carrying another in his hand. As he drew nearer, he saw the man had not entered the walkway to the front door. He had gone down along the side of the building.
He looked down the dark alleyway between the two buildings, but the man had disappeared. The walls of the two buildings weren’t more than four feet apart. There were no trees or bushes he could have hidden behind. A waste of time, the fellow must have been taking a short cut. He was just turning around to go back on to the street when he heard the tinkle of breaking glass. By the living jingo, the fellow was a ken smasher! And if he had his bearings, that could be Russell’s flat he was breaking into. He hurried along and saw the broken window, and a pair of legs sticking out of it as the housebreaker went in, head first.
Housebreakers did keep an eye on death notices to learn when a house or flat might be empty and open for pilfering. No doubt that was the answer. He’d wait and nab the fellow as he came out. Funny thing, though, the man didn’t look like a ken-smasher. He wore a decent coat and curled beaver.
Coffen went forward and by standing on his tiptoes he could see in at the broken window to Russell’s living room. The fellow had lit a lamp. He held it high, with his back to the window so he couldn’t get a look at his face. The man was looking around, as if deciding what to snitch. But he didn’t take anything — not that there was much to take. He placed the hat he’d been carrying on the sofa then looked all around, picked up a few items and set them down again.
Then he blew out the lamp and Coffen heard him coming back toward the window. He ducked to the back of the house and watched. He couldn’t believe his eyes. The man who came out of the window feet first was Cooper! He hadn’t taken anything. He’d gone in and left a hat on Russell’s sofa. Now what the devil — Coffen couldn’t make heads or tails of it — unless Cooper was planting some evidence to try to involve someone else in the murder. He hadn’t come straight here from the tavern. He’d only had the one hat there. He must have gone home — or somewhere — to get it, so it must be important to Cooper.
Coffen knew he wouldn’t sleep a wink that night if he didn’t get a look at that hat. The window was already broken and waiting for him. He wouldn’t even need a light. He’d just nip in, get the hat off the sofa and get out again. The only little difficulty was that he tore the knee of his trousers on broken glass and destroyed a good handkerchief sopping up the blood on his hand where he cut it getting in. But he got the hat! He couldn’t get a good look at it in the darkness, so he went out, hailed a hackney and headed home.
Chapter Eight
“I don’t blame Cooper for wanting to get rid of it,” Prance announced, whirling the hat around on his fingers and sneering at it, when Coffen took it over to show Corinne the next morning.
Reg had seen Luten calling on her as he usually did before leaving for the House. He wouldn’t have intruded on them for the world, but when he saw Coffen darting over he decided their privacy was at an end and he might as well go and see what was afoot or he wouldn’t be able to give his full attention to Lorraine’s perils at St. Justin’s Abbey.
“And you say Cooper planted this clue in Russell’s flat?” Luten asked, frowning at the absurdity of it.
“Broke a window to do it, so it must be important,” Coffen replied, sniffing the air appreciatively. No food was in evidence, not even coffee, but the tantalizing aroma of gammon and toast lingered, to set his empty stomach roiling.
“Obviously out to slander Russell’s reputation as a swell,” Reg sniffed. He turned the hat over and grimaced at the greasy band inside, then took a closer look. “Whoever wore this abomination used oil in his hair. P’raps it’s the style in Bedford.”
“Why Bedford?” Coffen demanded.
“That’s where the hat was
He looked down the dark alleyway between the two buildings, but the man had disappeared. The walls of the two buildings weren’t more than four feet apart. There were no trees or bushes he could have hidden behind. A waste of time, the fellow must have been taking a short cut. He was just turning around to go back on to the street when he heard the tinkle of breaking glass. By the living jingo, the fellow was a ken smasher! And if he had his bearings, that could be Russell’s flat he was breaking into. He hurried along and saw the broken window, and a pair of legs sticking out of it as the housebreaker went in, head first.
Housebreakers did keep an eye on death notices to learn when a house or flat might be empty and open for pilfering. No doubt that was the answer. He’d wait and nab the fellow as he came out. Funny thing, though, the man didn’t look like a ken-smasher. He wore a decent coat and curled beaver.
Coffen went forward and by standing on his tiptoes he could see in at the broken window to Russell’s living room. The fellow had lit a lamp. He held it high, with his back to the window so he couldn’t get a look at his face. The man was looking around, as if deciding what to snitch. But he didn’t take anything — not that there was much to take. He placed the hat he’d been carrying on the sofa then looked all around, picked up a few items and set them down again.
Then he blew out the lamp and Coffen heard him coming back toward the window. He ducked to the back of the house and watched. He couldn’t believe his eyes. The man who came out of the window feet first was Cooper! He hadn’t taken anything. He’d gone in and left a hat on Russell’s sofa. Now what the devil — Coffen couldn’t make heads or tails of it — unless Cooper was planting some evidence to try to involve someone else in the murder. He hadn’t come straight here from the tavern. He’d only had the one hat there. He must have gone home — or somewhere — to get it, so it must be important to Cooper.
Coffen knew he wouldn’t sleep a wink that night if he didn’t get a look at that hat. The window was already broken and waiting for him. He wouldn’t even need a light. He’d just nip in, get the hat off the sofa and get out again. The only little difficulty was that he tore the knee of his trousers on broken glass and destroyed a good handkerchief sopping up the blood on his hand where he cut it getting in. But he got the hat! He couldn’t get a good look at it in the darkness, so he went out, hailed a hackney and headed home.
Chapter Eight
“I don’t blame Cooper for wanting to get rid of it,” Prance announced, whirling the hat around on his fingers and sneering at it, when Coffen took it over to show Corinne the next morning.
Reg had seen Luten calling on her as he usually did before leaving for the House. He wouldn’t have intruded on them for the world, but when he saw Coffen darting over he decided their privacy was at an end and he might as well go and see what was afoot or he wouldn’t be able to give his full attention to Lorraine’s perils at St. Justin’s Abbey.
“And you say Cooper planted this clue in Russell’s flat?” Luten asked, frowning at the absurdity of it.
“Broke a window to do it, so it must be important,” Coffen replied, sniffing the air appreciatively. No food was in evidence, not even coffee, but the tantalizing aroma of gammon and toast lingered, to set his empty stomach roiling.
“Obviously out to slander Russell’s reputation as a swell,” Reg sniffed. He turned the hat over and grimaced at the greasy band inside, then took a closer look. “Whoever wore this abomination used oil in his hair. P’raps it’s the style in Bedford.”
“Why Bedford?” Coffen demanded.
“That’s where the hat was
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