Page 47 of Murder at the Mayfair Hotel

I abandoned my usual tactic of being cheerful and charming. Most men fell for that manner in a young woman, but I could see this man would not.

“My name is Miss Smith,” I said, meeting his gaze. “I was walking past when I saw you speaking to Mr. Duffield. I know him, you see, and I wanted to warn you about using his information without verifying it first.”

Mr. Collier grunted. “I always check my sources.”

Despite the glare he gave me, I felt a sense of triumph at having my suspicion confirmed by his lack of denial. It must have shown on my face because Mr. Collier’s eyebrows moved apart from where they’d drawn together to form a hedge above his eyes.

“Do you have something for me, MissSmith?” he asked, making sure I knew that he knew the name I’d given was false.

“I don’t trade in gossip about my friends,” I shot back.

“Perhaps not your friends, but what about acquaintances?”

I supposed Sir Ronald was not Mr. Duffield’s friend. The extent of their acquaintance was limited to Mr. Duffield’s stays at the hotel.

Mr. Collier grunted again when he realized I understood his point. “If you have something of interest to me, you know where to find me. I pay better than some of the other papers.” He disappeared through the door, leaving me staring after him.

I blew out a shuddery breath. It was unnerving confronting such a gruff man. I was more familiar with meek academics.

“You all right, miss?” the clerk asked.

“Yes, thank you. Mr. Collier is very…direct.”

The clerk glanced at the door through which the editor had left then leaned his elbows on the desk. “You don’t have to come here in person.”

I gave him a blank look.

“If you have some information you want to sell to Mr. Collier, you can send it. Mr. Collier will see that you get paid. No one need know what you’re doing. I don’t know why Mr. Duffield came. He usually sends a letter. I work in the mail room sometimes, and I see them.”

“How often does Mr. Duffield send a letter containing gossip to Mr. Collier?”

“I couldn’t say, miss.”

Couldn’t or wouldn’t? “And is he paid well?”

“That’s between him and Mr. Collier. If you write to him, he’ll negotiate a fee that suits you both, so don’t fret about that.”

I wanted to tell him that I’d never betray a confidence, even for someone who was a mere acquaintance. My own financial circumstances had never been good. Indeed, I’d barely managed to keep a roof over our heads after Grandpapa died. It had never occurred to me to sell information about the people I knew. Not that a newspaper editor would be interested in the gossip I gathered. I wasn’t acquainted with high society like Mr. Duffield. As the grandson of a nobleman, he probably heard all sorts of interesting tidbits. Jealousy of their good fortune might also play a part in his motivation.

A thought occurred to me as I headed back to the hotel. If Mrs. Warrick and Mr. Duffield had mutual friends, and she learned that he sold gossip about them to the newspapers, she could have confronted him at the hotel.

And he could have killed her out of fear she’d expose him.

Chapter 7

It served nobody to keep what I’d learned to myself. I went directly to Mr. Hobart’s office to inform him. “I think he is responsible for that article in yesterday’s edition ofThe Evening News. The source had to have been someone with knowledge of Sir Ronald’s desperation.”

Mr. Hobart clasped his hands on the desk in front him. Concern darkened his blue eyes. “That is a shame. Sir Ronald would be most upset to learn who it was.”

“Is he close to Mr. Duffield?”

“No. Mr. Duffield has stayed here before, but not for some time. I’d guessed his circumstances were reduced, but I hadn’t realized how far. Poor man.”

“Poor man! He has betrayed the hotel.”

“Not out of maliciousness. He was desperate and desperation can make a man do things he wouldn’t usually do.”

“Aren’t you concerned that he won’t be able to pay for his room here?” I asked.