woman’s direction. I then turned and made my way to the exit.
Of course, I had no idea whether she might follow. More probably, she would turn her attentions to some other young gentlemen studying at one of the tables. Once outside, I resisted the attentions of a cabman there and turned right, headed along Gower Street, and walked to Regent’s Park.
It was warm and sunny, a rare and glorious afternoon. I walked along the path between grassy expanses in the dappled shade of oaks that must have grown there since the park was first designed. I dared not look behind. It was rather like fishing; I didn’t want to spook my prey. In all probability, there was no prey to spook, and I was making a fool of myself. I was about to give it up, but as I passed the brass plaque that announced I had reached the Zoological Gardens, I saw in that highly polished metal surface that I was still being shadowed, and by a female in a bowler hat and a trim-fitting black outfit. I rather doubted this was the infamous Mr. Miacca. The glorious day suddenly got that much brighter.
Now that the fish, if I might be so crass as to equate the young lady in question with a fish, had risen to the bait, how was I to set the hook? She could still break off the line were I to change course in midstream. Not really having an idea of what to do, I walked past the lions and seals; finally reaching the wolf cages, which somehow seemed appropriate, I sat down at a bench and, with as much savoir faire as I could muster, I raised my hat.
“Good afternoon, miss,” I said as she approached. I recognized her as the friend of Miss Levy.
She stopped and actually gaped at me. “Was I that obvious?” she asked.
“No,” I replied, “but I am an experienced enquiry agent and it is difficult to pull the wool over my eyes.”
She sat down beside me. “My word,” she said, “you are good.”
“I am Thomas Llewelyn.”
“Beatrice Potter.”
She was attractive, with light-colored hair swept away from frank blue eyes and delicate features. Her clothes were of the best quality and in the height of fashion. She came from money, obviously. Not landed money, perhaps, but money all the same. When we were children, I wouldn’t have been allowed to speak to her, being a mere miner’s son, and now she was following me.
“Aren’t you going to ask me why I followed you from the museum, or do you know that as well?”
“I assume that you happened to see me in the Reading Room. You didn’t follow me there. Are you Jewish?”
“Jewish?” She frowned. “Why do you ask that?”
“Miss Levy, your friend, is Jewish. And you were reading the Jewish Chronicle in the museum.”
“So I was. I fancy that one of my grandparents was Jewish, but so far I have found little proof. Certainly the other three quarters of me are English enough, and my family is doing its best to deny the other. I find Jews fascinating and have been studying their history and politics. And you?”
“I’m as Welsh as rarebit, but most of my closest friends are from the Jewish quarter and my employer has worked for the Board of Deputies. So, if you happened to recognize me in the Reading Room, why did you follow me?”
“I’ll tell you if you’ll answer one question first. Why were you reading Lear?”
“It is pertinent to the case. Beyond that I can reveal nothing. Now you tell me why you followed me.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Oh, I like that even better,” I said. “So come, come. Tell me. I can believe anything, provided it is fanciful enough.”
“I am an investigator.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Pull the other one. Are you private, or are you in fact working for Scotland Yard?”
“Neither. I am a social investigator.”
“I see,” I said, though to be frank, I didn’t. “I don’t suppose that pays very well.”
“Nothing at all, actually, but it’s very important. That’s why I am working in the East End. I wish to know why
Of course, I had no idea whether she might follow. More probably, she would turn her attentions to some other young gentlemen studying at one of the tables. Once outside, I resisted the attentions of a cabman there and turned right, headed along Gower Street, and walked to Regent’s Park.
It was warm and sunny, a rare and glorious afternoon. I walked along the path between grassy expanses in the dappled shade of oaks that must have grown there since the park was first designed. I dared not look behind. It was rather like fishing; I didn’t want to spook my prey. In all probability, there was no prey to spook, and I was making a fool of myself. I was about to give it up, but as I passed the brass plaque that announced I had reached the Zoological Gardens, I saw in that highly polished metal surface that I was still being shadowed, and by a female in a bowler hat and a trim-fitting black outfit. I rather doubted this was the infamous Mr. Miacca. The glorious day suddenly got that much brighter.
Now that the fish, if I might be so crass as to equate the young lady in question with a fish, had risen to the bait, how was I to set the hook? She could still break off the line were I to change course in midstream. Not really having an idea of what to do, I walked past the lions and seals; finally reaching the wolf cages, which somehow seemed appropriate, I sat down at a bench and, with as much savoir faire as I could muster, I raised my hat.
“Good afternoon, miss,” I said as she approached. I recognized her as the friend of Miss Levy.
She stopped and actually gaped at me. “Was I that obvious?” she asked.
“No,” I replied, “but I am an experienced enquiry agent and it is difficult to pull the wool over my eyes.”
She sat down beside me. “My word,” she said, “you are good.”
“I am Thomas Llewelyn.”
“Beatrice Potter.”
She was attractive, with light-colored hair swept away from frank blue eyes and delicate features. Her clothes were of the best quality and in the height of fashion. She came from money, obviously. Not landed money, perhaps, but money all the same. When we were children, I wouldn’t have been allowed to speak to her, being a mere miner’s son, and now she was following me.
“Aren’t you going to ask me why I followed you from the museum, or do you know that as well?”
“I assume that you happened to see me in the Reading Room. You didn’t follow me there. Are you Jewish?”
“Jewish?” She frowned. “Why do you ask that?”
“Miss Levy, your friend, is Jewish. And you were reading the Jewish Chronicle in the museum.”
“So I was. I fancy that one of my grandparents was Jewish, but so far I have found little proof. Certainly the other three quarters of me are English enough, and my family is doing its best to deny the other. I find Jews fascinating and have been studying their history and politics. And you?”
“I’m as Welsh as rarebit, but most of my closest friends are from the Jewish quarter and my employer has worked for the Board of Deputies. So, if you happened to recognize me in the Reading Room, why did you follow me?”
“I’ll tell you if you’ll answer one question first. Why were you reading Lear?”
“It is pertinent to the case. Beyond that I can reveal nothing. Now you tell me why you followed me.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Oh, I like that even better,” I said. “So come, come. Tell me. I can believe anything, provided it is fanciful enough.”
“I am an investigator.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Pull the other one. Are you private, or are you in fact working for Scotland Yard?”
“Neither. I am a social investigator.”
“I see,” I said, though to be frank, I didn’t. “I don’t suppose that pays very well.”
“Nothing at all, actually, but it’s very important. That’s why I am working in the East End. I wish to know why
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