‘So you had the pleasure of meeting Inspector Whitman of D Division,’ said Philip when Augusta told him and Fred about her afternoon. ‘You did well to get some information from him.’
‘He wasn’t keen about it.’
‘I’m not surprised. The man is bone idle. I’ve no idea how he made inspector.’
‘I think it’s very sad John Gibson died in an accident at Baker Street station,’ said Fred.
‘Yes, it’s tragic,’ said Augusta. ‘And I’ve been thinking about it on my journey back here. How does someone manage to accidentally fall in front of a train? Louisa Bradshaw told me the platform was busy at the time and her brother lost his footing. But would someone really walk precariously close to the edge of the platform when it’s crowded?’
‘I wouldn’t,’ said Fred.
‘Me neither.’
‘It can happen,’ said Philip. ‘Or perhaps he jumped deliberately?’
‘Mrs Bradshaw said it was an accident.’
‘Perhaps it was. But some people can struggle to accept a family member would purposefully end their life. Perhaps Mrs Bradshaw wants to believe it was an accident.’
‘There must have been an inquest,’ said Augusta. ‘The coroner would have delivered a verdict.’
‘And if the verdict was an accident, what then?’ said Philip.
‘I’d like to find out more about the circumstances of the accident,’ said Augusta. ‘Was there an opportunity for someone to push Mr Gibson onto the railway line and make it look like an accident? Picture a crowded platform at a tube station and it’s easy to imagine how that could have been done.’
‘So you think John Gibson could have been murdered?’ said Philip.
‘It’s a possibility, isn’t it? And Alexander Miller could have been murdered too. Someone could have got rid of the pair of them.’
‘But just a moment,’ said Philip. ‘For all we know, Alexander Miller is alive and well somewhere.’
‘His sister should be able to tell me.’
‘If you can find her. You have an address for her in Camden from ten years ago.’
‘There’s no harm in seeing if she’s still there.’
‘Very well.’ Philip pinched his brow. ‘But are you sure about this Augusta? You appear to be jumping to the worst possible conclusion about the fate of Alexander Miller and John Gibson. Perhaps there’s nothing to discover? Maybe Alexander turned up again and John was a bit clumsy on a crowded tube platform. I think you’re at risk of putting quite a lot of work into something which is…’
‘What?’
‘Something which is…. nothing after all. And these events happened in 1911.’
‘I don’t mind helping,’ said Fred. ‘I can look in the newspaper archive at the library and see if there are any reports on John Gibson’s inquest.’
‘That would be very helpful, Fred,’ said Augusta.
Philip groaned and shook his head. ‘Look at the influence you have, Augusta. You’ve even got Fred doing some sleuthing now.’
Augusta and Fred exchanged a smile.
‘So what would you do about this case, Philip?’ Augusta asked.
‘Case? I don’t think it can be called that yet. You’ve got a man who went missing but may have turned up again. And another man who died in an accident. The two men were friends, but there’s nothing to suggest the accident was connected to the disappearance. It’s not really a case.’
‘So you would forget about it?’
‘Personally I would. But you found the letter, Augusta, so I suppose that’s piqued your interest. And I know what you’re like. You don’t stop until you find an answer. So…’
‘I’m wasting my time?’
‘Possibly.’ He smiled. ‘Or possibly not.’
Chapter 8
The following morning, Augusta travelled by tube to Camden. The address for Alexander Miller’s sister was a small, terraced house on a scruffy, narrow street situated between a railway line and the Regent’s Canal.
‘They moved,’ said the sallow-faced woman who answered the door.
‘Do you know where to?’ Augusta asked.
‘Baker Street.’
‘Do you know which number?’
‘No.’
The door was closed on her.
