I apologise a fortnight has passed since my last letter, but my time has been taken up by a recent, troubling incident which I shall now describe to you.
I have mentioned my friend, Alexander Miller, to you before. Like me, he works as a clerk in the accounts department of the Great Western Railway. By coincidence, he also lives in Baker Street. In a flat at number 15. I have told you about our shared enjoyment of cycling and the many day excursions we have taken at weekends. This summer we have cycled as far as Windsor, Epsom and the Chiltern Hills. As you know, I have always enjoyed cycling, and it’s been extremely enjoyable having a friend to share my adventures with. We have stopped for picnics in glorious locations and visited some very charming churches and public houses along the way, too.
Just over a fortnight ago, on Sunday 3rd July, we were due to meet for a cycle to Richmond Park. Our usual arrangement was to meet at nine o’clock on a Sunday morning in Portman Square. I arrived on time for our rendezvous, but Alexander didn’t appear. Tardiness is not in his character, so I called at his flat. There was no answer, which was most unusual. I decided he must have been detained somewhere as part of an emergency and went for a short bicycle ride on my own.
I called at his address again and received no response. I spoke to neighbours and couldn’t find anyone who had seen him during the weekend.
Perplexed, I went to work as usual on the Monday morning and was saddened when my friend didn’t make an appearance. I told the accounts officer of my concerns and he called at Alexander’s address that evening. There was no response.
As the week progressed, there was still no sign of him. The accounts officer sent him a letter, and I continued to ask neighbours if they had seen anything of him. I wondered if some family business has taken him away. I know he has a sister in Camden Town, but she’s married and I don’t know her surname to find her.
Although I can understand that urgent business makes demands on a man, I can’t understand why Alexander hasn’t communicated with anyone. He’s in danger of losing his job. The accounts officer says we can’t hold out for him much longer and another clerk may need to be recruited to fill his position.
I wondered if Alexander had fallen dangerously ill and been unable to summon help for himself. In desperation yesterday, I made a report to the local police station. After hearing my concerns, a constable agreed to break into Alexander’s flat. Although I was relieved not to find Alexander there seriously unwell (or worse), I was also bitterly disappointed that there was no sign of him. The flat was neat and tidy, as if Alexander had merely just walked out of it. His bicycle was propped against the wall in the hallway.
I don’t suppose there’s much more anyone can do about it now. Perhaps Alexander’s family is concerned about him too. I am watching the building which houses his flat like a hawk, hoping I shall catch sight of them or other friends who are concerned about him.
I’m sorry to trouble you with this strange tale, Louisa. I hope that when I see you next, I will have joyful news regarding Alexander Miller.
Soon it will be the one-year anniversary of your marriage. I shall endeavour to put myself in a happier mood before I call on you and Simon to celebrate the happy occasion!
Your loving brother,
John
Chapter 3
Augusta went into the shop and read the letter to Fred.
‘What an intriguing story,’ he said when she had finished. ‘I wonder if Alexander was ever found?’
‘I wonder that too.’
‘And the date on the letter is 1911? Ten years ago. The mystery must have been solved by now.’
‘I hope so. And I hope it was good news. I don’t know what the letter was doing in the book. Maybe it was used as a bookmark.’
‘That’s the most likely explanation. And the woman it’s addressed to is presumably the person who left the box of books on the doorstep.’
‘It could be the same person, couldn’t it? Her name is Louisa.’ Augusta looked at the envelope again. ‘Her surname is Bradshaw, and she lives at 35 Oxford Gardens in Notting Hill. Or she did when her brother John wrote to her. She could have changed address since then.’
‘We could check the directory to see if Mr and Mrs Bradshaw are still listed at the same place. I pass Holborn Library on my walk home, I can check the directory in there if you like.’
‘Thank you, Fred, that would be helpful. And if Louisa Bradshaw is still there, I can call on her and offer her payment for the books. I can also ask her what happened to Alexander Miller.’
‘I’m trying to think of reasons why he could have gone missing,’ said Fred. ‘Perhaps he witnessed a terrible crime and had to be protected from the people who committed it. His life could have been in danger, so he had to leave everything and move elsewhere without telling anyone.’
‘That’s an interesting idea, Fred. It sounds like a good story for a novel too. I’d like to read that book.’
‘Or perhaps he had a forbidden love and the pair of them eloped without a word to anyone.’
‘Goodness, that could be possible, couldn’t it?’
‘Or he had an accident, hit his head and lost his memory. Then he lay in a hospital somewhere where no one knew anything about him.’
‘His family would have found him in the end.’
‘Perhaps that’s what happened. Or he never recovered from the accident and had to be put in an institution.’
‘You have a lot of ideas about this, Fred.’
‘I’m worried he had an accident now. And maybe it was near water. If he fell into a river, a canal, or a lake in one of the parks, then he may have never resurfaced.’
‘That’s a sad thought. I really hope it didn’t happen. I like to think he turned up again safe and well.’
‘I hope so too.’
‘With a bit of luck, we can find Louisa Bradshaw and she can tell us.’
Chapter 4
‘The mysterious case of Alexander Miller,’ said Philip once Augusta had read the letter to him.
He and Augusta sat in a pair of easy chairs which he had recently purchased for his new office. The room was a little less spartan now. There was a rug on the floor and a couple of prints on the walls which showed London scenes. Since setting himself up as a private detective, Philip had worked on a handful of cases and his office now felt like a proper workplace. He had even earned enough to have his own telephone installed.
‘I’m planning to ask Mrs Bradshaw what became of Alexander Miller,’ said Augusta.
‘I might have guessed you already had plans to look into it,’ said Philip with a smile.
