Page 24 of A Whisper in the Shadows

“Let us depart,” Hadrian said, thinking it was best if they didn’t encounter Chisholm like this and perceiving Tilda felt the same.

“Quickly.” Tilda was already moving toward the entrance hall.

However, it was too late, as Chisholm was just closing the front door. His small, dark eyes rounded before narrowing slightly as he regarded Tilda and Hadrian.

“Lord Ravenhurst, isn’t it?” Chisholm asked, his square jaw clenching the barest amount. He was tall but did not reach Hadrian’s height.

“Yes, though I am in disguise under the name Nigel Beck as a new member of the Coleman Street Ward Amicable Society. This is my ‘sister,’ Mrs. Harwood.”

Chisholm scrutinized Tilda. “I thought she might be the female private investigator you were with at Fitch’s inquest, but she’s not blonde.”

“I am her,” Tilda said tersely. “I’m also in disguise and working with Inspector Maxwell on the fraud investigation of the Amicable Society. Ravenhurst is not my sibling.”

“I see. Well, you shouldn’t be here.” He glowered at them.

“We were looking for clues that may relate to our investigation,” Tilda said. “Maxwell would have done so if he were with us.”

Chisholm peered past them toward the parlor. “And why isn’t he?”

“We were just returning to the ward this morning when we happened by,” Tilda replied. “Maxwell is at our house in White Alley, preparing to go to his fake job with other members of the society.”

“That’s right.” Chisholm gave them a condescending nod. “I would tell Maxwell the same I’ll tell you—if we find anything pertinent to your investigation, we’ll let you know.”

Hadrian cast Tilda a sideways glance and could tell she was gritting her teeth as she forced a smile. “Thank you, Inspector. Did you find a murder weapon?”

“I think it’s best if that information remains with the police for now,” Chisholm replied with an irritating smile of his own. “If I have time, I’ll seek Maxwell out. Or he can come to me at the police station. If he can take time away from hisfake job.”

“I’ll tell him that,” Tilda said icily. She started toward the door, and Hadrian hastened to open it for her.

They walked past the constable outside and made their way toward the London Wall.

Hadrian glanced back at Phelps’s house. “What a patronizing clod. He clearly remembered us and, given his demeanor, I wonder if he knows I asked the superintendent about his behavior during that investigation. I still believe he was behind the dodgy evidence that saw John Prince wrongly arrested.”

“I agree, but we didn’t have proof. I’m just glad Prince went free.” She looked over at Hadrian. “I didn’t realize you’d spoken to the superintendent.”

“I wrote a letter,” Hadrian said. “I indicated my strong recommendation that Chisholm ought to be investigated, though I don’t know if he was.”

“Regardless, he’s still an inspector,” Tilda said with disdain. “And we must work with him.”

“Should we tell Maxwell about our past interaction with Chisholm?” Hadrian thought they should. He worried about whether they could trust the man.

Tilda nodded. “I think we must, particularly since it seems he may be disinclined to share information with us. I hope he will not allow his opinion of us to affect his communication with Maxwell. That would be most unprofessional.”

They turned from London Wall to Coleman Street. “What did you see when you touched the desk?” Tilda asked.

Hadrian detailed the vision. “You saw who was wearing a claret-colored coat last night?”

Her gaze met his briefly. “Mr. Nevill. You think it was his memory? Because you wouldn’t have seen Phelps’s since he is dead.”

“Correct. I do believe it was Nevill’s.” Hadrian thought through his vision once more. “I didn’t see anyone else, though I suppose there could have been another person—or people—present.”

Tilda glanced at him as they turned down Coleman Street. “I wonder why Nevill was upset.”

Hadrian often gleaned a sense of what the memory-holder was feeling, but it wasn’t always clear. In this case, he had at least an inkling. “I think it may have been an argument, particularly with Phelps’s expression.”

“I would very much like to question Nevill about what happened last night after the meeting,” Tilda said. “But we are not assigned to solve Phelps’s murder.”

“Has that ever deterred us?” Hadrian asked wryly.