Ellis Estate
Spring 1900
Harry stood in the gazebo and watched Thomas Sullivan as he set up his camera in the library. He shoved his hands in his trousers pockets and looked away as he saw Arthur Conan Doyle walking across the grounds.
"I'm surprised you're still here, Mr Houdini," Doyle said and stopped just outside the gazebo.
Harry grinned and looked down from his slight height advantage. "I talked Mrs Ellis into letting me stay. She's a smart woman for all that she's willing to give money to a leech like Sullivan." Harry glared at the library windows again and Doyle turned to look as well.
"You can't know what he's doing is fake," Doyle gently admonished. "Photography is still a relatively new science, maybe he really has come up with a special coating that lets his camera take spirit photos."
Harry shook his head in disgust. "First of all that's not how science works. Others have to be able to duplicate your results. Secondly, how many scientists do you know that would believe in spirits anyway?" Harry stepped out of the gazebo and wandered down to the river.
"Alfred Russel Wallace," Doyle said and followed Harry.
"What?" Harry asked.
"You wanted to know a scientist that believed in the existence of the spirit world. Alfred Russel Wallace, he's a naturalist and published his ideas on natural selection the same time as Mr Darwin."
"That doesn't mean Sullivan isn't a fraud. I've seen these sorts of tricks before." Harry walked along the river bank, glancing between the water and the man keeping pace beside him.
"So you said."
"Your friend is going to get hurt, Mr Doyle. Sullivan will either conveniently not be able to take a picture of her dead loved one; or, even worse, he will fake something together and string the poor woman's grief along for as much money as he can get from her. I've seen it done before."
"Doctor, actually," Doyle corrected with a slight smile.
"What?" Harry asked with a puzzle look.
"I'm a medical doctor."
"OK, Doctor Doyle, you're friend is going to get hurt." A tree blocked Houdini's path and he turned and followed the bank back toward the house. "You said it yourself, photography is still new. That means people can be easily fooled by it. I'm sure Sullivan's photographic plates are very special, just not for the reasons you think. He could be doing anything to those plates, who would know?"
"I don't believe this is the only plane of existence," Doyle explained as they left the river and walked back to the house. "There is something else out there. Mr Sullivan has shown me other photos he's taken of spirits. They seem genuine to me."
Harry shook his head and started to argue but was stopped as they were joined by Mrs Ellis.
"Dear Arthur," Mrs Ellis greeted them near the gazebo. "Mr Sullivan wants to try taking some pictures outside tomorrow, near the river." She swallowed and looked away from the water. "But he needs to check his camera for outdoor work or some such. Can we borrow you for a moment?"
Doyle glanced at Mrs Ellis then at Sullivan setting up his camera near the front steps. "Borrow me?"
"Yes. He needs someone to be in the picture."
Harry stood back and grinned as Doyle was shepherded up the steps to stand by the front door.
"Thanks a lot, Doctor Doyle," Sullivan said to Arthur. "If you could just take off your hat, please?"
Harry crossed his arms and stood to one side watching as Doyle pulled off his hat and looked self-consciously at the camera. His humor however was short-lived.
"Hey, Mr Houdini," Sullivan called, "I can kill two birds here if you want to be in the picture, too. I can get an idea how you photograph now and we won't have to do this next week."
Harry shook his head. "I think I'll pass, Sullivan. I'm sure Mrs Ellis would much rather have a picture with just the Doc here in it."
"Doctor Doyle," Doyle growled from the steps.
"Nonsense, Mr Houdini," Mrs Ellis said and took Harry's arm. "You've invaded my house, the least you can do is make yourself useful."
Harry was positioned next to Doyle and both men stood, unsmiling, as Sullivan manipulated the glass plate into the camera.
"You'll need to remain still for several seconds," Sullivan said and clicked open the camera shutter. A few seconds later he said, "All done!" and Harry and Doyle moved off the steps.
