Mrs. Jeffries Weeds the Plot (26 page)

“What is it?” Beadle asked.

“These names, sir, did you actually contact them before you hired McIntosh?”

“Of course; I wrote all of them personally. We wouldn’t hire someone without checking references.”

“Did Mr. Eddington reply to your inquiry?” Barnes asked.

“All of them replied. Otherwise we’d have not given McIntosh the position. Do you want to see the letters?”

“Indeed we do, sir,” Witherspoon replied. “It’s very important.”

Luty shook her head in disbelief. “We should’ve searched that place way before this.” She grinned at Betsy. “Smart girl. I wish I’da thought of it.”

Betsy giggled. “Thanks, but it was really frightening. I’d have lost my nerve if Smythe hadn’t been with me.” She could admit it as he wasn’t here at the moment. Mrs. Jeffries had sent him out on some mysterious errand.

“What should we do next?” Hatchet addressed the question to Mrs. Jeffries. But she didn’t seem to hear him. She was staring at the wall with great concentration.

In truth, she wasn’t listening. The idea that had come to her earlier simply wouldn’t go away. But it was so bizarre. She was in a real quandary. She was sure she was right, but what if she was mistaken? Still, there couldn’t be any other answer. Everything pointed in that one single direction.

Everything. The fire and flood at Miss Gentry’s house on Forest Street, poor old Mrs. Dempsey seeing gargoyles in the garden, McIntosh sneaking out at night for secret meetings, the tramp sleeping in the church entryway, the entryway with a view of the communal gardens at Forest Street. No, she shook her head. It could only mean one thing. But how to prove it? That was the question. There was really only one way.

“Mrs. Jeffries,” Hatchet said softly.

“Oh dear, I
am
sorry. What did you say?”

“I said, what do we do now?” He smiled at her. “You seem very lost in your thoughts. Is there something you’d like to share with us?”

“Mrs. Jeffries knows who the killer is,” Betsy stated. “But she won’t say yet.”

“Only because I’m not completely certain. I do wish Smythe would come back. If what I think is true, then I’m fairly certain the information Smythe may come back with will prove it.”

“We can be patient, Mrs. Jeffries,” Hatchet said. “I say, Mrs. Goodge, may I have another one of your delicious buns?”

The cook shoved the plate toward him. “Help yourself.” She was dying of curiosity.

“’Ow long do we ’ave to wait?” Wiggins asked plaintively. He and Fred had kept a very low profile; they were both still in the doghouse over the daffodils.

“Not much longer, I hope.”

From the street, they heard the distinct sounds of a carriage stopping in front of the house. “That sounds like Smythe now,” Mrs. Jeffries said. Her spirits lifted enormously. “I told him to bring the carriage back with him. I expect we’ll need it.” She knew they would. She’d instructed him to bring the vehicle only if he was able to confirm what she suspected.

A few moments later, Smythe bounded into the kitchen. “You were right, Mrs. Jeffries, he’s goin’ to run. I followed him to Cook’s. I overheard him buyin’ tickets on the
Sarah Maine
; she sails at first tide tomorrow morning from Southampton.” He flashed Betsy a quick smile and dropped into the chair next to her. “The ’ouse is up for sale as well, I spotted the sign in the front garden when I followed ’im home.”

“Who we talkin’ about here?” Luty demanded.

“I do believe it’s time you shared your ideas with us, Mrs. Jeffries,” Hatchet interjected. “Things appear to be getting very interesting.”

“What’s goin’ on?” Mrs. Goodge asked. “Who’s he been following all morning?”

“Cor blimey, Mrs. Jeffries, don’t keep us in the dark,” Wiggins complained. “We wants to ’elp.”

Mrs. Jeffries held up her hand. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t being deliberately mysterious. I asked Smythe to follow Phillip Eddington. I’m fairly certain he’s our killer, but proving it is going to take a great deal of cleverness and luck. Now, we must act fast if we’re going to keep him from leaving the country.”

“Tell us what we need to do,” Hatchet said.

“First of all,” Mrs. Jeffries replied, “Smythe, you and Wiggins need to go get Miss Gentry. Tell her she must write the inspector a note that he is to meet her at Forest Street right away. She must tell him it’s urgent. But you’re not to bring the note here. Smythe, you take the note and find the inspector. Tell the inspector that Miss Gentry brought the note here to the house and that she begged you to take it to him. Then be sure you tell him that as Luty and Hatchet were here, Hatchet and Wiggins insisted on accompanying Miss Gentry back to Forest Street. We can always claim she was nervous and upset and didn’t want to go there on her own.”

“I get it.” Smythe rose to his feet. “That way, we can ’ave Wiggins and Hatchet at the ready if the inspector is delayed.”

“Correct. If I’m right, Phillip Eddington is a killer. I don’t want Miss Gentry at that house alone with him next door. This way, we’ll have a good excuse for them being there with her when the inspector arrives.”

Wiggins and Hatchet got up and the three of them turned to go. “Take Fred with you,” Mrs. Jeffries insisted. “For what I’ve got in mind, he’ll come in handy.”

Fred, who’d been curled up in disgrace under Wiggins’s chair, came wiggling out as he heard his name. His tail thumped against the kitchen floor.

“Come on, boy.” Wiggins called the dog.

“And be sure and have Miss Gentry bring Miranda as well. If her nose is as good as I think it is, she’s going to catch our killer for us.” If Mrs. Jeffries was wrong, they might all end up disgraced. But that was a risk she was willing to take to stop a murderer from leaving the country.

