somethin’ important in a ‘ired coach the other night, and
she needs it back right quick.”
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Blackston shook his head. “We’ve not hired out any
coaches at night for nigh onto a week now. Are you sure the
coach was one of ours?”
“Now that’s just it,” Smythe replied. “She was picked up
around nine o’clock on the night of the eighteenth from the
end of Derby Hill Road by friends, and she just assumed the
coach came from here.”
Blackston patted the horse’s nose. “It weren’t one of ours,
sorry. I can’t help you.”
“Do you ‘ave any idea where it might be from?” he asked.
He’d started asking these questions just to get the man
talking, he’d no idea if anyone had been picked up near the
Braxton house or not that night, but he’d considered it
worth a try. After all, if the killer wasn’t someone in the
household, he or she had to get there that night some way.
“I mean, it’s real important I find out if any hired coaches
came or went from there that night.”
Blackston looked at him sharply, his eyes narrowing.
“You’re wanting to find out if anyone hired a coach from
here on the night Sir George Braxton was killed, don’t ya?
Don’t waste your time, man, the constables have already
been around here askin’ questions, and I’ll tell you the same
thing I told them. We stopped having anything to do with
Sir George’s household years ago, and we’ve not hired out a
carriage for more than a week, now get on with you. I’ve got
work to do.”
“Sorry, I don’t mean to delay ya, but can ya tell me why
you stopped ‘avin’ anything to do with the Braxton ‘ousehold?” He figured he might as well ask.
Blackston gave an exasperated sigh. “What’s it to ya,
man?”
“It’s not just idle curiosity,” Smythe said quickly. “I’m
workin’ with a private inquiry agent to ‘elp find the killer.”
Mrs. Jeffries and the Silent Knight
151
He felt he was staying close enough to the truth here. In one
sense, they were private inquiry agents.
Blackston gave him a long hard stare and then said, “We
stopped dealin’ with them after Sir George ruined our best
carriage and then wouldn’t pay for the damage he’d done. It
was a good few years back, so if someone hired a carriage to
drive over and kill him that night, they didn’t hire it from
us. Now, get on with you, man, I’ve work to do.”
“Inspector, I know you’re doing your best, but you really
must try harder,” Chief Inspector Barrows said. He was
seated behind his desk with the inspector’s latest report
spread out in front of him.
Witherspoon was seated directly across from him. “Yes,
sir, I certainly will.” In truth, he didn’t see how he could try
any harder.
“Have you any idea who committed the murder?” Barrows asked.
“Not as yet, sir, but we’re making progress on the case.”
“Yes, yes, I’m sure you are. But could you hurry it up a
bit? We’re getting a great deal of pressure from the Home
Office, and they’re getting a great deal of pressure from
the—” He broke off and looked down at the report on his
desk. “Oh, never mind, suffice to say we must put this to
rest quickly, Inspector. That’s the reason I assigned you to
this case, now I trust you’ll not disappoint me.”
“I’ll do my best, sir.”
“They want this case solved by Christmas,” Barrows
muttered harshly. “I don’t know what they expect us to do.
We can’t pull a suspect out of a hat. We’re not magicians,
we’re detectives.” He looked at Witherspoon, his expression
almost pleading. “Are you quite certain you’ve no really
good suspects?”
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Emily Brightwell
“I’ve a goodly number of suspects, sir,” he replied. “Yet
there isn’t one that stands out as the killer. But we’re doing
our very best, sir. We really are.” He couldn’t promise to
catch the killer by Christmas, and he wasn’t going to arrest
someone just for show. “As a matter of fact, I’m going to
have a word with Mr. Venable again. I understand he was
there right after the body was discovered.” He’d no idea why
that idea popped into his head, but it had, and he was desperate enough to latch onto anything that appeared useful.
“Who?”
“Darwin Venable, the Home Secretary’s assistant.”
“Oh, yes, that’s right. He was with the H.S. the night the
body was discovered,” Barrows murmured.
“I hope to ask him a few questions,” Witherspoon said.
“He might be quite useful. Unless, of course, you think I
ought to speak to the H.S. directly.”
“He’s already made a statement,” Barrows sighed, “and I
think it unlikely he’ll want to give another one. Besides, I
believe he’s gone to Scotland. You have a word with the assistant, and let’s hope for both our sakes that he remembers something useful.”
C H A P T E R 8
�� ��
“It’s gone cold again,” Mrs. Goodge commented as she put a
pot of tea in the center of the table. “Mark my words, we’ll
have more snow for Christmas.”
“I hope it holds off till then.” Betsy put a plate of seed
cake next to the teapot. “Bad weather makes it hard to get
about quickly. The trains are always late, the omnibus
doesn’t show up half the time, and I hear the lifts on those
new tube stations don’t work properly in the wet. I’d hate
for our investigation to be slowed by the weather.”
“Humph, seems to me it’s going slowly all on its own,”
the cook grumbled. She’d not had a good day. Half of her
sources hadn’t shown up, and those few that had trooped
through her kitchen hadn’t known much of anything. She
had very little to contribute to their meeting.
“I don’t know,” Wiggins said as he and Fred ambled into
the kitchen. “I think we’re doin’ just fine.” He’d not found
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Emily Brightwell
out much himself, but helping Luty be a part of the investigation had restored his usual optimism.
“As do I, Wiggins,” Hatchet nodded at the footman.
“The information is coming in slowly, but I’ve no doubt
we’ll get to the right conclusion in the end.”
“I’m sorry to be late.” Mrs. Jeffries burst into the kitchen
behind the footman. She took off her jacket as she headed