"Twenty bucks says there's no spirit in the photo," Harry whispered to Doyle with a grin.
"Someday, Mr Houdini you will see there is more to this world than what you can touch and see."
Harry chuckled and wandered back out to the river.
London
January 1902
Harry straddled a chair with his arms resting on the back as he held the picture of himself and Doyle standing on the Ellis front steps. He listened with half an ear to the chatter of bobbies sharing information and Adelaide directing new lines of investigation. So far they only had a series of dead ends.
"We need to know what was in that box," Adelaide said with a sigh as she sat opposite Harry.
Houdini nodded and dropped the picture. "Doyle did his best yesterday to make Ellis understand that," Harry reassured.
An officer Harry didn't know came up to Adelaide's desk and handed her a note. "My sergeant, said to tell you good hunting, ma'am," the officer said before he saluted and left.
"We may have another lead," Adelaide said and held up the piece of paper. "I think we found Mister Jonathan."
Harry glanced up.
"Jonathan Butler. He runs several businesses down near the docks. The local police have been watching him for months, but they've never been able to prove any case against him." Adelaide took her hat from a peg near her desk and expertly pinned it in place. "Let's see if we have any better luck."
H&DH&DH&DH&D
Harry looked around the office they entered with interest. It was a large room with a desk in front of one wall lined with bookcases near a window that looked out at the docks. A pair of comfortable chairs grouped around a table sat near a fireplace. The walls were papered with a bold pattern of swirls and flowing shapes, the floors were polished wood. Harry thought it came off more as garish as opposed to the settled wealth he assumed it was supposed to instill.
Jonathan Butler was a large, loud, boisterous man of about fifty. His dark hair was conservatively greased and his moustache was equally well groomed. His dark blue suit spoke of money and he laughed a great deal about nothing though the humor never reached his eyes. He smiled condescendingly at Adelaide as she introduced herself and studied Harry with interest as she explained who he was and why they were there.
"Thank you for seeing us," Adelaide stated as Butler directed her to one of the comfortable chairs away from the desk. Butler himself took the other while Harry chose to stand slightly behind the constable's chair. He had the distinct feeling he was being watched and kept his hands loose at his sides ready for anything.
"Anything I can do to help the Metropolitan Police, Constable Stratton. Poor Tommy-boy." Butler shook his head.
"What can you tell us about his business, Mr Butler?" Adelaide asked as she took out a pad of paper and a pen. "We were led to understand you were instrumental is setting him up in his photography business."
"Really? Who told you that?" he asked and his eyes hardened slightly even as he tried to smile.
Adelaide glanced up. "From his sister. She was very appreciative of how you tried to help her brother."
Butler relaxed, nodded, and leant back in his chair. "Very true, very true," Butler said and laughed again. "He was a useful young man. He was eager to get ahead in this world and when he showed me some pictures he'd taken with this old battered camera he'd found, I offered to help him out."
"Why?" Harry asked and crossed his arms over his chest.
"Pardon?" Butler said and looked up at him with a frown.
"Why help this guy?" Harry clarified. "What did you get out of it."
Butler laughed. "You are a suspicious one, Mr Houdini," Butler said but Harry could tell the humor was forced. "Tommy reminded me of me when I was that age. We're both Irish which means no one will lift a finger to help you, you have to scrape and pinch your way through life. I knew that feeling well and wanted to help him. He'd been loyal to me, I could see the potential in him even if no one else would bother to look."
"So you did what exactly to help him?" Adelaide asked.
"I invested in him," Butler explained with another laugh. "I knew a man looking to rent out a small office space and put them in touch. I also bought Tommy's camera and chemicals with the understanding he would pay back the loan over time."
"So this was just a straightforward loan?" Adelaide asked.
"Well," Butler said and leant forward. "I did get access to a very good photographer for a few projects I had," he finished in a conspiratorial whisper. He pushed back into his chair and laughed again. "Come now, Constable. I'm a businessman. Tommy was a good investment, nothing more."
