‘Yes. And I also run a bookshop.’
The constable pulled a puzzled expression as he made some notes in his notebook. ‘So the intruder stole the letters which discussed the disappearance of a man ten years ago?’ he said.
‘Yes. It must have been someone who knows I’m investigating the case. They clearly don’t want me to find out the truth. And I think that proves Alexander Miller came to harm.’
‘Who’s Alexander Miller?’
‘He’s the chap who disappeared ten years ago,’ said Philip. ‘No one knows what happened to him but, as Mrs Peel has just pointed out, someone clearly knows she’s investigating his disappearance, and they must be worried Mrs Peel is going to discover something. That’s why they’ve taken the letters.’
Augusta had a sudden thought. ‘Perhaps it was Walter Ferguson!’
‘Did the intruder look like Ferguson?’ asked Philip.
‘No. But he could have sent someone else here to take the letters.’
‘Who’s Walter Ferguson?’ asked the constable.
‘A reporter for the London Weekly Chronicle,’ said Augusta. ‘He’s waging a vendetta against me. It wouldn’t surprise me if he asked someone to break into my flat. I don’t think he could have had anything to do with Mr Miller’s disappearance. But I’m suspicious of him all the same.’
Philip turned to the constable. ‘I think it would be a good idea to have a word with him.’
‘Of course.’ The constable made a note. ‘Anyone else we should consider?’
‘There’s Mr and Mrs Stanton,’ said Augusta.
‘And who are they?’
‘Jane Stanton is Alexander Miller’s sister. One of the letters revealed she owed her brother money. She told me she wanted the letters destroyed, but she didn’t know I had them.’
‘Perhaps she asked Mrs Bradshaw about them, and Mrs Bradshaw told her she’d lent them to you, Augusta,’ said Philip.
‘That’s a good suggestion, Philip. It could have happened.’ She turned to the constable. ‘Mr and Mrs Stanton live at number 15 Baker Street.’
‘Perhaps the intruder was Mr Stanton?’ said Philip.
‘No. I don’t think Mr Stanton could run that fast.’
‘You chased after the man, Mrs Peel?’ asked the constable.
‘Yes. I lost him in the ticket hall of King’s Cross underground station.’
The constable made more notes.
‘All of this is connected,’ said Augusta.
‘What do you mean?’
‘This is all to do with Alexander Miller’s disappearance. Someone was behind it, that’s why they forged a letter from him to his sister. Constable Simpson at Crawford Place police station has the letter. Whoever was behind that letter knows I’m investigating Miller’s disappearance now. They knew I had the letters. But who is it? It’s reached the stage where Scotland Yard needs to get involved.’
‘The Yard?’ said the constable. ‘Let me make some more enquiries of my own first, Mrs Peel.’
Augusta turned to Philip. ‘Can’t you speak to someone there?’
‘I can try.’
The constable frowned. ‘I would like to make some more enquiries first.’
‘Mrs Peel is asking me because I used to be a detective inspector at the Yard.’
‘Oh. I didn’t realise, sir. My apologies.’
‘For what? You’ve done a good job so far this evening. Continue with your enquiries and let me know how you get on.’ Philip pulled his card out of his jacket pocket and handed it to the constable.
‘I will do, sir.’
After the constable had left, Philip helped Augusta tidy the rest of the flat.
‘Who’s this chap?’ he asked as he picked up some photographs of a young man from the floor.
Augusta felt her heart skip. ‘Just someone I knew before the war.’ She held out her hand for the photographs, not wishing to be asked any more questions.
‘Oh.’ He handed them to her. ‘How about I make us some cocoa?’ he said. ‘And then you need to lie down and get some rest.’
‘Sparky needs something to eat.’
‘I can help with that, too. And by the way, I managed to speak to Mr Baker, the editor at the London Weekly Chronicle.’
‘What did he say about the article?’
