Page 16 of Murder in Blackfriars

“I have told you,” I said. “I believe Mr. Banks had probably lain there dead a little while, as the blood was starting to dry. Likely whoever did it was long gone before we stumbled upon him.”

Scott gazed at me an impatient moment before he went back to his writing, jabbing his pencil so hard to the paper that I feared it would break.

He looked up again to make his next abrupt point. “If the man proves to have been killed before eleven o’clock, McAdam still might have done it. Before he came to you at your friend’s home.”

“Yes,” I said slowly. Mr. Grimes had seen Banks alive and well at a quarter till, but that still gave Daniel enough time to follow Banks, stick him with a knife, and then hurry to Clover Lane. “But why on earth should he? Mr. McAdam was very curious to hear what the man had to say and upset when we found him dead. Besides, Mr. McAdam had no blood on his clothes whatsoever when he came to fetch me at Mrs. Millburn’s.”

“He might have changed them before he came to you.”

“I doubt he’d have had the time,” I pointed out. “Besides, he wasn’t wearing fresh, clean clothes. He’d been doing his morning deliveries, by the looks of things. He lets rooms in Southampton Street, but it would have been a bit of a dash to getthere and back to Cheapside in time to meet me before eleven. He’d have been winded, at the very least.” Daniel rarely looked as though he made any exertion, no matter what the circumstance, but a run to Southampton Street and back might have been an exception.

“How do you know McAdam didn’t have all the time in the world?” Scott asked me sharply. “Do you know exactly when the man was killed?”

“Of course not.” I chided myself for my slip. “But it could not have beenthatlong. Not more than half an hour, maybe three quarters, surely. The blood wasn’t completely dry, which would take some time, would it not?”

“It was raining.”

“Yes, but blood coagulates when it ceases flowing, no matter what the weather. I know this from preparing fresh meat, which involves the death of unfortunate creatures.” My pointed look told him to remember this when he sat down to his chop at luncheon. “By the by,” I added. “How did the police know of the murder? They streamed in very soon after Daniel and I found him.”

“A constable on that beat saw the body on the ground and went to fetch help before he investigated. When he returned with more men, he found McAdam. And saw you.”

“Ah, then he’ll know Mr. Banks was killed before we arrived.”

“Again, it does not rule out McAdam having done it. He might have led you there to be a witness to finding the body.” Scott let out a minute sigh. “When we do pinpoint the time of death, I will wish to speak to you again.”

“Meanwhile, you will hold Daniel in a cell?” I demanded. “Unless you have evidence to point to him, you ought to release him. I came here with the purpose of insisting on exactly that.”

Scott assumed an expression of exaggerated patience. “McAdam has valuable information. He is being questioned in McGregor’s office, not a cell, and he has proved in the past to be a good observer. Even if he is innocent, we will want to know all he does. So, I repeat, please be ready to speak to me if it becomes necessary.”

“Of course.” I rose, assuming the interview finished. “I am happy to assist.”

Scott unbent stiffly from his seat and guided me to the door. “Take the intervening time to think things through. Do not let McAdam hang because of a misguided attempt to solve the crime yourself.”

I resolved not to succumb to Scott’s attempts to frighten me. “I’m certain if the constables are diligent, they will come up with a description of someone fleeing the scene. Dock laborers are reticent, but even they do not want people rushing about stabbing others in their domain.”

I truly believed this, so my words rang with sincerity. Scott gave me an icy stare, frowned again, and wrenched open the door.

I hurried through into the outer office, and he slammed the door behind me, the draft fluttering the still-damp skirts of my new best frock.

* * *

I had nothing left to do but return to Grace and Joanna. I could not risk searching for Mr. Grimes to discuss things further, nor for James, to see what he knew, if anything. I doubted I’d find either of them even if I did look.

I trudged from Scotland Yard to the Strand and along it and Fleet Street, making my way back toward St. Paul’s.

When I reached that great edifice, I abruptly halted andseated myself on a dry patch on its steps. The domed building loomed over me, solid, beautiful, comforting.

Daniel had eagerly anticipated the meeting with Mr. Banks, and now he’d never know what the man meant to tell him. The thought depressed me.

I’d told Acting Inspector Scott where Mr. Banks lived, though the constables might already have discovered this from going through the man’s pockets. Even now they were likely searching his lodgings, turning over everything the man possessed.

While a search of Mr. Banks’s rooms could corroborate the tale I’d told Acting Inspector Scott, the constables and sergeants might remove any hint of the information Daniel hoped for. It would disappear into the evidence lockup at Scotland Yard, never to be seen again.

Of course, the investigators might not understand the relevance of any papers or notes Mr. Banks might have left, and overlook them, but could we take that chance?

The best way I could help Daniel, if he remained in custody, was to search Mr. Banks’s rooms myself.

Instead of leaping from the steps and hurrying there, I stayed put, thinking things through. Mr. Banks’s lodgings lay in Southwark, and while I was intrepid, I was not such a fool as to hasten south of the river, into an insalubrious neighborhood, on my own. I’d need assistance.