Page 78 of Evil at the Essex House
Christopher nodded thoughtfully. “So Florence left the Essex House Mansions on Wednesday evening in Crispin’s motorcar. He dropped her on the Strand, and she proceeded to the Savoy, where her father was waiting. Where was her mother?”
“No idea,” I said. “A more likely scenario is that Florence was proceeding along the Strand towards the Savoy when her father saw her. Her mother was in the hotel, but Hiram was outside, either in a cab or on foot, and he and Florence went off somewhere together. That would explain why nobody noticed anything amiss in the street. She got into a cab with her own father, so there was no fuss and no kicking and screaming. But then something went wrong, and Hiram killed her. Sarah doesn’t know anything about it.”
Which would explain her grief, which certainly seemed genuine.
“And Hiram arranged for the ransom note to take attention off himself?” Christopher asked.
“It makes sense,” I answered, “doesn’t it?”
“I suppose so. The driver saw him do it, I assume, so Hiram paid him off in exchange for keeping quiet about the murder and for driving the motorcar tonight?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. If there’s one thing Hiram has a lot of, it’s money to throw at problems.”
“It’s possible,” Christopher allowed. “But it’s all the more reason why we don’t want him to find us here, Pippa.”
Yes, it was. I wished I had thought of all this before I let Crispin go off on his own. If I had been just a bit quicker on the uptake, we could have gone with him, instead of being left here with one or two people who may be murderers.
“Then again,” Christopher said, “Hiram might not be guilty. I don’t think you touched the body, did you?”
I shook my head. No, indeed. There was nothing that would have induced me to do so.
“I did,” Christopher said. My eyes widened, and he added, “Someone had to, to make sure there was nothing we could do to help.”
“Honestly, Christopher,” I said, as I fought back the mental images, “you should have been able to tell by looking at her that she was beyond help.”
He nodded. “I know. But I had to check. And the body was still warmish. If she had been dead since Wednesday, she would have been stone cold.”
And not just that, but decomposition would have been well advanced, too. We would have been able to smell the body as soon as we stepped foot inside the building. Maybe even as soon as we stepped foot outside the motorcar.
“In that case,” I said, “perhaps Hiram truly did follow us here thinking we were the guilty ones. He left the valise and withdrew, the kidnapper picked it up, and you followed him here. Then you went back to fetch St George and myself, and while you were doing that, the kidnapper dispatched Florence and made tracks. Then Hiram followed us back here because he thought we were the kidnappers.”
Christopher nodded. “That makes sense.”
It did. Even if it didn’t explain some of the minor details, such as how they had managed to snatch Flossie off the Strand on Wednesday night without anyone noticing. Her father being involved made that whole scenario a lot more likely. “I suppose they’ve kept her here for the past three days, feeding her opium along the way to keep her quiet.”
“Feed someone enough opium,” Christopher agreed, “and they don’t notice, or care, about much. Including the fact that they’re sleeping on a soiled mattress in a Southwark slum.”
I nodded. “How long before St George comes back with the police, do you suppose?”
“I imagine we have a while to wait yet,” Christopher said. “Do you want to sit down and try to get comfortable? Maybe even try to sleep? It’s getting late.”
“In this house of horrors?” I shuddered. “I think not. Besides, there’s no way I’m lowering any part of this dress onto the filth on this floor.”
“We’ll stand, then?”
“Or we could go upstairs and see if Hiram has calmed down. If we tell him that Crispin has gone for the police, maybe it’ll help.”
“Are you certain that’s something you want to risk?”
“Just keep the torch ready,” I told him, “and whack him over the head with it if he tries anything.”
Christopher sighed, but kept a tight grip on the torch as we made our way out of the room and back up the stairs.
ChapterEighteen
The Schlomskys heard us coming,of course, and Hiram was ready for us when we walked through the door. But the absence of Crispin, or more likely the absence of the tire iron, seemed to help. Hiram kept a tight grip on the cane, and a keen eye on us, but he didn’t attack.
“Lord St George went to fetch the police,” I said immediately, and I daresay that may have helped, too.
