Murder in a Mayfair Flat: A 1920s Murder Mystery (Pippa Darling Mysteries Book 3) by Jenna Bennett

Author:Jenna Bennett [Bennett, Jenna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Magpie Ink
Published: 2024-03-04T18:30:00+00:00

We parted from Tom and his new admirer outside the entrance to the mews. And we did it without a word. Or at least without much of one.

“You know where to find us,” I told Tom, and he nodded, distracted both by the young lady, who was still hanging prettily on his every word, and by the need to flag down a constable for backup.

Christopher said nothing, and I noticed Tom glancing at him once or twice. But of course he was busy, and we had an audience, and were in public, and anything beyond what I had already said would be too much. So I smiled politely, and Christopher nodded, and then Christopher and I set off up the pavement towards the nearest tube station, while Tom focused on getting the attention of the constable who was making his slow and ponderous way towards the mews.

“Home?” Christopher wanted to know as we approached the underground.

I glanced at him. “I’d rather go to Royal Albert Hall and see if we can find Hutchison and Ogilvie. If we show up out of the blue, it’s possible that one of them gives something away, about Gladys or about who might have hit Montrose.”

And if they didn’t, we might at least be able to assume that neither of them had had anything to do with it. Or perhaps not. But Tom was clearly going to be busy with Gladys’s body for a few hours yet. And he had nothing to tie Gladys to Nigel Hutchison or Graham Ogilvie, nothing beyond the confidential information we had passed him last night, so we might as well do what we could as amateur sleuths, at least until we were taken off the case.

“It’s a nice afternoon for a stroll,” Christopher said agreeably, which I took to mean that he had made the same calculations I had made, and come to the same conclusions.

We came up into the sunlight again at Knightsbridge, and from there we strolled the kilometer along Carriage Way, with the city on one side of us and the green grass and trees of Hyde Park on the other. The bright sun and blue sky of the Sunday afternoon were almost impossible to reconcile with the four people—or three people and a detective—who had disposed of a dead body under the trees across the street in the darkness of last night.

The red brick and white trim of the Albert Hall Mansions was visible from several blocks away, but it wasn’t until we had rounded the corner of Kensington Gore that we saw the dome of Royal Albert Hall itself, with the elegant façade of the Albert Court Mansions beyond.

“No H6,” I commented, looking around at the various parked motorcars.

Christopher shook his head. “He’s on his way home, Pippa. Safe and sound.”

He put his head back and peered up at the nearest building. “It’s enormous.”

It was. And there were several other buildings, too, all equally large. “It’s a pity Blanton couldn’t give us better directions than he did.

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