thing he says. Furthermore, the fellow’s so indiscreet it’s a wonder he’s still allowed to practise.”
“Stampton ain’t senile,” Luty snapped. “He’s a drunk. There’s a difference, ya know. But drunk or sober, the man knows his facts. Now, as I was sayin’ before I was so rudely interrupted, Hinchley never had to worry about earnin’ a living. He started out as an actor and a playwright, but couldn’t get anyone to hire him or produce his plays so he started writin’ pieces for some of the newspapers. That’s how he become a critic.”
“Was he ever paid for his writing?” Mrs. Jeffries asked curiously.
“Not at first,” Luty said eagerly. “But after he got so mean and nasty, his reviews started to help sell papers. That’s when they started payin’ him.”
“So he was a failure as an actor and a playwright, but not as a critic,” Mrs. Jeffries mused. “That’s quite interesting. Wealthy too. Excellent, Luty.”
Luty shot Hatchet a smug smile. She was pretty sure he hadn’t found out a danged thing.
Smythe said, “I’d like to go next if nobody cares. I found a hansom driver who picked Ogden Hinchley up on Saturday night. It was half past six and he took him to the Hayden Theatre. That’s all I learned. Not much, I’m afraid.”
“I think it’s quite good, considerin’,” Betsy said, giving the coachman a bright smile. It bothered her that things weren’t right between the two of them yet and she was getting tired of walking on eggshells around the man. “We’ve only just got this case. It’s still early yet.”
But Smythe obviously didn’t mind that they were still at odds because he simply stared at her with that closed-up expression he’d been wearing since she got back from the East End.
Flustered, she babbled on. “I didn’t learn much either. Just that one of the shopkeepers saw Hinchley on Saturday and was surprised to see him back from America. He was supposed to be gone another three months. But he came back early. But I did find out that Hinchley’s maid is a real chatterbox. She was always coming in to the grocer’s and gossiping.”
“Did you talk to the maid?” Mrs. Goodge asked eagerly.
Betsy shook her head. “I hung about Hinchley’s house, but the only person who set foot out the door was a man. I think it was Hinchley’s butler. He took himself off in a cab so I waited a bit, hoping the maid would come out, but she never did.”
“Did you find out what the girl gossiped about?” Luty asked.
Betsy grinned. “The shopkeeper said she was always going on about the actors and theatre people comin’ roundto Hinchley’s house and raising a ruckus over some of the nasty things he wrote about them in his reviews. I’m going to try and talk to the girl tomorrow.”
“Good idea, Betsy.” Mrs. Jeffries looked at the footman. She rather suspected Wiggins hadn’t had a good day. He hadn’t asked one question since they’d sat down and he looked a bit down in the mouth. “Did you learn anything?”
“Not a ruddy thing,” he replied glumly. “No one I talked to knew anything about Hinchley.”
“Don’t take it so hard, lad,” Mrs. Goodge said kindly. “We all have our bad days. The only thing I found out was that Hinchley wasn’t any better than he ought to be.” Disgusted, she made a face.
“Go on,” Mrs. Jeffries prompted.
“Give me a minute,” the cook said. “I’m tryin’ to think of how to put it so it doesn’t sound so…so…indecent…” She waved her hands in the air. “Oh, bother, I might as well just say it and get it over with. Hinchley frequented brothels.”
Betsy giggled. Luty laughed and Wiggins blushed a bright pink. Smythe looked down at the tabletop to hide a grin.
Mrs. Jeffries, who was trying not to smile herself, said, “There’s no need to be embarrassed, Mrs. Goodge. We all know that such places exist. Your information might become quite useful.” Considering that probably a huge number of
“Stampton ain’t senile,” Luty snapped. “He’s a drunk. There’s a difference, ya know. But drunk or sober, the man knows his facts. Now, as I was sayin’ before I was so rudely interrupted, Hinchley never had to worry about earnin’ a living. He started out as an actor and a playwright, but couldn’t get anyone to hire him or produce his plays so he started writin’ pieces for some of the newspapers. That’s how he become a critic.”
“Was he ever paid for his writing?” Mrs. Jeffries asked curiously.
“Not at first,” Luty said eagerly. “But after he got so mean and nasty, his reviews started to help sell papers. That’s when they started payin’ him.”
“So he was a failure as an actor and a playwright, but not as a critic,” Mrs. Jeffries mused. “That’s quite interesting. Wealthy too. Excellent, Luty.”
Luty shot Hatchet a smug smile. She was pretty sure he hadn’t found out a danged thing.
Smythe said, “I’d like to go next if nobody cares. I found a hansom driver who picked Ogden Hinchley up on Saturday night. It was half past six and he took him to the Hayden Theatre. That’s all I learned. Not much, I’m afraid.”
“I think it’s quite good, considerin’,” Betsy said, giving the coachman a bright smile. It bothered her that things weren’t right between the two of them yet and she was getting tired of walking on eggshells around the man. “We’ve only just got this case. It’s still early yet.”
But Smythe obviously didn’t mind that they were still at odds because he simply stared at her with that closed-up expression he’d been wearing since she got back from the East End.
Flustered, she babbled on. “I didn’t learn much either. Just that one of the shopkeepers saw Hinchley on Saturday and was surprised to see him back from America. He was supposed to be gone another three months. But he came back early. But I did find out that Hinchley’s maid is a real chatterbox. She was always coming in to the grocer’s and gossiping.”
“Did you talk to the maid?” Mrs. Goodge asked eagerly.
Betsy shook her head. “I hung about Hinchley’s house, but the only person who set foot out the door was a man. I think it was Hinchley’s butler. He took himself off in a cab so I waited a bit, hoping the maid would come out, but she never did.”
“Did you find out what the girl gossiped about?” Luty asked.
Betsy grinned. “The shopkeeper said she was always going on about the actors and theatre people comin’ roundto Hinchley’s house and raising a ruckus over some of the nasty things he wrote about them in his reviews. I’m going to try and talk to the girl tomorrow.”
“Good idea, Betsy.” Mrs. Jeffries looked at the footman. She rather suspected Wiggins hadn’t had a good day. He hadn’t asked one question since they’d sat down and he looked a bit down in the mouth. “Did you learn anything?”
“Not a ruddy thing,” he replied glumly. “No one I talked to knew anything about Hinchley.”
“Don’t take it so hard, lad,” Mrs. Goodge said kindly. “We all have our bad days. The only thing I found out was that Hinchley wasn’t any better than he ought to be.” Disgusted, she made a face.
“Go on,” Mrs. Jeffries prompted.
“Give me a minute,” the cook said. “I’m tryin’ to think of how to put it so it doesn’t sound so…so…indecent…” She waved her hands in the air. “Oh, bother, I might as well just say it and get it over with. Hinchley frequented brothels.”
Betsy giggled. Luty laughed and Wiggins blushed a bright pink. Smythe looked down at the tabletop to hide a grin.
Mrs. Jeffries, who was trying not to smile herself, said, “There’s no need to be embarrassed, Mrs. Goodge. We all know that such places exist. Your information might become quite useful.” Considering that probably a huge number of
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