Five
The Times newspaper, that popular enterprise of news and sensationalism, was located on Fleet Street. Newspaper Row it was called.
It was not that far from the Strand; however, reaching it required navigating the spider’s web of streets that all seemed to run together between the City of London and Westminster.
I had been there several times in the past on an inquiry, including The Times archive in a nearby warehouse.
It was still early in the morning, and I had the advantage of knowing Burke’s habit of arriving early to check in with the news desk, then determine which story he wanted to follow.
After our previous inquiry case, he had been assigned to writing up death and funeral notices, a bit of a demotion after a dust-up over a story he submitted that had mentioned certain indiscreet activities of a particular member of the royal family.
He did manage to salvage his position at The Times, but had been forced to write a letter of apology with the promise such a situation would not happen again. Until the next time, if I knew Theodolphus Burke.
The man simply could not help himself, which was the reason I chose to keep details of our inquiry cases in strictest confidence when using him as a source, except for details necessary to obtain the information we needed.
We arrived in good time, and I paid the fare. I was familiar with the cabman and there was no extra fee for Rupert.
“Makes no difference if it’s one passenger or two,” he had once told me. “Even if one has four legs.”
Rupert leapt down and immediately surveyed the sidewalk for some prize that needed attention.
I stepped down with my travel bag in hand and paid the driver.
He tipped his cap.
“Good day to you, miss, and the ‘fine gentleman’ as well.”
The ‘fine gentleman’ being the hound.
I entered The Times building on the main floor. Rupert accompanied me, having apparently determined that there was nothing of interest on the street.
I inquired of the desk clerk if Burke had arrived, and was informed that he had.
I thanked him and went to the stairs that led to the second-floor area for the reporters who wrote for newspaper.
Their desks lined up in rows, scattered with notepads, desk calendars, press schedules, several desks with telephones.
At one time Burke had a private office, but following his fall from grace, as it were, he was assigned to a desk in the reporters’ pool. Burke was there.
While he had recently taken assignments that weren’t about the dead or funerals, he had not yet earned his way back into that private office.
He had not changed in his manner of dress or personal habits. His patchwork growth of beard looked very much as if an invasion of moths had set to it, and his bushy hair was stuffed under a top hat.
As for garments, he wore what passed for a white shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbows and a garter above at each arm, a tie that was skewed to one side, and dark-blue worsted trousers that looked very much as if they had been pulled from a rag-pickers bin.
Never let it be said that Theodolphus Burke dressed to impress anyone other than himself.
It did make me wonder if there was a Mrs. Burke. I thought the possibility highly unlikely.
Rupert whined. I was much of the same opinion.
“To what do I owe this very questionable pleasure?” Burke snapped as he looked up, having obviously heard the sound. “And there are to be no animals in the building!” he added with a glare.
“You may discuss that with him,” I replied as I approached his desk.
Burke shook his head. “However did you get into the building with that beast.”
“I walked in, and I would caution you that he is very sensitive at being called a beast.”
“There should be a law against going about with dangerous animals.”
I ignored that comment and took a chair opposite Burke’s desk.
The ‘dangerous animal’ promptly lay at my feet and proceeded to go to sleep.
“I am making inquiries for a client. It’s regarding personal ads placed in the newspaper.”
Burke shook his head. “That is not my area of expertise, Lady Forsythe.”
“Nevertheless,” I replied.
He studied me with narrowed gaze.
“And if I refuse to assist you, I would no doubt find former Inspector Brodie on my doorstep.”
“That could be a concern,” I replied. “As I said, it is in the matter of an inquiry case. And …” I let that dangle so that I had his full attention.
“There is the matter of the Grantham case for which we provided you information afterward. It does appear that your position has somewhat improved since.”
Brodie had persuaded me that Burke might be useful in the future when it came to information.
I was not in agreement. I would have much preferred that Mr. Brown or one of his associates simply take Theodolphus Burke down a long, dark street and never return.
Yet, at the end of that conversation I was forced to agree that the man could be useful.
