Page 46 of Evil at the Essex House
“I don’t suppose a door-to-door search of all of Southwark is in the cards.”
“It isn’t somewhere where I’d be comfortable going door to door,” Christopher admitted. “The police could do it, of course, but if the Schlomskys don’t want to involve them…”
“Do you suppose the American ambassador will insist?”
“I don’t see how he can. She’s the Schlomskys’ daughter. It’s their decision, surely?”
“Then…” I hesitated. “If it’s their decision, are we wrong to involve Tom?”
“Not if it helps us—or them—get Flossie back in one piece,” Christopher said firmly.
“And if we don’t?”
He eyed me. “Then I think I would rather have tried and failed than not have tried at all.”
“Even if it’s our trying that pushes the thing over and makes it fail?”
He didn’t answer, and we finished our cream cakes and tea in silence.
ChapterEleven
“Kit?”
Crispin’s voice was tinny through the earpiece of the telephone. “What’s wrong? Is the bloody bastard back again?”
“Hullo, St George,” I said smoothly, and had the pleasure of hearing what I was fairly certain was a snap of teeth from the other end of the line when he closed his mouth. “What a pleasure to hear your dulcet tones. To which bloody bastard are you referring?”
“Darling.” His voice was flat. “I was unaware you were listening. Tidwell informed me Kit was on the telephone.”
“Oh, he’s here, too.” I smiled at him. “And I’m sure he’d be just as interested as I am to know who the bloody bastard is, if you’d just refrain from changing the subject.”
“Never mind that,” Crispin said. “Kit already knows what I’m on about. Are you there, old bean?”
“Right here,” Christopher assured him. “You’ll have to excuse Pippa. I’m sure she suspects you of referring to the illustriousGraf von und zuNatterdorff.”
Crispin scoffed. “As if I would spend any of my precious time thinking about him.”
I rolled my eyes. “Naturally. I doubt you ever spare a thought for anyone but yourself.”
He didn’t respond, and I added, “For your information, you seem to have successfully scared him off. I haven’t seen or heard from him since you took me away from him two evenings ago.”
“What a shame.” His voice was perfectly flat, and it was impossible to guess whether he was pleased by that bit of information or not. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?”
“A situation has arisen,” Christopher said, “that we thought might be of interest to you.”
“Let me guess. Another drag ball?”
I snorted, and Christopher made a face. “I’m afraid not. Since the raids in April and June, Lady Austin has lain low. I have hopes for September.”
Crispin hummed. “If not that, then what?”
“Flossie’s missing,” I said.
There was a beat of silence that vibrated loudly down the line. Then— “Pardon me? Did you just say that Florence Schlomsky is missing? And you think I have her?”
I scoffed. Christopher didn’t, because he’s much nicer than me. “Of course not, Crispin. Not unless your father’s keeping you so short you have to resort to kidnapping and extortion for pocket change.”
“Kidnapping?”
