Page 21 of Murder on Harley Street
“I keep the curtains closed. There’s no point opening them when you just have to close them again at the end of the day.”
“Why not put the light on in here?” Harry indicated the single lightbulb dangling from the ceiling.
“There’s something wrong with it.” Mr. Pierce shrugged. “No idea what.”
I mentally struck Mr. Pierce off our list. Clearly he had no electrical knowledge.
Harry thanked Mr. Pierce for his time and invited me to leave ahead of him.
“Miss Fox, wait.” Mr. Pierce angled himself between Harry and me, blocking Harry out of the conversation. Mr. Pierce leaned close. I held my breath against the stink of alcohol and smoke that clung to him. “Miss Fox, you may be interested to know that there is a way to punish the man behind the tonic.”
“I think Dr. Iverson is already suffering.”
“Not Iverson. The manufacturer of the Nerve Elixir, an Italian by the name of Lombardi. He’s here in London to present to pharmacists and doctors at a fancy hotel on Saturday.”
I held my breath again, but not because of the stench this time.
“I’m going to cause a scene at his event, something that will draw the interest of all the newspapers. They’ll be forced to listen to me, and then the whole world will find out Lombardi’s tonic is as dangerous as poison.”
Suddenly feeling ill, I pressed a hand to my stomach. “What sort of scene?”
“I don’t know yet. But I can assure you, it will be something spectacularly disastrous for Lombardi.”
For Lombardi, and by association, the Mayfair Hotel.
Chapter5
“We need to alert the police,” I said to Harry as we walked away from Mr. Pierce’s house. “Thank goodness he didn’t know the hotel belongs to my family or he wouldn’t have confided in me.”
“I think you should tell Sir Ronald and let him decide whether to notify the police or not.”
“But Mr. Pierce plans on creating a disturbance of some sort. The police can stop him before it happens.”
“They can’t arrest him until a crime has been committed. All they can do is caution him and I’m not sure that will work. Pierce is a drunkard and determined, a combination that usually finds a way in my experience.”
“They can post constables at the entrance to watch for him on the day of the event.”
Harry’s pace slowed. “That’s the problem. Sir Ronald won’t want a police presence on the day. It’s too visible and will worry the guests. But if you tell him, then he can alert the staff. Frank and the other doormen are very good at keeping undesirables out, but if Pierce manages to get past them it’s unlikely he’ll also get past Goliath. The front-of-house staff are experienced at keeping calm and being discreet. Or perhaps Sir Ronald will decide to notify the police. Either way, it’s his decision to make.”
He had a point. It should be my uncle’s decision. However, telling him about Mr. Pierce’s threat meant I had to tell him how I’d gained the information. Should I lie and pretend the case was something milder, and not a murder investigation?
Harry watched me struggling to think of the best way to broach the topic. “I can be the one to tell him if you want. That way you don’t have to lie. I’ll say I stumbled across the information while investigating the murder at Dr. Iverson’s clinic. It’s all true anyway.”
It was an excellent idea. Not only did it keep me out of it altogether, but my uncle would be grateful to Harry for the information. The more grateful Uncle Ronald was to Harry, the better for us when it came time to inform him about our relationship.
“It’s a neat solution,” I said.
“I’ll tell him later today. So where to next? The address we have for the victim’s husband is closer than the address for the suspicious patient who may or may not have taken Sister Dearden’s key.”
“Then we’ll call on him first.”
Hopefully Mr. Kempsey could shed light on possible motives and give us a reason as to why his wife had been murdered. We were still no closer to knowing if she was supposed to die, or whether she was an innocent victim in a plot to ruin Dr. Iverson.
My experiencesin dealing with the loved ones of the deceased had taught me that grief manifested in various ways. During this investigation so far, two men had shown quite different reactions to the deaths of their wives. Mr. Pierce had taken to drink and Mr. Hamlin had thrown himself into his work.
Mr. Kempsey seemed more irritated than angry, as if his wife’s death was an inconvenience that was taking him away from more important things. He refused to let us into the house at first, until Harry told him it wouldn’t look good if he didn’t speak to us. As Mr. Kempsey led us through to a library, I caught a glimpse of mourners in the front reception room. Several men and women spoke quietly among themselves, many with handkerchiefs in hand. One, a middle-aged woman, craned her neck to watch us.
“Well then?” Mr. Kempsey prompted once we were in the library. “Let’s get this over with quickly. I have a funeral to organize.” He was a thickset man with a ruddy complexion and strands of gray hair that he’d combed over his head in an attempt to hide the bald patch. I saw no hint of sadness in his eyes.
