get as much information as possible about the Grant household and James Underhill.
“As I shall be using my rather considerable resources to locate the girl,” Hatchet declared, “and Miss Betsy will be using her own exceptional detecting and observation skills, I’m sure we’ll have the young woman home safe and sound in no time.” He beamed encouragingly at the maid, who smiled in return.
“What do ya mean, ‘resources’?” Luty demanded suspiciously. It galled her that her own butler constantly got the jump on her when it came to hunting down clues. The man had more sources to tap for information in this city than a dog had fleas. She wasn’t fooled for one minute by his pronouncement, either. She knew good and well he’d be snooping about looking for Underhill’s killer at the same time he was trying to find the Simmons girl.
Hatchet allowed himself a small smirk. “I believe, madam, we agreed on a previous occasion that some of our resources were to be kept secret. Even from one another. If you don’t mind, I’d rather not say what or who I’ll be using in my investigations.”
“Use whatever means you have at your disposal,” Mrs. Jeffries said quickly. Luty and Hatchet, despite their devotion to one another, were fierce competitors when itcame to investigations. “And the rest of you, please, don’t feel that because Betsy and Hatchet are taking the primary responsibility for locating Miss Simmons that the rest of you won’t be expected to do your fair share. All of us must do our best to find her.”
“Of course we will,” Mrs. Goodge agreed stoutly. Mentally, she made a list of people she could drag into her kitchen tomorrow. It wouldn’t hurt to ask a few questions about missing models while she was at it.
Hatchet leaned forward on one elbow. “Before I forget, Mrs. Jeffries, would you please give me a brief description of Miss Simmons?”
Mrs. Jeffries cringed, disgusted at herself for over-looking such an important detail. “Oh my goodness, I never thought to ask Nanette Lanier. Gracious, how silly of me.”
“None of us thought of it, either,” Smythe said, seeing the housekeeper’s stricken expression. “Don’t be so ’ard on yerself. Guess we was all so excited about gettin’ somethin’ to do, we forgot one of the most important bits. Findin’ out what she looked like.” He shook his head in disbelief.
“I know what she’s like,” Wiggins announced cheerfully. “She’s got dark brown hair, green eyes and she’s about my height.”
“Cor blimey, ’ow’d you know that?” Smythe demanded.
“I asked Miss Lanier when I walked ’er out to get a ’ansom,” he explained. “She told me Miss Simmons was wearing one of her old dresses too. It were a dark blue wool with white piping on the jacket.”
“Excellent, Wiggins,” Mrs. Jeffries congratulated him.
“I thought it might be important,” he replied modestly.
“And it is important.” Hatchet clapped the footman on the back. “Well done, lad. Well done. Armed with that pertinent information, Miss Betsy and I will really be able to get cracking on finding our missing lady.”
“Humph.” Luty contented herself with giving Hatchet a good frown and then turned her attention to Mrs. Jeffries. “What do ya want me to start on?”
Mrs. Jeffries had already thought about that. Luty was one of the wealthiest women in London. She socialized with stockbrokers, bankers and industrial leaders. Her contacts in the city were legendary, and, most important, Luty knew who would talk and who wouldn’t. “Find out what you can about the victim’s financial situation.”
“What about this Neville Grant feller?” Luty queried. “Underhill was killed at his house.”
“By all means, Luty,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “Find out what you can about all of them.”
“Includin’ the visitin’ Americans?”
“Oh yes, we mustn’t leave anyone out,” she replied.
“Do ya want me to start on the pubs and the
“As I shall be using my rather considerable resources to locate the girl,” Hatchet declared, “and Miss Betsy will be using her own exceptional detecting and observation skills, I’m sure we’ll have the young woman home safe and sound in no time.” He beamed encouragingly at the maid, who smiled in return.
“What do ya mean, ‘resources’?” Luty demanded suspiciously. It galled her that her own butler constantly got the jump on her when it came to hunting down clues. The man had more sources to tap for information in this city than a dog had fleas. She wasn’t fooled for one minute by his pronouncement, either. She knew good and well he’d be snooping about looking for Underhill’s killer at the same time he was trying to find the Simmons girl.
Hatchet allowed himself a small smirk. “I believe, madam, we agreed on a previous occasion that some of our resources were to be kept secret. Even from one another. If you don’t mind, I’d rather not say what or who I’ll be using in my investigations.”
“Use whatever means you have at your disposal,” Mrs. Jeffries said quickly. Luty and Hatchet, despite their devotion to one another, were fierce competitors when itcame to investigations. “And the rest of you, please, don’t feel that because Betsy and Hatchet are taking the primary responsibility for locating Miss Simmons that the rest of you won’t be expected to do your fair share. All of us must do our best to find her.”
“Of course we will,” Mrs. Goodge agreed stoutly. Mentally, she made a list of people she could drag into her kitchen tomorrow. It wouldn’t hurt to ask a few questions about missing models while she was at it.
Hatchet leaned forward on one elbow. “Before I forget, Mrs. Jeffries, would you please give me a brief description of Miss Simmons?”
Mrs. Jeffries cringed, disgusted at herself for over-looking such an important detail. “Oh my goodness, I never thought to ask Nanette Lanier. Gracious, how silly of me.”
“None of us thought of it, either,” Smythe said, seeing the housekeeper’s stricken expression. “Don’t be so ’ard on yerself. Guess we was all so excited about gettin’ somethin’ to do, we forgot one of the most important bits. Findin’ out what she looked like.” He shook his head in disbelief.
“I know what she’s like,” Wiggins announced cheerfully. “She’s got dark brown hair, green eyes and she’s about my height.”
“Cor blimey, ’ow’d you know that?” Smythe demanded.
“I asked Miss Lanier when I walked ’er out to get a ’ansom,” he explained. “She told me Miss Simmons was wearing one of her old dresses too. It were a dark blue wool with white piping on the jacket.”
“Excellent, Wiggins,” Mrs. Jeffries congratulated him.
“I thought it might be important,” he replied modestly.
“And it is important.” Hatchet clapped the footman on the back. “Well done, lad. Well done. Armed with that pertinent information, Miss Betsy and I will really be able to get cracking on finding our missing lady.”
“Humph.” Luty contented herself with giving Hatchet a good frown and then turned her attention to Mrs. Jeffries. “What do ya want me to start on?”
Mrs. Jeffries had already thought about that. Luty was one of the wealthiest women in London. She socialized with stockbrokers, bankers and industrial leaders. Her contacts in the city were legendary, and, most important, Luty knew who would talk and who wouldn’t. “Find out what you can about the victim’s financial situation.”
“What about this Neville Grant feller?” Luty queried. “Underhill was killed at his house.”
“By all means, Luty,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “Find out what you can about all of them.”
“Includin’ the visitin’ Americans?”
“Oh yes, we mustn’t leave anyone out,” she replied.
“Do ya want me to start on the pubs and the
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