An Old Betrayal: A Charles Lenox Mystery (Charles Lenox Mysteries) by Charles Finch Read Free Book Online Page A

means perhaps that fewer will knock at mine.”
    “You are not anxious to be bullied off your turf?” asked Lenox.
    “I have Jenkins bringing me cases.” This was an inspector from the Yard, who had first been one of Lenox’s allies and now was Dallington’s. “And there seems to have been no abatement in the number of private references I receive.”
    “It is true that London is adequately supplied with crime.”
    “No sign of a shortage to come, either.”
    “Unfortunately, from a civic perspective—fortunately, to someone in your line of work.”
    Dallington smiled. “Just so.”
    They parted then, agreeing to be in contact if anything fresh came to light. The younger man guessed that he would be well enough to participate in their dinner the next Tuesday; ever since Lenox had passed his practice on, the two had met weekly to discuss Dallington’s work, Lenox bringing his greater experience and knowledge of the history of crime to bear on new cases. Several years before, when Dallington had still been naive, albeit enthusiastic and acute, Lenox had nearly every week managed to shed light on some detail of a case, occasionally solving the thing in a single burst of instinct and reasoning. Now, however, it was more common for them to reach the same conclusions at the same pace—Dallington slightly faster, if anything, though Lenox still had, to his advantage, a native brilliance for causation and motivation. It made this Godwin all the more frustrating to contemplate: The impulse behind his actions was so unclear.
    The next day Lenox and McConnell had lunch at the Athenaeum. Funny that the doctor’s jovial mood and healthy face—sometimes so wan and pulled at, by drink or anxiety, now, like the rest of him, fighting fit—should plummet Lenox into sadness.
    McConnell seemed to perceive that Lenox’s spirits were low. “Are you quite well?” he asked, just as their soup arrived. Then, hurrying to make a personal question lighter, he added, “Long hours in Parliament, I mean to say?”
    “Quite long at the moment, yes.”
    “Be sure to get a tolerable amount of daylight, now that there’s some sun again. It will perk you up no end.”
    “Ah, have you been out riding?” asked Lenox.
    “Oh, yes, every morning,” answered McConnell blithely. “I find the exercise sets up the day wonderfully.”
    “How is the old crowd in Hyde Park?”
    “Motley, as usual.” To gain admission to the park one had to be dressed like a gentleman and riding a horse; some thieves hired the requisite suit of clothes and animal for four hours, and practiced upon young gentle ladies who had just arrived for their first season from the country, or the young gentlemen who would make any unscrupulous wager you pushed in their direction. One foolish young baronet, Sir Felix Carbury, had ridden into the park one morning and walked out an hour later, having been gambled off of his horse. “I generally keep to myself.”
    “Good,” said Lenox, perhaps rather too sharply.
    The next two or three days were exceptionally busy ones for Lenox, who spent most of them on the benches of the House or closeted with Graham and a small host of important politicians. Disraeli’s unexpected willingness to compromise had changed their plans for the new session, and at the same time they were plotting out the map to see where they could gain seats in the next election. They also had to select candidates—or grant approval to those who had selected themselves—for a handful of by-elections, out-of-season contests that occurred when a Member died or, on occasion, inherited a title that pushed him up to the House of Lords. Lenox himself had first won Stirrington at a by-election, though by now he and his old friend Brick had handily won several regular contests.
    He told Jane about his lunch with McConnell, but something held him back from informing her, quite yet, of his trip to the Surgeons’ Club and his discovery there that the doctor had