at the big meeting tomorrow?”

“Yes, my dear, but …”

“Everyone is talking about it,” Alicia said. “Mama, may I hear Papa speak?”

Lady Pat looked at her husband. Lord Richard shrugged. “It will be a very long meeting, Alicia. It may not be very amusing, rather like sitting through several church sermons. You are not always very calm during the sermons at church.”

“But I would like to hear you thrash those awful people, Papa,” Alicia insisted. “And I want Kitty to be there, too.”

“Very well, Alicia, if you wish to be there, I will have Nanny Marsh bring you.” Lord Richard sighed.

Alicia smiled sweetly and left the parlor. She had an idea of her own, that would make this protestation meeting into something exciting. Hadn't that woman in the purple dress said that she would be there? Well, if the police could not put Miss and Madam in jail, she, Alicia Marbury, would let everyone know how awful they were, and then they'd be sorry they put her into an attic and beat her friend!

CHAPTER 27

Sunday night in Brighton was a time of packing up the pieces of one's holiday. The pretty seashells and seaweed did not look quite so pretty, and would soon be discarded. The bathing dresses would have to be scrubbed and well rinsed to remove the miniscule bits of sand and shell embedded in the heavy wool or coarse cotton. Sunburned faces would be anointed with lotion. Another weekend gone; another week of work to be faced on Monday morning.

On this particular Sunday night, however, all Brighton hummed with anticipation. Word had got out that Lord Richard Marbury had come to Brighton, with the express purpose of speaking at the protestation meeting. Immediately, what had been a target for vulgar jokes and speculation became an event.

Once it was known that Lord Richard would, indeed, speak at the protestation meeting, the telegraph office found itself inundated with vital messages flashing back and forth between London and Brighton, and between Brighton and most of the British Isles. Members of Parliament sent their names to the committee, demanding a space on the platform. The Borough Council issued permits for enterprising businessmen to set up booths for serving hot and cold foods on the grounds of the Royal Pavilion. An equally enterprising businessman cornered the market on seating, providing chairs at three shillings each for the front five rows, one shilling after that.

By eight o'clock, the Old Ship had the air of a military headquarters, with aides running back and forth between the Rectory and the hotel. The Reverend Mr. Barclay and his clerical colleagues had recruited as many of their parishioners as they could to serve as messengers between the printers's shops, the carpenters' shops, and Lord Richard's suite. The hotel staff was summoned to minister to the urgent needs of their noted guest; trays of sandwiches, fruit, and cakes were prepared and sent up at intervals, to be ingested by the aforesaid aides and minions of the forces of decency.

Mr. Dodgson found himself caught up in the furor in spite of himself. He was pressed into service in the Rectory parlor, to oversee the production of the the printed program, which had to be revised every time another dignitary sent word he was going to attend and wished to say a few words (undoubtedly a great many words by the time said dignitary was finished).

With the most recent revision in hand, he went with Mr. Barclay to the Old Ship, that venerable hostelry on the Esplanade, where Lord Richard and Lady Pat had bespoken a two-room suite for themselves, plus rooms for their servants. Here, like a spider in a web, Lord Richard sat, with the ever faithful Upshaw in attendance. He looked up in distraction as Mr. Dodgson and Mr. Barclay entered the suite.

“Lord Richard,” Mr. Dodgson began.

“Is that the program? Good!” Lord Richard scanned it, then waved it in the direction of Upshaw.

The lanky secretary seemed to spring from the ground instead of from his position behind the door, at one of the small tables set there by the management for the purpose of holding a tray of refreshment. The tray had been removed, and the inevitable pile of paper that accompanied Mr. Upshaw now took its place.

“Upshaw, go to the Albemarle. Sir Thomas Conym is there. You must have him read this, and get back to me with his reply.”

“Yes, Lord Richard.” Upshaw looked more harried than usual. “The … the persons from the Press are demanding an interview,” he said. “And Lady Patricia wishes to know if she should send Mrs. Marsh to the Rectory in a cab, or have her walk there?”

“For heavens sake!” Lord Richard threw down his pen in exasperation. “Tell her to do what she thinks best. At least Alicia is safe at the Rectory.”

“Shocking! That she should have been kidnapped at all,” Upshaw sputtered. “How providential that she was found before the protestation meeting.”

“Providence had nothing to do with it,” Lord Richard said testily. “It was Mr. Dodgson, and his friend, that doctor chap.”

“Doyle,” Mr. Dodgson provided the name. “Please, Lord Richard, a moment of your time.”

A knock at the door brought another telegram. “Aha! Rector, you will be pleased to hear that Dr. Sullivan himself will lead your choir. He is coming down tomorrow, taking time from his rehearsals for the new opera at the Savoy to run your choristers through their paces.”

Mr. Barclay's face flushed with pleasure. “I must let my choirmaster know immediately!”

“And be sure to put it into the program,” Mr. Upshaw added.

“Oh dear, oh dear,” fussed Mr. Dodgson. “Will no one listen to me?”

Apparently, no one would.

“Lord Richard, I
must
speak with you—in private!” Mr. Dodgson tried to convey the urgency of the situation, but Lord Richard was firing off some more orders to Upshaw.

“This program must go to the printers first thing tomorrow morning. We must have them before the protestation meeting begins!”

“Yes, Lord Richard. I shall see to it.” Upshaw busied himself with his papers again.

Lord Richard turned and found Mr. Dodgson in front of him. “If you please, Mr. Dodgson,” he said peevishly. “You have done your part. You found Alicia …”

“But that is not the end of it!” Mr. Dodgson said firmly. “Lord Richard, consider, I beg you! The people who abducted your daughter may take even more forceful methods to stop you from achieving your goal.”

“What?” Lord Richard stopped in mid-stride. “You are being melodramatic, Mr. Dodgson. This is not America, and these people, as you call them, are not anarchists. They are merely criminals, and like most criminals, they are cowards at heart.”

“I fear one of them is known to you,” Mr. Dodgson said. “I did not mean to bring it out in this public place—but the woman who ran the, um, establishment where your daughter was found was Julia Harmon.”