‘Good grief,’ said Lady Hereford. ‘So who wrote it?’
‘That’s what I’d like to find out,’ said Augusta.
‘Mrs Stanton thinks her brother may no longer be alive because she feels sure he would have contacted her,’ continued Fred. ‘She says having some knowledge of what had happened to him would bring her solace. Even if it was confirmation he has died.’
‘How very sad,’ said Lady Hereford. ‘The absence of information must be the hardest thing of all.’
‘And then there’s an appeal for information at the end of the article,’ said Fred. ‘It says: “Do you know what happened to Alexander Miller? Anyone with information is encouraged to telephone or write to this newspaper. The Daily London News is offering a monetary reward of five hundred pounds to anyone who can provide evidence confirming Mr Miller’s fate.”’
‘Five hundred pounds!’ said Lady Hereford. ‘That’s a lot of money to tempt someone with.’
‘There are three photographs printed alongside the article,’ said Fred. ‘There’s a picture of Mrs Bradshaw, a picture of Mrs Stanton and a picture of Mr Miller.’
‘Let’s see what he looked like,’ said Lady Hereford.
Fred passed the newspaper to her. Augusta had already read the article and seen the photograph of Alexander Miller. He was dark-haired and had the same sharp features as his sister. He was posing with his bicycle and wore a tweed jacket with matching knee-length trousers, long socks, and a sports cap.
‘Alas, there’s no photograph of Augusta to look at,’ said Fred with a smile.
‘But never mind,’ said Augusta. ‘You have the real person here with you now! It will be interesting to find out if anybody contacts the newspaper with information.’
‘With five hundred pounds on offer, I’m sure they’ll hear from a lot of people,’ said Fred. ‘And they’ll probably receive all sorts of weird and wonderful stories.’
‘Yes, I think you could be right, Fred,’ said Lady Hereford. ‘People will probably make up any old nonsense in the hope they can get their hands on the money.’
‘Hopefully someone who knows something will get in touch,’ said Augusta. ‘I didn’t particularly want to speak to the news reporter, but I think it’s good this article has been published and the public is being reminded about Alexander Miller.’
‘They need to find out if anyone wanted to harm him,’ said Lady Hereford.
‘I agree,’ said Augusta. ‘And I heard an interesting story from his sister this morning. She told me and Constable Simpson that her brother was involved in a bicycle accident in which a man died.’ She explained the incident with Mr Connolly.
‘And Mr Miller went missing a year after that happened?’ said Fred.
‘That’s right.’
‘Would the Connolly family really have waited a year to take their revenge?’
‘I don’t know, Fred. I’d like to learn some more about them before I can say.’
‘I can make another trip to look at the old newspapers in Holborn Library,’ said Fred. ‘I’m sure the bicycle accident in Finchley would have been written about at the time.’
‘Thank you, Fred. We might find out something useful.’
‘Have you got Fred doing detective work as well now, Augusta?’ said Lady Hereford.
‘I didn’t order him to,’ said Augusta. ‘He volunteered.’
‘And I enjoy it,’ said Fred with a grin. ‘Mysteries like this draw you in.’
Chapter 13
‘So now you’re famous, Jane,’ said Robert Stanton as he read the Daily London News before dinner that evening.
‘Not famous, exactly.’ She gave a nervous laugh, knowing he had disapproved of her speaking to the news reporter about her brother, Alexander.
Her husband folded the newspaper up and tossed it onto the coffee table. ‘I still don’t see what you hoped to achieve by having all the details printed in the newspaper.’
‘We discussed this, didn’t we, Robert? I didn’t give the news reporter much information at all. He asked me a few questions, and that was it.’
‘And took your photograph.’
‘A photographer came to do that.’
‘And there you are grinning away in the newspaper now. Your moment of fame.’
She laughed again, doing her best to lift his mood. ‘It’s not fame, Robert. It’s just…’
‘Just what?’ He scowled at her. He had a red, square face and cold grey eyes.
She felt herself faltering under his gaze and looked away. ‘It just allows Alexander to be remembered.’
‘You can remember him without speaking to the newspapers. Why did the reporter call here in the first place? Was it because that private detective woman called round? I forget her name, now.’
‘Mrs Peel.’
‘Mrs Peel. Did she contact the papers?’
‘No, the reporter told me it was the sister, Louisa Bradshaw. She’s the woman the letter had been sent to.’
