Page 20 of The Last Chance
A stout fellow stood behind the counter, holding an eyeglass to his left eye while examining the jewels in a necklace. “I’ll be with you in a moment. You’re welcome to look around while you’re waiting.”
“We’re not here to make a purchase,” she said, approaching the counter, “but to ask questions relating to a police matter.”
Mr Grimshaw’s hand shook as he returned the necklace to the roll of red velvet on the counter. He looked at Joanna, then at Mr Chance. “I ain’t never heard of a lady working at Bow Street. But I know of crooks who pretend they need to confiscate stolen goods and then pocket the booty.”
“Then perhaps you should pay attention to current affairs. Ladies work in covert operations because criminals don’t suspect them.” Joanna turned to her colleague and held out her palm. “Might I have the evidence, Mr Chance?”
He made that face again, the same grimace he’d given the magistrate when told to take the watch and prove Lord Howard had purchased it and not stolen it from Fortune’s Den.
Mr Chance handed her the watch and addressed the pawnbroker. “Unless you want us to inspect the paperwork for all yourrecent purchases, I suggest you answer the lady’s questions, Grimshaw.”
Mr Grimshaw moved the necklace to a drawer under the counter. “What do you want to know? I sell ten watches a week. Sold as seen. I can’t be held responsible if they’re faulty.”
Joanna placed the full hunter on the velvet roll. “This was found on a murdered man’s body. We need to know when the victim bought the watch and the name of the person who sold it to you.”
Mr Grimshaw ran his hand down his stained mustard waistcoat. “I’ll need a name if I’m to find him in the receipt book. Might I take a closer look at the timepiece?”
Joanna smiled. “Of course.”
The pawnbroker weighed it in his palm, studied the gold chain, opened the front case and examined the face. Nothing sparked his interest until he noted the image of a stallion engraved inside the back case.
“I remember this all right. It’s the oddest sale I ever made.” His grin died as panic set in. “Here, I suspected it was stolen, but she didn’t want any money. All I had to do was convince the gent to buy the watch when they came in a few hours later.”
Joanna failed to contain her excitement. “When was this?”
Mr Grimshaw shrugged. “Last Thursday or Friday.”
“A week ago?” Mr Chance stepped up to the counter. “I want the name of the woman who gave you the watch. Reputable pawnbrokers take an address. I presume you have it to hand.”
“I didn’t take the details because I didn’t pay her.”
Mr Chance’s temper flared like a struck match. “Describe her.”
“Pretty. Foreign looking. Hair as black as coal. Spoke with an accent. I’d put her in her twenties.” Mr Grimshaw turned to the cluttered shelf behind him and removed his receipt book. “I sold it to the gent and took his name. He was a toff. Mass of wavy blonde hair. Thin as a penny’s edge.”
The description fitted Lord Howard perfectly. Except Mr Grimshaw had forgotten to say a mean devil lived beneath his angelic facade.
“Here it is.” Mr Grimshaw pressed his dirty finger to the entry in his book. “Mr Simpson. Staying at the Clarendon Hotel. I sold it for the bargain price of twenty pounds. He wanted a half-hunter, but she insisted he have that one.”
She must have insisted Lord Howard give a false name and address, too.
“Did you not question the provenance?” Mr Chance said.
“I don’t care where it came from, only that I can turn a profit.” The broker returned the book to the shelf. “If it’s any help, I’d say he’s paying for her keep.” He nodded at Mr Chance. “I’m sure you take my meaning.”
“Have you ever seen the woman before?” Joanna asked.
“No, but her sort often sells trinkets to pay the rent.” Mr Grimshaw jerked as he remembered something else. “The gent bought the watch to please her, though I got the impression he didn’t want to wear it. Like he knew it was some sort of game.”
That might explain why Lord Howard kept it in the velvet pouch. Perhaps he planned to see his mistress later that night, and she would expect to see him wearing the watch.
“We’ll wait while you write a statement detailing exactly what you told us,” Mr Chance said in the masterful tone that left most men quivering. “Or you can close the shop and accompany us to the nearest police office.”
Wanting rid of them, Mr Grimshaw obliged while Mr Chance loomed over his shoulder, insisting he record every detail.
They left the shop with their first piece of evidence and the watch Mr Chance carried like it was possessed by his father’s evil spirit.
“We’ll call at Daventry’s office in Hart Street before our meeting at the coffeehouse.” He opened the carriage door for her. “Now we have Grimshaw’s statement, let him be the custodian of this damnable timepiece.”