There was a knock at the office door and Butler commanded, "Enter."
A burly, redheaded man with a crooked nose entered the room and gave Butler a note. Butler read the note quickly, glanced at Adelaide and said, "I'll be right there to deal with it. Go."
Butler crumpled up the note as the red haired man left the room. "I'm sorry, Constable. There's a problem needing my attention at one of the warehouses. If there are no other questions …?"
"Were you aware Thomas Sullivan was stealing from his photography clients, Mr Butler?" Adelaide asked.
Butler didn't betray anything in his face, but his hand tightened slightly on the wadded note. "I'm sorry to hear that, Constable. I had no idea. Like I said before he showed a promising talent for photography and I offered to help him with that." Butler stood from his chair and waited.
Adelaide slowly put her pad and pen back in a pocket as she stood as well. "Thank you, Mr Butler for your assistance. I'll be in touch if I think of any other questions."
Adelaide led the way out of the office and Harry followed behind glancing around as he did so, the feeling of being watched still nagging at him.
"Well, there's nothing suspicious going on there," he said sarcastically as they walked back up to the main road.
"Agreed," Adelaide said. "But we have the same problem as the local station, proving it." She stopped and looked around for a cab. "We really need to know what was in that box we found."
"Hopefully, something from Mr Ellis will be waiting when we get back," Harry said and flagged down a cab.
H&DH&DH&DH&D
Doyle looked out the stained glass window in Touie's room as Doctor Biggs finished the latest round of injections. He could hear the doctor scratching out notes as he sat at the desk. The woman lying in the bed was as still and unresponsive as ever and Doyle wasn't sure how much longer he could stand it.
"I have one last set of injections scheduled for this evening, Doctor Doyle," Biggs said from the desk.
Doyle walked over to the bed, sat in the chair and took his wife's hand. "Is there any change at all?" he asked in a low voice.
Biggs said nothing for a few moments, then Doyle heard the scraping of the desk chair. "Not yet," Biggs said as he came up to the end of the bed. "It may take some more time."
"Time, right," Doyle mumbled. He abruptly stood and paced back to the window. "How much more time, Doctor?" he asked his voice an angry hiss. "Is this working or am I just torturing her and me with this treatment? I expected to see some sort of improvement at least even if she wasn't completely conscious."
Biggs held up his hands palms out. "I know this is frustrating, but I told you at the start of this it would take time and your wife's case was rather unique in some ways," Biggs placated.
"Is it working?" Doyle demanded.
Biggs took a step back and dropped his hands. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "Usually there are some definite signs of improvement by the third day. This time … ."
A nurse entered the room and glanced around. Once she found Doyle she walked over to him with a note in hand. She gave him the note, nodded to Doctor Biggs, and left.
Arthur read the brief note quickly then folded it and tucked it in the pocket of his waistcoat. He needed to go, he knew that, but at the moment he just didn't care about Adelaide's case or solving a murder. He walked back to the bed and knelt beside it instead.
Biggs, he noted, took advantage of the timely interruption by the nurse and quietly left the room.
"You are my world," he whispered to Touie as he held her hand. "I'm not sure what I would do without you, you know. Who would laugh at my jokes?" He brushed a hand lightly through her hair. "Please come back to me, my love." He brushed a kiss against Touie's forehead and slowly stood.
Doctor Perlow was waiting on the landing as Doyle came out of the hospital room. "Arthur," he started to say.
"I'll be back in time for the last series of injections," Doyle said and started for the stairs.
"Arthur, wait, please," Doctor Perlow said.
Doyle ducked his head, but stopped walking.
"I want you to know I think the treatments are working," Doctor Perlow said. "Doctor Biggs isn't as familiar with Mrs Doyle's case as I am. I do see some signs of improvement. Even if she never fully wakes …"
Doyle hissed in a breath.
