Page 112 of A Whisper in the Shadows

Furnier came to stand near Dr. Giles so that Tilda could see him from the corner of her eye. She still wouldn’t take her gaze off Hadrian and Draper.

“Someone must fetch a constable and Inspector Chisholm,” Tilda said.

“Perhaps you should do that whilst we guard Draper,” Dr. Giles suggested.

Tilda wasn’t leaving Hadrian. “I’m staying with my brother since he’s wounded.” How she wished she had her pistol to train it on Draper until the police arrived.

“I’ll go,” Furnier said. “Giles, you should look at Beck’s head.” He departed swiftly.

“Now would be a good time for you to have your pistol,” Hadrian said quietly.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” Tilda replied softly. “Can you stand?”

“Yes.” He rolled to his side.

Tilda helped him rise, then guided him to a chair. “Sit, please.”

“You don’t have to tell me.” Hadrian dropped into the chair with a grimace.

Furnier returned, but before Tilda could ask why—in extreme irritation—Chisholm appeared behind him with a constable.

“The inspector was already on his way here,” Furnier explained. “I encountered him just outside.”

“Mrs. Kilgore sent me,” Chisholm said.

“Who is Mrs. Kilgore?” Dr. Giles asked.

“My sister,” Tilda replied.

“Isn’t the sergeant also called Kilgore?” Dr. Giles asked. “And who is Maxwell?”

Tilda and Hadrian exchanged a long look, but before they could respond, Inspector Chisholm spoke.

“Mr. and Mrs. Harwood have been investigating the fraud of the Amicable Society on behalf of the police. Mr. Harwood is Inspector Maxwell and Mrs. Harwood is a private investigator.” Chisholm paused as the three men gaped at him. “Mr. Beck has been assisting with the investigation.”

Hadrian pulled the wig from his head and gently touched where he’d been struck. Wincing, he lowered his hand, and the wig, to his lap.

Tilda faced Draper. “Why did you send biscuits poisoned with arsenic?”

Draper grimaced. “I only wanted Harwood to be ill for a while so I could become an administrator. I hate working at the mercantile house—we all do. Harwood hardly worked there and then resigned his position. He didn’t say where he would be working instead, but next thing I hear, he’s an administrator for the society. I’ve been a member longerandI’ve been taking money.” He sent a disgruntled look at Furnier. “Why wouldn’t they ask me? It should have been me.”

“But you weregoingto become an administrator,” Furnier cried.

“That was after Nevill was arrested.” Draper’s face had turned bright red. “I sent the biscuits before that happened.”

“And we weren’t paying Harwood,” Furnier said. “None of us are paid, only the canvasser receives a salary.”

“I’m not even paid.” Dr. Giles glowered at Draper. “Not yet anyway.”

Tilda cocked her head at Draper. “Did you think any of this through?”

“No,” Hadrian replied, though she hadn’t asked him. “He killed Phelps in a rage after going to confront him about his swindle with Eaton.” He winced as he turned his head to look at Draper. “Do I have that right?”

Draper nodded. “I didn’t mean to kill him.” He frowned, and an angry light glinted in his eyes. “He was arrogant and unapologetic. He offered to pay me to keep quiet, said he would leave London.”

“That was Phelps’s plan all along—to leave London with the society’s money,” Tilda said.

“It wasn’t just that he’d cheated everyone. He corrupted Eaton.” Draper sneered. “Tim was a good man and my friend. He came to see me and told me everything that Phelps had hired him to do. Tim didn’t realize how bad it would be at first, but he needed the money for his sister. After Cardy died, Tim told me that Phelps was going to blame the fraud on him and that he’d given Tim some money to leave town. Only it wasn’t enough. I told Tim to go back and demand that Phelps turn himself in. Tim planned to do that and must have, but Phelps killed him.”