“Grantham, a nasty business that particular case,” Burke commented now. “And it gave me a two-part article for the newspaper. Now, what precisely is it that you want to know?”
“There are numbers with each personal ad that is placed. How does that work for someone wanting to contact the person who placed the advertisement?”
“It’s a filing system, by number. The person placing the ad is given that number, and then places the advertisement with the number. Those responding to the ad use that same number.
“The responses are then placed into an envelope by one of the clerks in the advertising department, and the envelope is then picked up.”
“How would I go about finding out who has a certain number? There must be a record of it.”
He nodded. “That would be Mr. Charles, manager on the third floor. He oversees all the advertising for The Times, including the personal ads.”
“And he would he have a record of the owner for a specific ad?”
“That is confidential.”
This from a man whom I sincerely doubted knew the definition of the word.
“However, you might be able to get that information,” I pointed out.
“You have a devious nature, Lady Forsythe.”
“No more so than someone who wants details about a murder for an article he wants to write before any of the reporters for other newspapers,” I suggested.
Rupert stirred. Burke immediately pushed back farther in his chair.
“The information about who placed the ad might very well solve the disappearance of two young women,” I pointed out. “And it would make for a most interesting story that all of London would want to read.”
Never let it be said that Burke couldn’t be bribed.
“The man who is manager of the advertising isn’t presently available.”
“Very well.” I stood. I was willing to give him time to find the information.
“You might be interested in something I came across regarding someone you might know, considering your acquaintances among the royals,” he said as I prepared to leave.
“It might even the score between us. It makes me uneasy to be in debt to you, Lady Forsythe.”
I preferred him to be in debt to me when it came to information.
“The inquiries that Mr. Brodie is making on behalf of the Agency; it seems there is a person who might be of interest who lives in Hampstead, a wealthy person of some reputation who keeps a stable of fine horses. Most would never think of his involvement, but it seems that the man has some questionable acquaintances.”
“How did you come by this information?”
“Lady Forsythe,” he replied in that aggravating tone. “If I was to reveal my sources, they would no longer be my sources. I have to think of my career.”
I did wonder what Brodie might know about the gentleman in Hampstead. Most interesting.
I thanked him.
“As always, a pleasure,” he drily commented. “I will send word when I have information regarding the advertisement.”
It seemed that was the best I could hope for.
“And you will be certain to take the animal with you.”
I whistled for the hound. He stood, stared at Burke, for several moments before finally turning and following me.
At this early hour in the morning, it was quite easy to find a cab. I waved down a driver, and the hound and I returned to the office on the Strand.
Mr. Cavendish greeted us when we arrived.
“Mr. Dooley brought round an envelope for you,” He indicated the message box at the stairs that led to the office. “Said you were to have it straight away when you returned, and then leave a message for him to pick it up after.”
I retrieved a sealed envelope from the box, then looked to the top of the stairs.
“Has Mr. Brodie returned?”
“He’s not, miss.”
I took the stairs to the second floor and unlocked the office door. The day had slowly warmed, and I left the door open as I went to my desk. I opened the envelope.
Mr. Dooley had enclosed a note along with several folded papers.
I enclosed the report you requested, and another that might be of interest. I spoke with the constable who took the Tavers report. There has been no development in the case. I must have these back as soon as possible.
I was not surprised. The disappearance of a young woman of the lower class hardly caused a stir. I set aside his note and opened the first report. It was in the matter of a missing person by the name of Gwen Tavers.
I read through the information with the usual details—when Gwen was reported missing by her father, with no known incidents to cause the disappearance, along with a description of Gwen that included height, approximate weight, color of her hair and eyes, age, a scar on her left hand from a childhood accident, the names of her father and his delivery boy, along with the address of the shop.
They were details I was already aware of, and there had been no developments in the time since, according to the note Mr. Dooley had left. I reached for the other report that he had included.
It was also a report about the disappearance of a young woman two months earlier than Gwen Tavers’s disappearance, a young woman by the name of Charlotte Davies.