"I think we are doing good with this," Perlow finished. "It's just going to take -"
"Time, yes so I keep being told," Doyle said and gripped his hat a little tighter. "Thank you for telling me."
He walked out of the grounds and along the main street looking for a cab to take him to August Ellis' townhouse.
H&DH&DH&DH&D
William opened the door and greeted Doyle with a note. "I've been authorized to give you this, sir," William said as he handed over the note. "Mr Ellis prefers not to be disturbed at this time, however."
Doyle read the note and looked up. "Do you know what this is about, William?"
"I do, sir."
"Is there anything else you can tell me about it?" Doyle asked as he pocketed the note.
"As I recall the pieces in question were part of a set belonging to Mrs Ellis' grandmother. The settings are of a heavy silver, sir."
"Thank you, William. Please let Ellis know I'll be in touch if we find anything."
"Sir -"
"I'll be in touch," Doyle said forcefully.
"Very good, sir." William replied and closed the door.
The cab was still waiting at the curb and Doyle climbed back in as he gave the driver the address for Scotland Yard.
He walked into the station only to find Harry and Adelaide were out so he wandered over to the worktable and sifted through the evidence they'd discovered so far. He was surprised to find the picture of himself and Harry and sat in Houdini's abandoned chair as the memories flooded back.
Ellis Estate
Spring 1900
Doyle sat near the window in the library and smoked his pipe as he enjoyed the view. The sunlight sparkled off the river as a pair of birds built a nest in the trees behind the gazebo. The day had passed in relative peace, in no small part as it appeared Mr Houdini had been out all day on an errand.
His attention shifted as he watched as Thomas Sullivan and Hazel Ellis walked out near the gazebo, Sullivan carried his camera gear and tripod while Mrs Ellis constantly brushed her hair out of her eyes from the light breeze. Sullivan situated Hazel with her back to the river and he took a few pictures of her in various poses. Every time Sullivan changed out a plate in the camera, Doyle could see Hazel glance furtively at the water and shudder.
"Are you sure you need to take pictures near the water, Mr Sullivan?" Hazel had asked the night before at dinner. "I can't bear to look at that river you know."
"I am sorry, Mrs Ellis," Sullivan had said even as he charmed her into doing what he wanted. "I know it's hard, but your Emily may linger there as well as in parts of the house. Spirits are tied to the place where they … passed … you know."
Doyle had heard Houdini growl low in his throat, but the younger man held his tongue and his temper as the dinner conversation shifted to other topics.
As he watched the photography session now, he couldn't help but remember Houdini's words about Hazel being hurt by the photographer. It was obvious she didn't want to even look at the river where her daughter had drowned, but Sullivan had pushed and gently prodded until Mrs Ellis gave in. They had compromised on the gazebo as Hazel had absolutely refused to go anywhere near the water's edge.
He heard the distant sound of the front door opening and a few minutes later grimaced as Houdini wandered into the library with a packet under his arm.
"Oh, you came back," Doyle said with sarcastic disappointment as the other man sat in the chair opposite and laid his packet on the table between them.
"You didn't think you could get rid of me that easily did you, Doc?" Houdini asked with a cheerful grin.
"I did have high hopes," Doyle returned as he tapped out his pipe into the crystal ash tray near his elbow. "And it's Doctor Doyle."
Houdini chuckled as he emptied the packet on the table. Doyle was shocked to see the envelope contained several dozen pictures, roughly four inches by six inches, each one of a different person with some sort of filmy figure nearby. "Where did you get these?" Doyle asked as he picked up one of the pictures.
"I went into town," Houdini explained as he looked through the images and sorted them into various piles. "These were all in a drawer in Sullivan's desk," he finished nonchalantly.
Doyle dropped the picture as if it had burned him and stood up. "You admit you broke into Mr Sullivan's place of business and stole these?" he asked angrily.
