Claire turned and nearly bumped into him.
“Oh!”
“I apologize,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I thought you might want some help.”
“Thank you. Would you mind carrying the tray?”
“Not at all.”
He put the shears down on the counter and picked up the tray, carried it out of the kitchen, and set it on the small oak table in the corner of the parlor.
“You needn’t have gone to any trouble for me, Mrs Day.”
“I asked you to call me Claire. And it’s no trouble at all. I’m glad of the company.”
“Well then, I’m happy I stopped in.”
He pulled a chair out for her and she sat. He took the chair across from her and she poured for them both.
“Milk?”
“Lemon, please.”
He waited for her to take a sandwich and then he took one himself and bit into it. He controlled the impulse to spit it back out. He wondered how anyone could cock up a cucumber sandwich, but he smiled and swallowed and took another tiny bite of the tiny sandwich.
“Delicious,” he said.
“Thank you, but I think you’re being kind. It’s awful, isn’t it?”
“Not at all.”
“You’re a gentleman.”
She set down her sandwich and folded her hands in front of her on the table.
“Tell me,” she said, “what did you want to ask?”
“Pardon?”
“You said you had a question for me and I’m on tenterhooks to hear what it could possibly be.”
“Ah, that. Yes, well, your husband, Inspector Day, has been sent out suddenly on a new assignment and I’m to take over the case he was working. Only…”
“What is it?”
“I hate to speak ill of him in his own home, but his notes are a shambles. I have no idea where he’s gone and I’m at my wits’ end. I wondered if he might have told you anything about his investigation.”
“Oh, I doubt it very much. He rarely talks about his work.”
“This particular case is rather sensational. A detective was murdered and your husband was tracking the killer. I wonder if he mentioned any suspects to you? Anyone he might be focusing on?”
“A detective was killed?”
“You didn’t know?”
“How concerned should I be about my husband, Mr Bentley? Is he in danger?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You mean there might be more murders?”
“It’s a possibility. I’m being perfectly frank with you, Mrs Day. I’d hoped that you might shed some light on things for me. I have no idea which way to turn. I’m afraid more murders are a very real possibility.”
“Oh, I wish he had told me something. Now I shall go mad with worry until the killer is arrested.”
“I shouldn’t have been so forthright with you. I apologize.”
“No, don’t be sorry. I’m glad you told me. I do so hate being kept in the dark. I just wish there were something I could do to help.”
“Perhaps there is something.”
“Yes, anything.”
“If you could persuade your husband to abandon the case…”
“But I thought he was already working on another case.”
“He is. But that’s only temporary. He’ll be back on this one as soon as he’s finished.”
“Unless you solve it, you mean.”
“Yes, but it seems hopeless. The thing is, I have every reason to believe that the murderer won’t kill again if he’s left alone.”
“How could you possibly know that?”
“Some of the clues he’s left. I can’t tell you anything exact, you understand. That’s secret departmental business. But there are indications that the killing is done. But if your husband were to stir this beast up again … well, I’m afraid that it might go poorly for our dear Inspector Day.”
Claire sat back and regarded Cinderhouse over the top of the tea set. Her eyes had narrowed. He couldn’t see her hands. They were below the edge of the table. All he could see was the reflection of his own gleaming pink forehead, huge and distorted in the surface of the teapot.
“You seem to know a good deal about this killer, Mr Bentley.”
“Please, call me Inspector Bentley. I’ve worked quite hard for my title.”
“Very well. Inspector Bentley, how could you possibly know whether the killer will do it again? And why wouldn’t you want him brought to justice?”
She was smarter than he’d assumed she would be and he had overplayed his hand. Women these days were overreaching themselves. He smiled, took a sip of tea. It tasted like brown water.
“You misunderstand, Claire. I do want him brought to justice, but I don’t want Inspector Day to be the one to do it. He has much more to lose than I do and might be harmed if he pursues the case. I, on the other hand, am unmarried. My family is long gone. It would be better if I were the one placed in danger, rather than him.” He set his cup down and spread his hands. “I’m only trying to do some good here,” he said.
She leaned forward in her chair and pursed her lips. He saw the trace of a smile on her face.
“This is an important case, isn’t it?” she said.
“I suppose it is. In fact, I believe it’s the most important case the Yard has ever undertaken.”
“Surely not more important than the Jack the Ripper investigation.”
“Well, no, not more important than that. But important, nonetheless. And, I think, equally unsolvable.”
“And yet you want the glory of solving it yourself, don’t you?”
“Beg pardon?”
“You want my husband to step out of the way so that you can solve this unsolvable case and win the admiration of your peers. Perhaps of all London? Paperboys shouting your name at every street corner? Is that it?”
Cinderhouse was startled into silence. He took another sip of tea and thought. He concluded that the lady herself had given him the best way out of the sticky situation he’d blundered into. He set the cup back down on the table and laughed.
“You’ve found me out, Claire. I’m afraid I am a self-aggrandizing heel. Yes, I very much want the respect of my peers. Like your husband, I’m new to the Yard. But he’s caught on so quickly and is doing so well there. I feel I’m competing with him.” He leaned forward and raised his eyebrows. “Please forgive me? I thought this might take nothing away from him and yet perhaps do me some good. I only want my son to be as proud of me as you are of your husband.”
“You said you had no family.”
“Did I? I’m sorry. My wife died so recently that I’m unsure of how to describe myself now. I have no wife, but my son … well, my son is my family, if you understand me.”