Flushed with success, Lenox spent an hour in Sawyer Park, until he had indeed shaken every hand he could find. Smith was invaluable-had grown up in Stirrington and seemed to know every soul who lived within the town limits and a good many that lived beyond. On Roodle’s behalf several beefy-looking gentlemen were circulating in the park, saying that glib talk would get them nowhere, that the beer tax would probably be lowered regardless of this election’s outcome, and most importantly that Lenox was an interloper and a fraud-but all to little avail. Lenox was the man of the hour, and people of every stripe crowded around him, congratulating him and asking him questions (often very personal ones-one young man asked what Parliament could do about getting him onto the county cricket team, which Lenox still wasn’t sure had been a joke).
Finally Smith and Lenox had met everyone there was to meet, and Lenox, who after the headiness of the speech remembered again that Hiram Smalls was dead and began speculating in his mind about the Pierce and Carruthers murders, inquired what they were to do next.
“It’s a fearful proposition, but I thought perhaps we might call on Mrs. Reeve.”
“Who is that?”
“Has Crook not told you about her, then? Perhaps we should wait.”
“Who is she?”
“Mrs. Reeve is a widow, about fifty. She was married to Joe Reeve, famous in these parts as Durham’s best horse trainer. He left her with a comfortable living, and her house is a kind of stopping point for every woman in town. There’s always food and tea, and people agree to meet there as if it were a shop or a train station. Mrs. Reeve herself is very influential with all of the women I know.”
“She sounds a fascinating character.”
“Aye, and a powerful one. Men with little time to waste on politics will often listen to their wives, I believe.”
“What is she like in person?”
“Oh-fat-exceedingly fat.”
“What else?”
“Well-I don’t think she’s ever properly left Stirrington. It’s possible -and mind, I don’t say probable-that she’s never left town. She may have been to Durham once, but I can’t remember hearing of it.”
“On the provincial side of things?” Lenox asked, with what he hoped was delicacy.
Smith laughed. “I didn’t want to say it.” Then he paused. “I’ve been to France, actually.”
“Mr. Smith, I hope you don’t think I class you in such a way? I really don’t look down on Stirrington, you have my absolute word. Whatever Mr. Roodle says.”
“No, no, of course,” said the lawyer, red faced. “At any rate-to Mrs. Reeve’s?”
However, Mrs. Reeve was-and Mr. Smith called it an aberration-away from home. According to her housekeeper, who looked flustered, Mrs. Reeve was at her doctor’s.
“And if people would stop visiting until she returned I wouldn’t complain,” she added. Then rushed to say, “Not meaning you, Mr. Smith.”
It was just past four o’clock by then. “I hate to waste any daylight,” said Smith, “but perhaps we should visit Mrs. Reeve after supper?”
“Will she be up that late?”
“She keeps very late hours-requires next to no sleep, apparently.”
“She does sound a peculiar woman,” Lenox said.
“Well-quite.”
Back at the Queen’s Arms, Lenox found Crook serving pints of ale to the first men who were getting off work. He had already heard all about the speech and congratulated Lenox on the success of his conversation with Roodle.
“Dirty trick,” the bartender added, “but we’ll see him done for.”
“I hope so, anyway.”
“If he wants a fight, he’ll have a fight.”
“I’ve never asked you, Mr. Crook: Why do you involve yourself in politics? Is it of special interest to you?”
“I’ve always thought a man ought to believe in something, Mr. Lenox, and if he believes in something he ought to support it. Good evening, Mr. Pyle. A pint of mild, I expect?”
With that Crook was at the other end of the bar.
“Perhaps we could see Mrs. Reeve tomorrow, Mr. Smith? I don’t feel my most vigorous.”
“Of course,” said Sandy, although he looked chagrined.
Lenox didn’t care a fig at the moment, however, and bade farewell to his companion even as he began to walk tiredly up the stairs to his room.
“Wait, sir!” said the voice of Lucy, the waitress, behind him. “Here’s your telegram!”
With some excitement Lenox took it from her, enfolding a few pennies’ tip in her hand.
It was from Dallington, sent in at Claridge’s Hotel. Lenox knew this was one of Dallington’s watering holes and hoped the young man wasn’t reverting, as he occasionally had even under Lenox’s tutelage, to his old, dissipated ways. Still, the telegram was coherent.
GLAD YOU ARE INTERESTED IN THE CASE STOP
LONDON TEDIOUS AT THE MOMENT STOP
SMALLS FOUND HANGING BY BOOTLACES FROM WALL HOOK IN HIS CELL STOP
APPARENT SUICIDE STOP
EXETER CONVINCED MURDER STOP
VERY FEW DETAILS RELEASED BUT SPOKE TO WARDEN TODAY STOP
SMALLS LEFT BEHIND SEVERAL TORN BITS OF PAPER AND ON TOP OF THEM THE FAMOUS ORANGES STOP
GOOD LUCK THERE STOP
DALLINGTON
As Lenox was reading, McConnell knocked at the door and came in, looking fresher after his day’s rest but troubled nevertheless.
“Read this,” said the detective.
“Interesting,” said McConnell when he was finished. He handed it back. “What do you make of it?”
“Well-I wonder whether it was murder. If Exeter believes something, I always examine the opposite possibility.”
“Suicide?”
“Doesn’t it seem more likely than murder? Why murder Smalls if you were his partner? Wouldn’t it draw attention to you?”
“Of course,” said McConnell. “Hence the appearance of suicide.”
Lenox sighed. “You’re right, of course, and it’s easy enough to enter a prison if you wish to-those guards will look away for a price, no matter what you do. Only it seems so transparent. Still, there was always the risk of Smalls ratting out whomever he worked with.”
“Yes.”
“I wish I knew what ‘several torn bits of paper’ meant, exactly.” Lenox paused. “McConnell, how are you feeling?”
The doctor shrugged. “Well enough physically, I suppose. Full of regret as well.”
“I know you came all this way, but how about some work?”
To Lenox’s surprise, McConnell fairly leapt at the idea. “I would like that beyond anything.”
“It would be back in London.”
“About Smalls?”
“Yes-and to see if you could find any information others missed about Pierce and Carruthers, too.”
McConnell laughed. “I haven’t been here twenty-four hours,” he said.
In part Lenox was hoping a trip to London would force McConnell to see Toto, but he didn’t say that. “Still, I’m glad you came,” he said. “I felt terrible having to leave at the moment of your loss.”
“Does this mean you’re looking into the Fleet Street murders?”
“I suppose I shouldn’t. I shall have to stay here.”
“Yes,” said McConnell. “This is important.”
“Please let me know of your progress, however.”
“By telegram, yes.”
The two men, each unhappy in his own way-Lenox to be out of London and because of Lady Jane’s worries, McConnell for more profound and sorrowful reasons-sat for another moment and spoke. Then McConnell stood up and said he’d better pack.
Lenox rang for Graham then. He hadn’t seen his valet since that morning.
“Graham,” he said when the man appeared in the doorway, “take a look at this.” He passed over Dallington’s telegram.
“Yes, sir?” said Graham when he had finished reading it.
“Well? What do you make of it?”
“Are you inclined to believe it was murder, sir, as Inspector Exeter does?”
Lenox again expressed his ambivalence on the question.
“With so few facts, I suppose there’s little to speculate about, sir.”
“Yes,” said Lenox. “Wait, take this telegram to the post office, would you?”
Graham waited while Lenox wrote out a note to Dallington asking for more information.
“I guess we’re stuck here,” Lenox said as he handed the note over.
“Most certainly, sir,” said Graham somewhat severely.
“Oh, I know, I know. I’m curious, that’s all.”