“I must insist, sir.” I was reluctant to make threats, still it was possibly an important clue.
“Unless it is necessary for me to have my legal representative make a formal request?” I added.
“Not at all,” he assured me, apologetic. “If you will provide me the number regarding the advertisement I will see what information we have.”
I provided the box number from the advertising page I had found in Gwen Tavers’s room.
“It seems that the advertisement was made anonymously,” he informed me when he returned. “That is not unusual, as privacy is important for many of those who place advertisements.”
As with one seeking a secret liaison perhaps, or some other arrangement that might be illicit?
It apparently was quite common. And in this situation?
“Was there an address for the responses to be sent?” I then asked.
“No address is shown in the record. It would seem that the responses were retrieved quite promptly after the advertisements appeared.”
“Did that person provide a name?”
Again he replied, “I’m sorry, no.” He apologized. “It is not necessary to provide a name or address. A ticket with the box number is provided when the advertisement is placed. When one wishes to retrieve the responses, they provide that ticket or ticket number. Again, that is for …”
“Yes, for privacy, I quite understand,” I replied. “When did the advertisement appear last?”
“That would have been Thursday past.”
I nodded. “And it will appear again when?”
“That would be the forthcoming Thursday, unless the customer cancels it.”
“When are the responses usually collected?” I then asked.
He looked at his log book. “According to our records over the last several weeks, it has been the day after. Very prompt.”
“And responses that arrive after that?”
“Those are held until the following week unless the customer calls again, which has not happened in this instance. It would be recorded here.”
A customer with no name, only that box number, who retrieved responses to the advertisement that were received. And then?
“How might the customer contact those who reply to the advertisement?”
“For some, a place to meet is usually arranged between the customer and the person who responds to the advertisement.”
I had hoped to learn more. Still, disappointing as the information was, at least I knew now how one went about placing ads and then making contact with those who make inquiries in turn.
I thanked him for his time.
It was very near midday when I returned to the Strand. I hadn’t eaten since the previous evening and went first to the Public House. Miss Effie greeted me with a smile from across the crowded pub.
“Mr. Cavendish was here earlier,” she informed me as she made her way across with a tray in hand and two lunch plates.
“Will you be wanting lunch cartons then?”
“Just one. Mr. Brodie is presently away on an inquiry.”
She nodded. “Right away, miss.”
She delivered lunch to two men, then paused before returning to the counter.
“There is a matter I would like to speak with you about, miss. If you have the time. It’s about Mr. Cavendish.”
I nodded, and she hurried off at a shout from Mr. Sturgess behind the counter that another order was ready.
It was several minutes before she returned, wiping her brow with the edge of her apron.
She was a pleasant-looking woman, with wisps of grey hair tucked behind her ears, her cheeks flushed from the warmth inside the pub and the orders that kept her moving quickly.
“It will be just a few minutes,” she explained about my lunch order. She leaned closer. “There don’t seem to be a proper time with me working here, and you and Mr. Brodie off on your inquiry cases.”
A nearby shout for more ale brought a frown, and she was off once more, apron flapping about her, much like a bird about to take flight.
She was gone for several minutes, emerged once more with a carton, my take-away lunch in hand.
“Midday is our busiest time,” she said by way of apology, as she handed me the carton. “There never seems to be a good time to ask.” She seized the edges of her apron and fanned herself.
“I was married before, you know. Lost me husband to the fever some time ago. A good man ...”
I did know that she was a single woman, but not the details of it. She had been on her own since and was extremely hardworking.
“It’s just that one never thinks about gettin’ that lucky twice, you know?” At another shout for more ale, she tossed a comment over her shoulder.
“Hold onto yerself there, Mike. You haven’t finished the last one yet!” She turned back to me.
“As ye might know, Mr. Cavendish and I have been keepin’ company.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Well, it’s just that I’m a respectable woman, and he doesn’t think it’s right for us to carry on in that way, if ye get my meanin’.”
I had the distinct impression that I knew where the conversation was going.
“He proposed, you see,” she continued. “Marriage? Can you imagine? At my age, and a fine man he is.”
“I am very happy for you,” I replied.
“I never had a church wedding, you see. Me and Eddie just went off to the local magistrate office and a clerk married us. I told Mr. Cavendish my feelin’s about it, and he said as how we should have a church wedding.” She turned and glared at the customer with the now-empty mug.
“I know it ain’t proper, you being a lady and all, but I was wonderin’ if you and Mr. Brodie would stand up for us in a church wedding.”
Of all the things I might have expected, this was most surprising. I reached out and squeezed her hand.
“Of course,” I replied. “And I would be pleased, if I can assist in any way.”
She looked at me with more than a little surprise.
“I wasn’t certain I should ask, you being a high-born lady and all. But Mr. Cavendish said that made no difference.” She looked back at the customer who was apparently about to succumb from a badly parched throat.
“I need to get back to work. Thanks be to you again, miss.”
A proper church wedding. I smiled as I returned to the office.
Mr. Cavendish was there. As I greeted him, I imagined him in a suit of clothes and Miss Effie in an appropriate gown.
“A messenger brought round a reply earlier,” he informed me. “I put it in the letter box.”
I retrieved the envelope and immediately opened it. Mr. Davies very politely but very clearly declined to meet with me regarding such a personal matter. The police were investigating his daughter’s disappearance. He asked that I respect his family’s privacy and their wishes.
Very well. I did understand that a man of his position might be in a difficult situation, but I found it impossible to comprehend that he wouldn’t want to explore every possibility in finding his daughter.
“Is there a difficulty, miss?” Mr. Cavendish inquired.
“Not at all,” I replied.
I would have mentioned my conversation with Miss Effie, but decided that it was perhaps best to let her speak with him about it.
“Will you be working late? Mr. Brodie mentioned it before he left this morning.”
“I have some notes to make before I leave for Mayfair. I’ll be attending a gathering with my sister this evening.”
“Right ye are, miss. Let me know when yer ready to leave and I’ll make certain to have a driver for you.”
I turned toward the stairs. In spite of Mr. Davies’s very brief, courteous reply, I was not about to be set aside in my efforts to learn if his daughter’s disappearance might be connected to the disappearances of Gwen Tavers and Lizzie Smith.
There was always more than one way to find out.