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Mr. Waite falling on the men and reminding Jonty of all the times he d been pleased that his establishment
had been graced with the family s custom.
As Orlando was poked and prodded with pins, Mr. Waite had gone on to enquire politely after the
Stewart family, especially Lavinia s husband, who was also an occasional, allowed to do business here on
the basis of his father being a bishop.
Jonty let him carry on chatting, having his own clear plan. I understand from Dr. Coppersmith that
an old friend of mine, Lord Christopher Jardine, was in here the day he died. Most distressing for you all.
He caught Orlando s eye, wondering if the lie old friend had been spoken smoothly enough and if he d
given the faintest hint of his true feelings. The slight nod he received in return reassured him.
Indeed, sir. As we remarked to Mr. Stewart, it was truly dreadful. Waite frowned. I must admit it s
been rather a topic of conversation from his old school friends and fellow members at Platt s. And there has
been other, less desirable, interest.
Jonty s ears pricked up. Not the press, surely? He knew that such people would be beneath the salt
for this establishment and hoped to exploit the shared antipathy to journalists.
He said he was from the newspapers Waite managed to make the word sound like it meant
sewers, although I didn t believe him. He wanted to ask questions but I d not allow it. Later, I found out
he d been snooping around my staff as well. Most unacceptable.
I wonder who the scoundrel was?
Jonty noted the throwaway style of Orlando s question with pleasure. He was getting the hang of this
sleuthing business.
I have no idea, sir, nor do I wish to ascertain an answer. Now, if you would just permit me to take
that lapel back a little, I think& They all admired Orlando s reflection in the full-length mirror.
Perfect. Mr. Waite, you ve excelled yourself. Jonty grinned and set his mind to working out how,
now that the tailor had his friend s measurements, he could get three more assorted suits made up without
someone twigging.
They d have walked to Timothy Taylor s house, but with time on short commons a cab had to be used
and Jonty was left to kick his heels in frustration, urging on the horse by willpower alone. They d no need
to try the strong-arm stuff on the doorstep Jonty had written to the man in advance to procure an
appointment for eleven that morning. Coffee was waiting for them, a thin, evil brew which bore no
resemblance to the marvellous stuff Mrs. Ward served up. It was left largely untasted in the cup.
I want you to tell me where you went to the night that Christopher Jardine was killed. The authority
which Jonty felt was evident in his voice.
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Charlie Cochrane
I don t have to enlighten you. It was not Dorking. Taylor looked superciliously down his nose at
them. There was a spark of fight in him, a dash of self-confidence, which hadn t been present at their
previous encounter, to such an extent Orlando became convinced he d been talking to someone about this
matter.
But you had time to go there and back. Ample. If you didn t visit his lordship, then where were
you? Jonty hadn t missed the renewed confidence, although he wasn t going to be put off in the face of it.
I ve said already that I refuse to account to you for all my movements.
But you would have to tell the police, wouldn t you? And they d be even more sceptical than I am.
You have until Monday. If you haven t sent me word by then about where you were that night, I ll be
taking what we know to our friend Inspector Wilson. And Inspector Wilson will make me look like a
Sunday school teacher.
There is one more thing. Orlando reached into his pocket, pleased to see the puzzled reaction on his
lover s face. What can you tell us about this? He produced a handsome cigarette case, which Jonty would
have found familiar.
Taylor took it, examining it all over. Nothing. As far as I m aware I ve not seen it before; there s no
inscription to aid in identifying it. He returned the case.
The police will find that significant, too.
What was all the business with the cigarette case? It looked remarkably like one of Papa s. They
were back in a Hansom cab, this time heading for the train to transport themselves south to the subtropical
environs of Dorking.
Orlando grinned. It is. I borrowed it this morning. Can t you guess what I was doing?
Acting the goat? Winding Taylor up? Jonty had no idea what had been going on, not for the first
time when it came to the machinations of the Coppersmith mind.
Partly the latter it s certainly given him something to think about. More importantly, it s given me
a set of his fingerprints and if we do involve the police they might find that useful. Orlando looked so
smug he nearly got a slap.
It was the sort of expression which, Jonty surmised, he must habitually wear while teaching his
students. He wondered whether it ever provoked any of them into wanting to hit him on the head with a
copy of Euclid. It ll give them yours, too.
Indeed, but I was very careful only to touch the case around the edges, and now I ve wrapped it in a
handkerchief. The self-satisfaction had begun to smack of conceit. Anyway, my fingers have never been
anywhere they shouldn t have been, have they?
For some reason Jonty couldn t bring himself to answer that question in such a public place. He stared
out of the window, biting his lip and trying not to giggle.
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Lessons in Power
Dorking proved more profitable. They were able to get a clear idea of the accessibility of Jardine s
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