us everything.”
Wiggins took a fast sip of his tea. “For starters, I overheard the one of the coppers sayin’ that the inspector ’ad found a witness who’d seen the victim arrivin’ in the square.”
“That’s a good start,” Luty encouraged. “What time did she git there?”
“It weren’t the middle of the night. It were five in the mornin’,” he continued, “and she come by hansom.”
“Who’s the witness?” Smythe asked softly.
“A lady who lives at number six, her name’s McCabe. Mrs. McCabe.” Wiggins frowned. “Why do ya want to know? Don’t you believe me?”
“Of course I do, ya silly git,” Smythe said. “As a matter of fact, I found the driver that brung the woman mere. I just thought it might be important to know who else was up and about at five in the mornin’, that’s all.” He turned his attention to the housekeeper. “To tell ya the truth, Mrs. J, we’re in a bit of a pickle. Ya see, I didn’t just find the hansom driver. I think I found out who the victim was. I can’t for the life of me think of a way to let the inspector know.”
“You know who she is?” Luty exclaimed. “Hell’s fire and apple butter, that’ll put us way ahead of the police.”
“Excellent work, Smythe,” Hatchet said proudly. “We really are good, aren’t we?”
“Goodness, you’re ever so clever, Smythe.” Betsy smiled at him and patted his arm. “I wish I’d been able to find out who she was.”
“Good work,” Mrs. Goodge said. “Knowing who our victim is will save us a lot of time and trouble.”
“Gracious, Smythe,” Mrs. Jeffries said, “you’ve managed quite a feat. Who was she?”
“That’s just it.” Smythe shook his head. “She weren’t nobody. I mean, she were somebody, but she couldn’t be somebody anyone would want to kill. Not unlessin’ they was a lunatic like that ripper feller. Ya see, the woman couldn’t have had any enemies in England. She’d just arrived here the day before from Australia. Why would anyone want to kill a perfect stranger?”
“We’re not doing all that well, are we, sir?” Barnes asked glumly as they made their way to the last house on the square. “Mrs. Lucas at number two was sound asleep, and so were her servants. What do you think of Colonel Bartell, sir? Do you think he was telling the truth?”
“About being awake but hearing nothing.” Witherspoonsmiled sadly. “Oh, yes, I’m quite sure he was telling the truth. I don’t think his hearing is all that good. If you’ll recall, he kept his head cocked toward us the whole time we were there. As for him being awake, I imagine that’s true too. Many elderly people have difficulty sleeping through the night. It’s too bad there aren’t more people like that helpful Mrs. McCabe at number six. She, at least, saw something useful.”
“Most people aren’t up at five, sir,” Barnes said with a frown. “I’ll tell you the truth, sir, I’m not looking forward to this one.” He jerked his chin toward the house they were rapidly approaching. “Mrs. Baldridge sounds like she’s got a bit of a temper.”
Witherspoon hadn’t been looking forward to it either; that’s why he’d left it to last. “Let’s hope she’ll be more cooperative with the police than she was with the garden committee.” He sighed as they reached the Baldridge house. He couldn’t put this off any longer, he thought, as he started up the short flight of steps.
The front door flew open, and a round-faced, smiling girl with a maid’s cap on stuck her head out. “You must be the police,” she said cheerfully. She pulled the door open wide and gestured for them to come inside. “Do come in, sirs. The mistress has already ordered tea. We’ve been waiting for you. She wondered what was taking you so long.”
Bemused, Witherspoon glanced at Barnes. The constable looked as puzzled as the inspector. They followed the maid down a long hallway, their footsteps echoing loudly on the
Wiggins took a fast sip of his tea. “For starters, I overheard the one of the coppers sayin’ that the inspector ’ad found a witness who’d seen the victim arrivin’ in the square.”
“That’s a good start,” Luty encouraged. “What time did she git there?”
“It weren’t the middle of the night. It were five in the mornin’,” he continued, “and she come by hansom.”
“Who’s the witness?” Smythe asked softly.
“A lady who lives at number six, her name’s McCabe. Mrs. McCabe.” Wiggins frowned. “Why do ya want to know? Don’t you believe me?”
“Of course I do, ya silly git,” Smythe said. “As a matter of fact, I found the driver that brung the woman mere. I just thought it might be important to know who else was up and about at five in the mornin’, that’s all.” He turned his attention to the housekeeper. “To tell ya the truth, Mrs. J, we’re in a bit of a pickle. Ya see, I didn’t just find the hansom driver. I think I found out who the victim was. I can’t for the life of me think of a way to let the inspector know.”
“You know who she is?” Luty exclaimed. “Hell’s fire and apple butter, that’ll put us way ahead of the police.”
“Excellent work, Smythe,” Hatchet said proudly. “We really are good, aren’t we?”
“Goodness, you’re ever so clever, Smythe.” Betsy smiled at him and patted his arm. “I wish I’d been able to find out who she was.”
“Good work,” Mrs. Goodge said. “Knowing who our victim is will save us a lot of time and trouble.”
“Gracious, Smythe,” Mrs. Jeffries said, “you’ve managed quite a feat. Who was she?”
“That’s just it.” Smythe shook his head. “She weren’t nobody. I mean, she were somebody, but she couldn’t be somebody anyone would want to kill. Not unlessin’ they was a lunatic like that ripper feller. Ya see, the woman couldn’t have had any enemies in England. She’d just arrived here the day before from Australia. Why would anyone want to kill a perfect stranger?”
“We’re not doing all that well, are we, sir?” Barnes asked glumly as they made their way to the last house on the square. “Mrs. Lucas at number two was sound asleep, and so were her servants. What do you think of Colonel Bartell, sir? Do you think he was telling the truth?”
“About being awake but hearing nothing.” Witherspoonsmiled sadly. “Oh, yes, I’m quite sure he was telling the truth. I don’t think his hearing is all that good. If you’ll recall, he kept his head cocked toward us the whole time we were there. As for him being awake, I imagine that’s true too. Many elderly people have difficulty sleeping through the night. It’s too bad there aren’t more people like that helpful Mrs. McCabe at number six. She, at least, saw something useful.”
“Most people aren’t up at five, sir,” Barnes said with a frown. “I’ll tell you the truth, sir, I’m not looking forward to this one.” He jerked his chin toward the house they were rapidly approaching. “Mrs. Baldridge sounds like she’s got a bit of a temper.”
Witherspoon hadn’t been looking forward to it either; that’s why he’d left it to last. “Let’s hope she’ll be more cooperative with the police than she was with the garden committee.” He sighed as they reached the Baldridge house. He couldn’t put this off any longer, he thought, as he started up the short flight of steps.
The front door flew open, and a round-faced, smiling girl with a maid’s cap on stuck her head out. “You must be the police,” she said cheerfully. She pulled the door open wide and gestured for them to come inside. “Do come in, sirs. The mistress has already ordered tea. We’ve been waiting for you. She wondered what was taking you so long.”
Bemused, Witherspoon glanced at Barnes. The constable looked as puzzled as the inspector. They followed the maid down a long hallway, their footsteps echoing loudly on the
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