Harry glanced up at Doyle. "Yes," he replied with no sense of guilt or remorse. "Now would you like to know what I suspect he's doing? Or would you rather he goes on emotionally blackmailing your friend out there never mind the money he's stealing as a result of his con." Harry pointed out the window where Doyle could see Hazel seated in the gazebo as Sullivan set up his camera just outside the little wooden structure.
"You can prove he's not a genuine spirit photographer?" Doyle asked and hesitated a moment before he sat down again and looked at the various piles of photos.
Houdini studied his face for a moment then calmly said, "Yes, I think I can. I talked to several photographers in town and asked how you would go about adding something to a picture and how you would be able to tell if an image had been altered."
"It must be extremely difficult to do," Doyle mused as he picked up a few more of the pictures.
Harry snorted, "Actually, it's disgustingly easy."
He picked up a picture of what looked to be a street scene with a woman standing in front of a building with the ghostly shape a child seated at her feet. "This one for example," he said as he handed over the image, "You think you're seeing a woman and the ghost of her dead son. Actually, the kid was probably sitting there when the exposure started and he simply got up and left before the camera was finished with the exposure. Remember the other day? Sullivan said we couldn't move while he took that picture near the front door? This is why."
Arthur studied the picture for several moments. The image of the child did look spectral in nature to him, but he also knew Houdini could be right, the child simply wandered away. "That's one picture …"
Houdini held up another half-dozen images. "According to those photographers I spoke to, all of these are probably from someone entering or leaving the frame while the camera was open for an exposure."
Doyle glanced out the window as Mrs Ellis walked past the window; he looked back at the gazebo and saw Sullivan lingered at the back of the little structure. Doyle assumed he needed to adjust something on his camera as a few minutes later he joined Mrs Ellis in the rose garden on the far side of the house. "And these?" he asked as he turned back to Houdini and pointed to another of the piles.
Houdini sorted through the pile and picked up a photo of a couple with what appeared to be a woman floating between them. "Someone walking into a picture could be an innocent mistake. These are the obvious fakes," Harry said and Doyle was surprised to see how angry the younger man appeared to be as he picked over the images.
"These people," he said and held up the photo of the couple, "Probably lost their daughter somehow and instead of being allowed to grieve and move on, Sullivan convinced them she was still with them, hovering around them." Harry stood and started to pace.
Doyle looked at the picture. "It does appear the young woman is in the picture with her parents," he said hesitantly.
"You'd think so, wouldn't you. Except she's not." Houdini stopped at Doyle's side and poked the picture angrily. "Photographers call this a double exposure. Sullivan took a blurry picture of some random woman, used the same plate to take the picture of the parents then developed the double image in such a way the first image looks like a ghost." Houdini slapped the photograph back on the table. "That's deliberate," he growled. "Nothing more than a con." He paced away from the table. "Who knows how long those people were strung along. And when they finally realized the truth, if they realized the truth, the pain of the loss hit them all over again."
Arthur carefully put the picture back on the pile and sighed. "I can understand your anger, Mr Houdini, and if these truly are tricks of the photographer's art, then I share it. But you haven't proven that Mr Sullivan is faking the pictures he's taking here. He's been here almost a week and he hasn't shown Mrs Ellis any pictures of her daughter, even though he's made at least one trip into town to develop his images."
Houdini sat back down and leant back in his chair. He stared out the window for a moment and Doyle watched as the anger faded. "Did you know Mrs Ellis' daughter," he asked quietly and turned back to Arthur.
Arthur was surprised at the change in Houdini's mood but replied, "Yes I did. Emily was a playmate of my daughter, Mary."
"So you would recognize her if you saw a picture of her."
"I would think so, yes. Why do you ask?"
Harry hesitated then pulled a picture out of his breast pocket and tossed it on the table. "I found this in his developing room."
Doyle picked up the picture and hissed in a breath. In the picture, Mrs Ellis sat at the piano in the sitting room and what looked to be a young girl hovered next to her.
