Death on the Sapphire Read Online Free PDF Page A

names. It became a sort of game, because Frances’s sharp eyes had taken in faces, which she described to Kat, who often could put a name to them, such as brother officers, old school friends, more Bohemian types, and so on. It wasn’t absolutely complete, of course, but very good. Kat had fully cooperated but seemed rather mystified. No matter, thought Frances.
    One man stood out in particular in Frances’s memory, a middle-aged man in a somewhat wrinkled suit that no decent valet would’ve let out of the house. Frances had assumed he was one of Danny’s friends from a less fashionable part of town, but although the man watched everyone keenly, besides a quickmurmur of sympathy, he had seemingly spoken to no one. Kat remembered him too but had no idea who he was.
    “We’ll put him down as Mr. Rumpled for now,” said Frances, and Kat giggled. They finished the list, then made an extra copy—Kat didn’t ask why and Frances didn’t explain.
    “And now, Kat, we’re going to take our leave. But I’ll keep you informed.” Kat showered Frances with gratitude, and Frances realized it was as much for the companionship as for the help with the manuscript. She resolved to visit again soon and knew that Mary would be pleased to come as well.
    “I am glad we can help, Kat. Your brother . . . well, Danny was special to all of us.” She paused. “He was special to me.”
    Then she turned to her maid. “Come, Mallow. Time for more research.” She was full of energy. Yes, she’d need help, but she knew the right direction.
    Bellman had found them a hansom cab and helped the women into it.
    “Please take us to Scotland Yard,” she said to the driver.
    “I beg your pardon, miss?”
    “Scotland Yard, the headquarters of the Metropolitan Police Service,” she said. “Surely you know where that is?”
    “Yes, of course, Miss. Straightaway.” Fancy that, this young woman, a real lady, he could tell, asking to go to Scotland Yard. Wait till he told the missus tonight . . .
    As the cab started up, Lady Frances leaned back and smiled at Mallow. “We did a good morning’s work. And won’t Superintendent Maples be delighted to see me again.”

C HAPTER 2
    U naware that Lady Frances was about to descend on him, Superintendent Maples was feeling rather satisfied. A sharp-eyed constable had stopped a burglary in progress overnight, leading to the arrest of a gang of thieves that had been plaguing small shopkeepers. The assistant commissioner had gone more than twenty-four hours without sending him one of his vague, rambling memorandums. And he was drinking a very nice cup of tea and eating a fresh bun.
    Sergeant Cardiff knocked and entered. “Those statistics that you wanted, sir.”
    “Thank you, Sergeant.”
    “Also, sir, Lady Frances Ffolkes is in the outer office. She would like a word with you, if it is convenient.”
    The superintendent choked on his bun. He looked up at Cardiff—was that a smile? No, Cardiff had no sense of humor, at least none Maples could detect. But the morning had collapsed now, his tea-and-bun break in ruins.
    “And her maid, sir.”
    “What about her maid?”
    “She’s accompanied by her maid, sir.”
    “That’s a new one. Did she favor you with the reason she’s come here?”
    “She told me it was to report a crime, sir.”
    “Really? Does she seem upset?”
    “No, sir.”
    Further questioning revealed that Sergeant Cardiff had advised Lady Frances to report any alleged crime to the appropriate station. Indeed, he had promised to look up the address for her, even see her into a hansom so she could go there herself. But nothing would do except a conversation with the superintendent in person. Maples sighed. He could say he was busy, but she was patient and persistent. She’d wait. She’d come back. She’d go to the assistant commissioner, the commissioner himself—even the home secretary, the cabinet minister who oversaw all police functions.
    Might as well get it over