Chapter 37
Augusta telephoned Philip first. Fortunately, he was still in his office and hadn’t left for home yet. Then she let Sparky out of his cage and telephoned the local police station.
Tears pricked her eyes as she waited for Philip to arrive. Her flat was in a mess. How could someone show so little regard for someone else’s home? It was only a small flat and the intruder probably wouldn’t have been there for long. There were just a few rooms: the living area, the little kitchen, her bedroom, and the bathroom. The chest of drawers in her bedroom had been emptied, and the clothes pulled out of her wardrobe. In the living area, paper, pens, and books were scattered all over the floor. If the intruder had been looking for valuable items, then he would have been disappointed. But as she began to tidy up, Augusta realised what he had taken.
The bundle of John Gibson’s letters was missing. She had kept it in a drawer in her writing desk in the living area. The drawer now lay empty on the floor, her belongings scattered around it.
Philip arrived at her flat a short while later.
‘What’s been taken?’ he asked as he surveyed the mess.
‘John Gibson’s letters. Nothing else seems to be missing. Someone knew the letters were here, Philip!’
‘Who knew you had them?’
‘Louisa Bradshaw because she lent them to me. I mentioned them to Jane Stanton, but I didn’t admit I had them. You knew they were here. And Fred. And that’s all.’
‘I think we can rule me and Fred out,’ said Philip as he looked around. ‘How did the intruder get in?’
‘He must have picked the lock. The door was unlocked when I got here.’ Philip stepped over to the door. ‘An easy lock to pick, we should change this for a better one.’
Augusta continued to tidy up as Philip looked around. ‘We could check everywhere for fingerprints,’ he said. ‘But if the intruder planned this carefully, then he would have been wearing gloves. Did you see if he was wearing gloves, Augusta?’
‘No, I didn’t.’ She knelt by the coffee table and picked up pens and pencils from the floor.
‘What did he look like?’
‘I never got close enough to see. He wore a dark suit. And he had dark hair.’
‘Age?’
‘I don’t know. He could have been anything between twenty-five and forty-five.’
‘Height?’
‘I really couldn’t say. Not tall, not short. Average.’
‘Build?’
‘Average.’
Philip sighed. ‘That doesn’t exactly narrow things down.’
Augusta felt a snap of irritation. ‘Well, I’m sorry if I can’t give you a better answer than that!’
‘I wasn’t suggesting… oh, I’m sorry, Augusta. It’s just a habit of mine to ask questions like that. Come on.’ He stepped over to her. ‘Why don’t you get up from the floor and sit in a chair. I’ll get you a drink.’
‘I need to tidy up.’
‘Not immediately, you don’t. Just take a few moments to recover. And besides, the police need to see what the intruder did to your flat.’
‘I don’t know why I bothered calling them. I can’t give them a decent description of him. They’ve got no chance of finding him. Especially as he got away on the tube. He could be anywhere now.’
Philip held out a hand to help Augusta to her feet.
‘Thank you, Philip.’
He said nothing, but held her gaze.
For a moment, she wondered if he was about to embrace her. But then he hurriedly glanced away.
‘Anyway, why don’t you sit yourself down, Augusta?’
‘Yes. Good idea.’ She felt a flush of warmth in her face from the moment which had just passed between them.
‘I’ll pour us some brandy,’ he said.
‘That would be perfect.’
A constable arrived while Philip was making the drinks. He was a pale-faced young man with flaxen hair.
‘The intruder stole some letters,’ Augusta explained to him.
‘What sort of letters?’
‘Someone lent them to me. I’m working on an investigation into the disappearance of someone ten years ago. I was given a bundle of letters which had useful information in them. But someone has broken in and taken them.’
‘You’re a private detective, Mrs Peel?’
