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TWELVE

T hat’s an amazing machine,” Griffith said.

The expression on his face was one of intense fascination, perhaps even awe.

Slater understood the reaction. He was impressed, himself.

Although he had seen typewriters—in recent years they had begun to appear in offices around the world—he had never come across one as advanced in design as the machine Matty Bingham was demonstrating.

“It’s my latest model,” Harold Fenton said. He beamed with pride. “It has a great many new and improved features. But it requires an operator of Miss Bingham’s exceptional talents in order to obtain the best results.”

“She’s certainly very skillful,” Griffith said. He gazed at Matty’s flying fingers, clearly entranced. “It’s like watching a lady play the piano.”

Matty appeared to be unaware of his interest. She maintained her professional air but her cheeks were flushed a deep pink. Griffith was right, Slater thought. Matty’s fingers moved on the keys for all the world as though she were playing a musical instrument. Her hands were elegant and graceful.

Slater took out his pocket watch to check the time. He and Griffith had arrived at the offices of the Kern Secretarial Agency a short while ago and found only Matty Bingham and Fenton.

Fenton was a little gnome of a man. Judging by his rumpled, ink-and-oil-stained coat he had come straight from his workshop.

He was going bald. What scraggly gray hair he had left had not been touched by a barber in a very long time.

Behind the lenses of his spectacles, his gray eyes glittered with passion for his creation.

“Mrs. Kern and I have established a professional association,” Fenton said.

“I advertise that my typewriters are tested here at the Kern agency. That information attracts the very best class of buyer, you see, because of the reputation of Mrs. Kern’s business.

My goal is to put a Fenton Modern in every office in the country. ”

He whipped out a card. Slater took it and glanced at the wording.

FENTON MODERN TYPEWRITING MACHINES.

Tested by the expert typists at the Kern Secretarial Agency.

Matty stopped typing and smiled. “Every time Mr. Fenton makes an improvement in his machines, he brings one around for us to test.” She patted the new Fenton Modern on her desk in an affectionate manner.

“This is the finest one yet, Mr. Fenton. I do believe you have outdone yourself. None of the keys or type bars jammed. I did not have to slow down or pause at any point.”

Griffith leaned over Matty’s shoulder to get a closer look at the keyboard. His brows scrunched together. “Why are the keys arranged in such an odd fashion? Q, W, E, R, T, Y come first. Shouldn’t it be A, B, C, D, E?”

Fenton snorted. “Sadly, after the success of the Remington typewriting machines, everyone has grown accustomed to this keyboard design. Damned shame but that’s what you get when a manufacturer of firearms turns its attention to other products.”

Slater looked at him. “A trigger?”

“No, mass production.” Fenton looked deeply pained.

“So many Remingtons out there now with the QWERTY keyboard that it’s become the standard, as far as the public is concerned.

I’ve given up trying to persuade people to change over to another arrangement of the keys.

None of my competitors have been successful with new designs, either.

But that’s not to say that there isn’t room for improvement in the machines. ”

“Mr. Fenton is constantly increasing the efficiency and striking speed,” Matty explained.

“So many typewriters jam when one works too quickly. I’ve even heard that’s the real reason the keyboard is designed in this odd manner—to slow down the typist so that the keys and type bars won’t get tangled up with each other. ”

Fenton brightened. “I’m actually working on a device that will get rid of the basket arrangement for the type bars altogether. All the letters and numbers will be on a ball that rotates, you see. It is quite revolutionary—”

He broke off as the office door opened. Slater turned and saw Ursula. He knew at once, even before she removed her hat and veil, that something had happened. Her shoulders were rigid. Her eyes were cold and grim. It was obvious that she had not slept well.

When she saw him, he could have sworn he caught a flash of near panic on her face. But it disappeared almost instantly behind an aura of cool reserve.

“Good morning, everyone,” she said. She stripped off her gloves and set them aside. “We don’t usually have so many visitors at this hour of the day. I see you have brought us a new model, Mr. Fenton.”

“Much improved,” Fenton assured her.

“The action is extremely smooth,” Matty said.

Fenton glowed.

Ursula nodded at Griffith and then looked at Slater with an air of challenge.

“What brings you here today, Mr. Roxton?” she asked.

They were back to Mr. Roxton. Something had most certainly happened during the night, he thought. He wondered how long it would take her to get around to telling him what had upset her.

“I am hoping I can persuade you to accompany me to an exhibition of some antiquities at a museum this morning,” he said. “I wish to do some research in preparation for our cataloging project.”

She looked first startled and then wary. “I’m afraid I have work to do today.”

“I believe your other client, Lady Fulbrook, will not be requiring your services until tomorrow. You may consider the visit to the museum a professional outing. I plan to make some notes which I will dictate to you. You’ll need your stenography notebook.”