"Is that Emily Ellis, Doctor Doyle?" Harry asked, and Doyle could tell the other man was working to hold in his temper.
"It certainly looks like it could be her," Doyle answered. "The hair is close to Emily's and the face is the right shape. I couldn't say anything about the dress, but I think I remember her wearing something like it. It's truly an amazing picture." Doyle glanced at the picture with a tiny smile.
"It's a doll," Harry said flatly.
Doyle looked up with a start. "What?" He gazed at the picture again.
Houdini took a folded sheet of paper from his pocket. "It's a doll," he said again and slapped a catalog advertisement on the table. "I'm not sure if he has the actual doll somewhere and took a picture of it, or if he used the advertisement, but it's just a doll. You expect to see Emily Ellis so your mind tells you that's what's in the picture."
Arthur took the advertisement and compared the image of the doll to the picture of Mrs Ellis. He saw the resemblance immediately. "All right, you've convinced me. What do we do about it?" He set the photo and the advertisement to one side and listened as Mrs Ellis and Sullivan returned to the house.
"August is supposed to be back tonight," Doyle mused. "Mrs Ellis will be devastated."
Harry stood, gathered up the pictures, and put them back in the envelope. He put the so-called spirit photo and advertisement back in his breast pocket. "We expose him as the fraud he really is. She needs to know the truth before he hurts her any more."
London
January 1902
"Back again?" Harry asked and Doyle looked up to find Houdini and Adelaide standing near the table. "How's Touie?"
Doyle put down the picture of himself and Harry and replied, "Doctor Perlow thinks he sees some improvement."
"That's good news," Adelaide said and squeezed Doyle's arm.
Arthur smiled at her. "Yes, it is."
"So what brings you by, Doc?" Harry asked as he glanced over at Arthur.
"I had a note from August Ellis," Doyle said and pulled the note from Ellis out of his pocket. "Ellis is sure a necklace and set of earrings is missing." He handed the note to Adelaide.
"According to this, the pieces are nearly one hundred years old," she said and read the description aloud. "A diamond necklace set with several emeralds and matching diamond earrings."
"Yes," Doyle said. "William told me the setting is heavy silver as well, so I would think any decent thief would break up the pieces, melt the settings for the silver and sell the stones off separately."
Adelaide nodded and sat at her desk. She wrote out several notes and gave them to a boy waiting nearby. "Deliver each note and leave," she told the boy. "If any of them have something to tell me, they know how to reach me." The boy nodded, took the notes and ran from the station.
"Want to share the plan with the rest of us?" Harry asked as he watched the boy dodge a couple bobbies standing outside near the station door.
"I know a few people who might be able to help us," Adelaide explained. "You remember Fip?"
Harry grinned. "You know fences, too? What would Chief Merring say if he knew?"
"Where do you think I got the idea?" she replied cheekily and turned to an officer standing at the table with a box in his arms.
"This is the last box we could find, ma'am," Hopkins said and set the small, dusty box on the table. "The lady of the house doesn't think there's anything else."
"What's this?" Doyle asked as he opened the flaps of the box and looked inside. He started pulling out dozens of pictures and Harry cleared a fresh space on the table for them.
"It looks like every picture Sullivan ever took," Adelaide said as she picked up a few of the pictures.
"I wonder if this is what he was looking for in his sister's house," Harry mused. "He took the few pictures he could find and stashed them at the rooming house. My guess is he planned to go back and look for this as well, he just never got the chance."
Adelaide shrugged and put the pictures down. "Maybe. We have no idea what he was looking for, though. There's no way to know what pictures he wanted or what he planned to do with them."
Sergeant Gudgett stepped up to the table and poked a finger into the box of photographs. "Merring wants an update," he said and turned for the Chief's office.
"So will he be happy we have a good suspect or mad once he realizes we can't prove anything?" Harry asked no one in particular in a low voice as the trio entered Merring's domain.
