The Detective and the Woman by Amy Thomas Page A

mystery. There had been something so kind in his quiet appreciation of his wife and his dinner that I hardly knew what to think. Was it possible the man fancied me? I put the thought out of my mind as preposterous (I hoped) and began to conceive of a plan to speak with him alone. When the lights came back on, I stole a look at his face, but he did not even glance in my direction.
    My preoccupation consumed me to the point that I hardly cared when Marion finally pushed me forward for my turn at the machine. I bent down according to Mina’s whispered instructions and looked into a hole the size of a silver dollar as the lights went out. Before my eyes was a still picture of a boxer with his fist raised to strike. As I watched, the picture began to move, and the man landed the punch squarely on his opponent’s jaw. For thirty seconds I watched, open-mouthed, as a professional boxing match took place before my eyes. I was still hunched over, marveling, when the laboratory came back to life. I looked gratefully for the face of the inventor and enunciated as best I could, ‘I’m absolutely stunned, Mr Edison. I’ve never seen anything like it.’ His serious face broke into a smile, and I believe he’d have shown us all again if his wife hadn’t stopped him with a small shake of her dark head.
    I had been the last of the guests to view the Kinetoscope, so my viewing was followed by Edison and Mina putting the machine away in a cabinet in the corner of the laboratory. This time, everyone lingered nearby, hoping that by watching the Kinetoscope’s dismantling, they might somehow understand its mechanism. I moved slowly toward Holmes, and he sensed my object and moved into a corner of the room, between a table and a large grey cabinet. Without warning, he hooked a long arm around my waist and pulled me close, whispering in my ear. ‘I heard Ambrose McGregor speak during the blackout, but I could not understand what he said. Was I correct in assuming he addressed you?’ I leaned into him like the most enamored of wives.
    ‘He requested a private discussion with me. I intend to lose one of my gloves here and discover the loss once we reach the house. I will require a gentleman to walk me back, but you will be engaged elsewhere.’ Holmes nodded once as Tootie’s voice cut into our tête-à-tête.
    ‘My goodness, look at those lovebirds. It’s no wonder, since they’ve been separated.’ Her blonde head bobbed in delight.
    ‘Please excuse my enthusiasm, Mrs Edison,’ said Holmes with a gallant near-bow. ‘I fear my wife’s return and your husband’s grand machine have made me quite giddy.’ I smiled sheepishly, clinging to his hand.
    Mina smiled indulgently. ‘I’m sure we’re all delighted to have met your charming wife, Mr James.’ The guests nodded as one, and I felt a pang of genuine pleasure.
    The party’s return to the house was almost festive, but dread lay at the bottom of my stomach like a lead weight. Whatever Ambrose McGregor had to say, I highly doubted it was anything I would be overly excited to hear.
    When we reached the piano room, Burroughs began to declare his intention of leaving, and Murphy looked ready to follow suit. Before Mina could begin her polite farewells, I made a show of looking down at my hands and finding one gloved and the other bare. At the same moment, Holmes asked Tootie about her favourite topic—her chronically ill son Bradford. He stopped mid-sentence when I lamented, ‘Oh no, I’ve been terribly clumsy. I seem to have lost my glove on the way back.’
    ‘Don’t worry, dear, Tom can go and retrieve it,’ said Mina kindly, putting a hand on my arm.
    ‘Nonsense,’ I answered, ‘your husband has been far too kind already this evening. Perhaps my husband—,’ but Bernard James looked down at Tootie with the crestfallen expression of a man disappointed at being unable to hear the words ready to fall from her lips. Bless her, she took the bait.
    ‘Ambrose, you can take