She stared at him for a couple of seconds as if she was about to argue but when he slanted a meaningful glance at Matty, understanding dawned in her eyes. Matty knew nothing about the investigation.

“Very well.” Ursula took a breath, as though marshaling her forces. “In that case, let us be off. I’m sure Matty can deal with whatever comes up in the office today.”

“Yes, of course,” Matty said eagerly. “There’s nothing unusual on the calendar today. I’ll be fine. Oh, and by the way, I hired Miss Taylor. She will start training tomorrow.”

Ursula nodded once, a crisp little acknowledgment of the new hire.

“Excellent.”

Slater glanced at Griffith, who was still hovering very close to Matty.

“Griffith,” he said. “If you don’t mind?”

Griffith straightened quickly. “Right, then. A pleasure to meet you, Miss Bingham. Thank you so much for the demonstration.”

Matty smiled. Her cheeks turned a little more pink and her eyes were very bright.

“You’re very welcome, Mr. Griffith.”

It was, Slater reflected, very likely the first time that Griffith had been addressed as Mr. Griffith. He appeared dazzled by the honor. He stood in the middle of the room, gazing at Matty, evidently struck dumb.

Amused, Slater cleared his throat. “ Mr. Griffith, if you don’t mind—”

Griffith pulled himself together. “Right, sir, the carriage.”

He tipped his cap to Matty and headed toward the door. Matty’s gaze lingered on him until he disappeared into the hall.

Ursula retrieved her hat and gloves. Slater took her arm. She stiffened briefly but she did not pull away. He had been right about the tension radiating from her. He could feel it now that he was touching her, a small electrical current shivering throughout her body.

He started to steer her toward the door.

“Ursula, wait,” Matty said. Her chair scraped as she got to her feet. “You forgot your satchel. You’ll need your notebook and pencils if you are to assist Mr. Roxton today.”

Ursula stopped. “Yes, of course, thank you, Matty.”

Smiling, Matty collected the satchel from Ursula’s desk. She winked when she handed it to Ursula.

“Enjoy the museum,” she said with a knowing look at Slater. “I’m sure the antiquities will be fascinating.”

Ursula looked quite blank. Slater steered her out into the hall. He waited until they were seated in the carriage and headed toward the museum before he spoke.

“Am I mistaken, or were Miss Bingham and Griffith looking at each other as if they were both interested in something a good deal more personal than the new typewriter?” he asked.

Ursula was momentarily bewildered. “What are you talking about?”

“Never mind,” he said. He searched for another neutral topic and abandoned the effort. He had never been much good at idle conversation. The experience on Fever Island and the career that he had pursued afterward had not improved his social skills. “What the devil is wrong with you, Ursula?”

“People keep asking me that. I am perfectly fit.” She gripped the handle of her satchel very tightly. “Why don’t you tell me the real reason you asked me to accompany you to the museum?”

“As a matter of fact, there are two reasons,” he said. “The first is that I wished to talk to you in private. I have some news.”

That got her attention. She watched him intently through her veil. “You have discovered something about Anne’s death?”

“I cannot say, not yet. But I have learned something about Fulbrook which may or may not prove useful.”

“As it happens, I started transcribing some of Anne’s notes last night and I, too, discovered something but it is rather baffling. Before we exchange details, you had better tell me the second reason we are off to visit a museum at such an early hour.”

“I thought touring the new exhibition of antiquities together would enhance the impression that our association is personal, not just professional.”

She absorbed that. “I see. Why do you think that is wise?”

“Because based on what I learned last night it’s possible this investigation may take a dangerous turn. If anyone is watching you, I want that person to be well aware that you have a friend who would be in a position to cause a great deal of trouble should anything happen to you.”

She stared at him. “You’re serious.”

“Very. Damn it, Ursula, what the devil did you discover last night that has rattled your nerves? I did not think there was anything that could do that.”

She tightened her gloved hands on the satchel positioned on her lap. “I came across a reference to a perfume shop in Anne’s notebook. There was an address. It struck me as odd.”

He waited. It was the truth, he concluded. But not all of it. When she did not add anything else, he tried another question.

“Was Anne Clifton fond of perfumes?” he asked.

“Oh, yes. That is not the point. It was just strange to find the address written down in the same notebook as Lady Fulbrook’s poems. Tell me, what is your news?”

She was changing the subject a little too quickly, he decided. But this was not the time to press her. The carriage clattered to a halt in front of the museum. Slater reached for the door handle.

“I’m afraid my news falls into the same category as yours—odd and unusual but perhaps no more enlightening,” he said. “I will explain once we are inside.”