Adelaide entered first and stood in front of Merring's desk, Doyle and Harry stood behind her.
"Well?" Merring grunted as Doyle closed the door.
"As we suspected," Adelaide reported, "Thomas Sullivan was involved in an extensive theft ring. We have information from about twenty of his previous clients who have reported everything from jewelry, to rare books, to gold coins and cash missing. Most of the items were stored in wall safes and rarely used so the thefts went unnoticed for years."
"How can we prove it was Sullivan and not someone else if so much time has passed, then?" Merring looked from one to the next.
"It's too much of a coincidence that all of them were his clients, sir. He had to be involved. There is also the note he wrote to remind himself to check the safe in the Ellis house."
"That's not good enough, Constable," Merring growled. "There is no way that sort of evidence will stand up in court."
"How about this," Harry said and stepped closer to the desk. "He was working for Jonathan Butler."
"Butler? You know this?" Merring sat up at his desk a predatory gleam in his eye.
"He admitted setting Sullivan up as a photographer," Harry explained. "It's not that hard to assume it was in order for Sullivan to case houses."
"So they knew each other," Merring mused. "It's still circumstantial at best, Constable. You're going to have to prove Butler had possession of something stolen from one of Sullivan's clients to make it stick."
"We may have a way to do that, sir," Adelaide said with a small smile. "Mr Ellis described a necklace and earrings that belonged to his wife, that are missing. It's probable that's what was in the small box Mr Houdini and I found out at the Ellis estate a few days ago. I'm looking into it now to see if anyone has tried to sell the pieces Mr Ellis described."
"Then I suggest you get some answers quickly. The press is starting to nose around. They've had wind of something up with regards to what was supposed to be a simple murder. I want to have something ready to tell them when they start asking questions."
"Yes, sir," Adelaide replied and turned to the door.
"And Constable," Merring said from his desk.
"Yes, sir?"
"Good work."
Adelaide beamed and nodded her head. "Thank you, sir."
"That's a first," Harry commented as they left the office. "Did he just congratulate us?"
"No," Doyle replied with a smile. "He congratulated Adelaide."
"Well, we helped," Harry countered as they stopped at Adelaide's desk.
"There's not much we can really do until I hear back from my contacts," Adelaide said as she sat at her desk.
"We may as well start sorting through the photographs, then," Doyle said and reached for the box.
Harry backed away from the table. "I should probably get over to the theater," he said and took his topcoat from the hook near Adelaide's desk. "You guys got this, right?" He didn't really wait for an answer before he turned and left the station.
Doyle shook his head and turned back to the box. "How do you want to arrange these, Constable?" he asked as he pulled a stack of images from the box. Most of them were of people, some outside, but most taken in various rooms or what looked like a photography studio. There were a few street scenes and pictures of the shipping at the Wapping Dock.
"You don't have to stay, Doctor Doyle," Adelaide told him. "You should go be with your wife."
"Doctor Biggs has scheduled the last set of injections for a few hours from now. I may as well try to be useful in the meantime." Doyle took another handful of pictures from the box and started looking through them.
A few minutes later a grubby boy wove his way past bobbies and stood at Adelaide's desk. He handed her a note and waited. She glanced at the note and handed the boy a coin.
Once the boy was gone she said, "We have a lead. One of my contacts thinks he knows about the necklace and earrings."
Doyle dropped his handful of photos back in the box. "After you, Constable." Doyle picked up his hat and followed Adelaide out of the station and down to the subway.
H&DH&DH&DH&D
Adelaide led the way down a narrow alley and down a set of steps to a basement office. The single window was barred and the door had an impressive amount of locks.
"Your contact takes his security seriously, I see," Doyle said as Adelaide pounded on the door.
"You have no idea. Make sure your hands are visible at all times," she advised as a narrow slot opened at roughly eye-level in the door.
"Stratton," she said and the slot slammed shut.
