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and no outstanding debts. Now that Mrs. Mu-

ran is dead, they’ll probably be dozens of hands reaching

for that prize.”

62

Emily Brightwell

“Was she the sole owner?” Smythe asked.

Blimpey nodded. “That she was, and she refused to sell

because she felt the company had a responsibility to its

workers. Once someone else acquires the company, I’ve no

doubt that will change as well.”

“You’re sure Mr. Muran is going to sell?”

Blimpey shrugged. “Why wouldn’t he? It isn’t his company, and he’s not a businessman.”

“So he didn’t ’ave anything to do with the business?”

Smythe said.

“No, it was hers and she was the one that had all the say

so in how it was run.”

“What did Keith Muran do before he married?” Smythe

asked curiously.

“He didn’t do much of anything.” Blimpey grinned. “In

other words, he was an English gentleman. His family was

old money, but they lost most of it. He inherited a bit of lolly

from his mother’s people—not enough to make much of a

splash in society, but enough to live comfortably without

havin’ to rely on the sweat of ’is brow. Muran was married

before. His first wife died and he probably got a bit from

her.”

“So he’s got two dead wives,” Smythe muttered. “And

both of them had money.”

“Lots of people have been married more than once and

lots of people inherit from their spouses. It’s actually quite

common, Smythe. Besides, I’ve got it on good authority that

he loved both women.”

Smythe snorted. “Despite your colorful occupation,

Blimpey, you’re a bit of a romantic. In my experience,

there are plenty of people that have helped put their nearest

and dearest into an early grave.”

“That’s true as well,” Blimpey said. “But in my view,

Keith Muran’s no better or worse than anyone else of his

class. He’s spent most of his days being a gentleman of

leisure. Goes to his club, sails, and spends his evenings

making the social rounds. God knows how he ended up with

Mrs. Jeffries Appeals the Verdict

63

Caroline Merriman. She’s not his sort at all, but by all accounts, the marriage was happy and both of them were certainly old enough to know their minds.”

“Not all of us marry when we’re young.” Smythe spoke

carefully to avoid stepping on any toes; Blimpey was no

spring chicken and he’d been wed for just a year now.

“No, some of us have the good sense to wait until we

find the right woman.” Blimpey drained his glass. “If I were

you, I’d take a look at John Addison. Seems to me his

comin’ to London when he did was a bit too coincidental.”

“Is there anyone else I ought to look at?” Smythe finished his own beer.

Blimpey thought for a moment. “Not as yet. But I’ve got

my ears out and about so when I get more information, I’ll

get word to you.”

Smythe wondered why Blimpey hadn’t heard about the

sacked factory manager. In one sense, it made him feel

good. It meant that Blimpey didn’t know everything that

went on in London. But he was certain that he’d find out

soon enough, especially as he had his people actively

scrounging for more information. He got to his feet. “We’ll

do our best to get this solved. I promise you.”

Blimpey’s eyes watered. He blinked rapidly and turned

his head. “Blast, it’s smoky in here. You’d think people

would be decent enough to do their tobacco outside. It’s

not as if there’s any decent air movin’ about.”

“The least they could do is open the windows,” Smythe

said. There was only one person smoking and he and his

pipe were on the far side of the room. “I’ll leave you to it,

then, and be in touch.”

“Smythe, thanks for takin’ this on. Tommy’s a nice lad,

and well, I owe his mum a great deal. I’ve got to do what I

can to make sure the lad doesn’t hang.”

“There’s no word on whether or not Mrs. Muran’s

bracelet has ever turned up? Have your sources ’eard anything?”

Blimpey shook his head. “They’ve ’eard nothing.”

64

Emily Brightwell

“The reason could be that the killer knew the police

were lookin’ for it and so he’s keepin’ it till it’s safe to sell.”

Smythe was talking off the top of his head, and he wasn’t

even sure if he was making sense. The only thing he knew

about how stolen goods were sold was what he’d picked up

on the street or heard from the inspector.

“Or it could be that it was never fenced in the first place,

because Mrs. Muran’s murder didn’t have anything to do

with robbery,” Blimpey declared. “It were just made to

look that way. Tommy lifted that watch hours before Mrs.

Muran was killed. Keith Muran probably didn’t even know

it was gone, so when the police asked him what was missing, he told ’em his watch was gone and her bracelet. But the bracelet was taken to make the murder look like a robbery and that was the killer’s big mistake. Mark my words, Smythe, you find that bracelet and you’ll find your killer.”

“We’ll do our best,” Smythe replied softly. He’d wondered why Blimpey had taken on this case. He was a decent bloke, but he was no bleeding heart taking on the woes of

the world. But he was a man who paid his debts and he obviously owed a fairly big one to Tommy Odell’s mother.

“Don’t worry; we’re actually pretty good at this sort of

thing.”

Mrs. Jeffries waylaid Constable Barnes as he came out of

the Shepherds Bush station.

Constable Barnes didn’t look at all surprised to see her.

“Good day, Mrs. Jeffries. It’s nice to see you.”

“It’s good to see you, too, Constable,” she replied politely. “If you’ve got a moment, I’d like to have a word with you.”

“Of course.” He took her elbow. “There’s a café across

he road. Let’s have a quick cup of tea.”

“Thank you, that would be very nice,” she replied.

They maneuvered their way through the heavy traffic and

into the café. Mrs. Jeffries went to an empty table by the

Mrs. Jeffries Appeals the Verdict

65

window while the constable went to the counter for their tea.

While she waited for him, she composed her thoughts.

“Here you are,” he said as he put a cup in front of her

and slipped into his chair. “Now, what’s on your mind?”

“I’ve come to speak with you about something that you

might consider a bit unpleasant,” she said.

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