“Anything else?” Smythe asked.

Mrs. Jeffries thought for a moment. She wanted to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything important. “Yes, when Miss Gentry gets to Forest Street, have her and the dog go directly to the garden. That’s very important. Miranda and Fred both need to be out there when the inspector arrives. That may be the only way this situation is going to work.”

“What about Eddington?” Smythe asked. “Should we keep an eye on him?” He didn’t see how they could, but if it was necessary, he’d think of something.

“No, don’t worry. Even if he leaves the premises when he sees the inspector, he won’t get far. Not once the police have the evidence I pray is there.”

“Uh, Mrs. Jeffries, what’s Miss Gentry to say when the inspector asks why it was so urgent she meet him?” Wiggins asked.

Mrs. Jeffries smiled. “She’s to tell him she’s fairly sure she knows why someone was trying to kill her.”

“And why’s that?” Hatchet prompted. Like the rest of them, he was curious.

“Because someone didn’t want Miranda in the communal garden. That’s where the bodies are buried, you see. Miranda is actually quite good at digging up corpses. She’s got the best nose in London.”

“Miss Gentry’s not home,” Martha explained. “She’s taken Miranda out for a walk.”

“Cor blimey,” Wiggins muttered. “That’s all we need. Our plan’ll be ruined.”

“What’s this about, then?” Martha asked suspiciously. “Why do you need Miss Gentry? You’re not goin’ to arrest her, are you?”

“We’re not the police, Martha,” Smythe retorted. “We’re tryin’ to ’elp ’er. Besides, why would the police be wantin’ to arrest ’er anyway?”

“Don’t pay me any mind, I’m acting like a goose. I expect I’m rattled over what happened.” Martha made a disgusted face. “Them two sisters of hers was by early this morning. They was saying all sorts of nasty things. They said Miss Gentry’s goin’ to get in trouble for making false claims to the police about someone wanting to kill her. They caused quite a ruckus, they did. They was shouting and carrying on so loudly that Miranda started barking. Mind you, I think the dog knew them hags was tormenting Miss Gentry and that was her way of gettin’ shut of them. Mind you, I—”

“Do you know when Miss Gentry is due back?” Hatchet interrupted. Annabeth Gentry’s domestic troubles were not of paramount importance at this moment. Finding her was.

Martha scowled. She didn’t like being interrupted. “She didn’t say when she’d be back,” she snapped.

“Do you know where she went, then?” Smythe pressed. “It’s urgent that we find her. We think we’ve found out who’s been trying to kill her.”

Martha gaped at him. “Why didn’t you say that in the first place? I don’t know exactly where she’s gone, but I do know her usual walking spots. She’s either gone to the footpath this side of the scrubs—”

“Why would she go there? Isn’t that where Miranda found Porter’s corpse?” Wiggins asked incredulously.
“Seems to me if someone is tryin’ to kill you, you don’t go walking all on your own in lonely places.”

“I said she
might
have gone there,” Martha replied tartly. “But she’s probably over at the commons.” She waved her hand in the general direction of Shepherd’s Bush Green. “If she’s not there, try the footpath. If she’s not at either of them places, then I don’t know where she is.”

“Thanks, Martha,” Smythe said. “If she comes home, tell her to stay right here. It’s urgent we find her.”

They dashed back to the carriage. “What’ll we do if we can’t find her?” Wiggins asked.

“We’ll find her,” Smythe promised. “Mark my words, we’ll find her.”

“I hope she’s all right,” Hatchet said. He looked a bit worried. “You don’t think she could have possibly come to some harm, do you?” He didn’t need to remind the others that their involvement in this case had started because someone was trying to kill Miss Gentry.

“Of course not,” Smythe said, but the thought had crossed his mind.

But their fears turned out to be for naught, as they found her less than five minutes later walking up the Uxbridge Road toward home.

Within twenty minutes, they’d explained what had to be done, and Smythe, after dropping them off, was on his way to find the inspector.

“I say, Smythe,” Witherspoon began as he and Barnes climbed out of the carriage, “Miss Gentry didn’t happen to explain why it was so urgent I meet her here, did she?”

Smythe shook his head. “No sir, she only said it were right important. Said it were a matter of life and death and that you’d know what she meant.”

As instructed, he’d brought the inspector and Barnes
to Miss Gentry’s house on Forest Street. He only hoped the housekeeper was right about everything and they wouldn’t end up looking incredibly foolish.

“Well, I can’t say that I do,” Witherspoon murmured. “But as I was coming over here anyway, it doesn’t matter.”

“You were comin’ ’ere, sir?” Smythe deliberately kept the question casual. “That’s a bit of a coincidence, isn’t it?”

“Not really. You see we found out this morning that Mr. Eddington was one of the names Stan McIntosh gave as a reference to get his job at the school. I’m a bit curious as to why Mr. Eddington never mentioned that to us and as to why he lied.”

“We don’t know that he did lie, sir,” Barnes pointed out. “Maybe McIntosh was the one lying about the school being sold. Take a look at that, sir.” He pointed toward the front garden of number one, Eddington’s house.

“Gracious, it’s a ‘For Sale’ sign. Mr. Eddington never mentioned he was selling his house.” Witherspoon didn’t like this. He didn’t like it one bit. First the lie and now this. He was beginning to think that perhaps Mr. Eddington wasn’t what he appeared to be. “I do believe we ought to have a word with him right now.” He started toward the walkway to number one.