A few seconds later she heard the locks turning and the door opened a crack. "Who's that?" a baritone voice demanded and a finger pointed at Doyle.
"I'm -" Doyle started to say but Adelaide interrupted.
"He's no one you need to worry about, Jake," she said and glanced back up the stairs. "You said you had information for me."
"Fine," Jake said after another hesitation and opened the door wider. Adelaide walked in followed by Doyle who took his hat off and held it by the brim with both hands.
The room was a surprise given the outside of the building. It was tastefully papered and one wall was lined with book shelves. Adelaide watched as Doyle wandered over to the books and glanced at the titles. He started to reach for one of the volumes, then stopped himself and turned back to the man at desk.
Jake was as much a shock as the room. He was about thirty-five years old, clean shaven and his suit was well tailored. His black hair was neatly styled to the latest trend and Adelaide knew from experience he could walk down most of the well-to-do streets in London and never get a suspicious look.
"What can you tell me about the necklace and earrings," Adelaide asked as Jake sat behind a desk. Adelaide was sure he had some sort of weapon waiting in case he needed it.
"We can be civilized, Constable," Jake said. "Would you care for tea?" He pointed at a tea service situated on a table to his left, his other hand remained conveniently out of sight.
"I think we'll be fine, Jake," Adelaide said. "Do you have something for me or not."
"Very well," Jake said with a sigh. "Yes, I know about the necklace. A beautiful piece and a fine example of the Georgian style. The silver alone is worth a small fortune."
"So it's been melted down then?" Doyle asked with a frown.
"Probably, but I can't say for sure. The … gentleman wishing to sell it refused my offer."
"Who else would deal with a piece like that?" Adelaide asked.
"I really couldn't say, Constable Stratton. Oh any junk dealer would try, but not many could offer close to what the piece is worth and no one will give the … gentleman a price any better than mine. There's just not the demand at the moment for silver."
"So it might still be intact," Doyle said and glanced at Adelaide.
"If you are looking to purchase an item, I have several of equal quality you might be interested in," Jake offered and looked over at Doyle with mild interest.
Doyle frowned. "No, I don't think so."
"Suit yourself," Jake said and turned back to Adelaide. "Was there anything else you wanted to know, Constable?"
"What did this … gentleman wanting to sell look like, Jake?"
"Ahh now that is the question isn't it. And that answer will cost you the usual fee I think."
"This better be worth it, Jake," Adelaide said as she pulled a £10 note from her pocket.
"Satisfaction guaranteed, Constable. The man you're looking for is rather tall, with shocking red hair. He has a crooked nose and wears a ridiculous bowler hat that is at least a size too small for his head. He can usually be found near a certain area of the docks and goes by the name Red, for obvious reasons."
Adelaide handed over the money and worked to keep the elation off her face. "You've been of some help, Jake. Thank you."
"Not at all, dear Constable. I'm always willing to do my part to assist law enforcement. As long as it doesn't interfere with my other … shall we say, interests."
Adelaide rolled her eyes and waited as Jake stood from the desk and escorted them back to the door.
"You're sure I can't interest you in something?" he asked Doyle as they left.
"No, I really don't think so," he replied with a nervous smile. Jake shrugged in return and closed the door. Adelaide heard the locks click back into place.
"You must know this person he described?" Doyle asked once they were back on the street and headed for the subway.
"Yes, Harry and I saw him the other day. In Jonathan Butler's office."
"So this man works for -"
"Our main suspect, yes." Adelaide sat on one of the benches as the train started to move.
"What's to stop this Jake from telling anyone who asks about our meeting?" Doyle asked as he sat next to her.
"The £10," Adelaide answered. "Jake has played both sides for years. Everyone knows it, but he has a reputation for keeping his various interests separate. He's also completely ruthless. There have been a few stabbings over the years he was suspected of committing, but we never could prove it. Rest assured, if he'd actually bought the necklace from this Red person, he never would have told us a thing."