Page 31 of A Whisper in the Shadows

Tilda laughed softly. “I suppose that’s true.”

They continued toward Gresham Street. “I presume we’ll be speaking with either the owner of the pub or an employee,” Hadrian said. “Since I’m pretending to be Eaton’s friend, shall I begin the conversation?”

“Yes. As we are in our disguises now, I should probably defer to my brother.” Tilda rolled her eyes with a faint smirk.

Hadrian chuckled softly. “I know it bothers you not to take the lead. Have you struggled with that while working with Maxwell, since it’s his investigation?”

“It’s only been a day, so I can’t say. I was rather disappointed to be left out of the Amicable Society meeting last night.”

“I hope it was satisfying to be an investigator, at least for a short while, earlier today.”

She nodded. “It was, thank you.”

They turned onto Gresham Street, and Tilda pointed out that the pub was just ahead. “We ought to have a reason for asking questions about Eaton. Since he’s moved out of the lodging house, you—as his friend—can simply be trying to find where he’s gone.”

“That seems reasonable.” Hadrian opened the door to the pub for Tilda, and she preceded him inside.

“You must also do whatever you can to make your speech sound less cultured,” Tilda advised.

Hadrian grimaced briefly. “I’ve been working at that. I’ve been trying to think of words I oughtn’t say.”

“Such as ‘oughtn’t’?” Tilda flashed a smile.

Hadrian swallowed a laugh.

The common room was spacious but not well lit. As it was early afternoon, there weren’t many patrons. A man in his forties worked behind a bar in the back left corner. He was barrel-chested with dark hair that came to a widow’s peak at the top of his forehead.

Hadrian escorted Tilda to the bar and inclined his head at the man. “Afternoon,” he said genially. “I’m looking for a friend of mine, Timothy Eaton. He’s moved out of his lodgings, and I don’t know where he’s gone.”

“I know Eaton,” the barman replied in a deep voice, then narrowed his eyes. “’Ow do you know ’im?”

“We met a couple months ago,” Hadrian replied. “He convinced me to join the Coleman Street Ward Amicable Society. I wanted to thank him, as well as collect a wager. He bet me that I wouldn’t actually do it.” Hadrian glanced at Tilda to see her reaction to the lie he’d just concocted. Her gaze held a sheen of approval. “Did he try to recruit you too?” Hadrian asked the man.

The barman let out a short laugh. “My pub is just outside Coleman Street Ward, so Eaton doesn’t solicit members for that friendly society ’ere. It was different when ’e worked for that assurance company. Eaton is one of the friendliest blokes I know. ’As a smile fer everyone. ’E’ll talk yer ear off if you give ’im ’alf a chance.”

“Have you seen him recently?” Hadrian asked.

The man braced his hands on the bar, his features pensive for a moment. “Not for a few days. Saturday, I think.” He nodded as if he were agreeing with himself. “’E was in ’ere Saturday night.”

Tilda and Hadrian exchanged a glance. That was fairly recently. Perhaps he was still in the area.

“That’s good to hear,” Hadrian said, trying to sound relieved. “Do you know where he’s lodging now?”

The barman shook his head.

“Any idea when he might be in again?” Hadrian asked.

“’Ard to say.” The man frowned. “Now that I think about it, it’s strange ’e ’asn’t been in since Saturday. ’E’s usually in ’ere every couple days, sometimes every day.”

“Is there anyone who spent time with him here and may know his whereabouts?” Hadrian glanced about, though there were only a handful of people present.

“There’s a fellow from the assurance company. They meet ’ere most Saturday nights.”

“Is that who he saw last Saturday?” Hadrian asked.

The barman’s brow furrowed. “Come to think of it, no. It was another man, older.”

“Did you know him?”