Page 19 of Murder on Harley Street
When we reached Rosebery Avenue, Harry assisted me onto the pavement then assisted a woman with a large leather handbag up onto the omnibus. The Hamlin Electrical Company workshop wasn’t far. According to the sign painted on the red bricks, the company manufactured quality electrical medical machinery. A white lace curtain in a window above moved with the gentle breeze. I wondered if it was the private residence of Mr. Hamlin or whether he rented the rooms to someone else.
The front part of the ground floor was occupied by a small office. Mr. Reid had called the premises grubby, but the space was quite the opposite. Like Mr. Reid’s office, all of the electric lights were on, and with the newly painted white walls, it felt modern, clinical and fresh.
A man had been about to walk through a door behind the counter. He let the door swing closed upon seeing us, but not before I saw the untidy workshop of an inventor beyond. He blinked at Harry through round spectacles. “Good morning. How may I help you?”
Harry gave him a business card, which wiped the smile off the man’s face. “I’m Harry Armitage and this is my associate, Miss Fox. Are you Mr. Hamlin?”
“I am Duncan Hamlin.” He placed the card down on the counter with a deliberate, precise motion. “Private investigators? How curious.”
“We’ve been hired to investigate the death of a woman at a doctor’s clinic yesterday. She died while undergoing a session on the Electro Therapy Machine.”
“I read about it in the newspaper. Quite awful. Aren’t the police investigating that case?”
“We’ve been hired by the doctor whose clinic was the scene of the murder.”
“So itisa murder. Even more curious.” He regarded us levelly through his spectacles. He was a young man, no more than thirty, with a very thin frame and sallow skin. He looked like he needed a good feed and some sunshine. “How can I help?”
“You used to work for the company that manufactured the Electro Therapy Machine,” Harry said. “You know how it works.”
Mr. Hamlin frowned. “Are you accusing me of tampering with it?”
“It had to have been tampered with to transmit a lethal voltage.”
“Perhaps it was faulty,” he said as he absently slid Harry’s business card around on the counter. “If you compare it to another, you should be able to tell. Or bring it to me. I can take a look and give an honest opinion.”
Harry pressed his fingertips down on the card, halting the movement. Mr. Hamlin finally looked up again. He swallowed.
“You don’t believe it was faulty.” Harry released the card. “The police will have an independent electrician check it, but I think we both know they’ll find it couldn’t have killed anyone unless it had been deliberately tampered with.”
Mr. Hamlin swallowed again. “Perhaps you are right. It’s been some time since I looked at one, I can’t remember how it worked.”
“I’m sure it would quickly come back to you. In fact, as someone with an excellent understanding of electricity, as well as knowledge of that particular machine, plus a motive?—"
“Motive! For murder! Are you mad?”
“A motive for sabotage. It seems likely the victim had a heart condition, something you couldn’t have known. You merely wanted to shock her badly—or any unfortunate patient who happened to be first to use it yesterday.”
The rather awkward inventor became a different person as he vehemently denied sabotaging the device. He even thumped his fist on the counter. “You’ve already been to see Reid, haven’t you? He put into your minds that I sabotaged his machine, because I’m a disgruntled former employee.”
“Who stole his ideas,” Harry finished.
“I did not! I’ve developed a superior machine through my own ingenuity. That man is a liar and fraud. You can’t believe a word he says. If it wasn’t for me, he wouldn’t even have the Electro Therapy Machine. That wasmyinvention. He bought it from me, then hired me as his chief engineer. I continued to refine it, making it more portable, while all he did was pay doctors with famous patients to say it worked wonders. Any monkey can do that.” He pointed to his chest. “Without me, he would be nothing. When I finish refining my newest invention, he’ll be nothing once again. Mine will become the more popular product on the market, because it will actually work.”
His pale face had become quite red by the time he finished. I was worried he was overdoing it, so decided a calmer, less accusatory tone was required. “Perhaps someone can vouch for your whereabouts. Your wife, perhaps?” I indicated the framed photograph on the wall of a doe-eyed young woman seated beside Mr. Hamlin.
He looked down at the card again. “My wife died last year. As to my whereabouts, I worked late in the workshop.” He indicated the door leading to the back room. “I went to bed about two or three. I live upstairs, alone.”
“What about other employees?” Harry asked.
“I have no employees. It’s just me. A small factory in Shoreditch assembles my device to order.” He picked up Harry’s card and tucked it into his pocket. “Hardly a serious rival for Reid, am I?” He gave us a pointed look. “Is there anything else?”
“Just one more question,” Harry said. “Why did you leave Mr. Reid’s employ? You mentioned you were disgruntled.”
He glanced at the photograph. “I was grieving my wife, but Reid wouldn’t allow me more time to…compose myself. I decided I’d had enough of working with him. My wife always said I should never have sold my idea to Reid, and I suppose it took her death for me to realize she was right.” He lowered his head, causing his glasses to slip down his nose.
“Thank you for your time,” Harry said. “Please telephone if you think of anything further.”
“Actually…” Mr. Hamlin cleared his throat. “I think I ought to tell you, my wife was a patient of Dr. Iverson’s before she died.”
