Quest for a Killer by Alanna Knight Read Free Book Online

that I hurt you – and that all this has happened—’
    The doorbell rang. Jack looked at the clock and sprang to his feet. ‘That’s my carriage. Damn it, have to go, have an appointment with the assistant chief constable – just like old times, Rose.’
    That was true. And we both laughed. There was always an important meeting interrupting the flow of our life together.
    Jack shook his head wryly and then said, ‘May I come again and see you? We need to talk.’
    I looked doubtful for he added quickly, ‘Not about us this time, I promise you. But I need advice, so let’s forget about the past and be friends, Rose.’
    ‘Yes, Jack, I’d like that.’ And at that moment, I meant it.
    ‘Tomorrow, perhaps?’
    ‘Yes, tomorrow then.’
    At the door he paused. ‘Your companion at the circus – Mrs Miles Rice?’ He threw back his head and with a deep laugh said, ‘Well done. Well done.’ A pause, a shrewd look. ‘Not a client, surely?’
    ‘Of course not!’
    He grinned, a mocking bow. ‘You have moved up in Edinburgh society.’
    Thane stood at my side and we watched him get into the carriage.
    Closing the door, I sat down at the table and tried to sort out my confused feelings. Perhaps I had been harsh, always too harsh. To be honest, it was good to see Jack again, and if we could be friends, and stay that way, which I doubted, all would be well.
    As for that advice he wanted, was it personal, professional, or just an excuse for a further visit?
     
    That evening Elma had seats at the Theatre Royal for
Mrs Warren’s Profession,
a daring and witty play by Mr George Bernard Shaw, whose dislike of the capitalist society (which I encountered regularly in Edinburgh) was akin to my own. As a passionate feminist and suffragette, I was an avid reader of his
Fabian Essays
and his socialist tracts.
    As I expected, we were in the best seats and directly behind us was one of my former clients. We had been friends for a short while but when our eyes met there was no flicker of recognition. Sad, but no doubt, as I was becoming well known, she had her own excellent reasons for ignoring a private detective in public.
    Elma was anxious to hear my comments on the play, and when I remarked upon the theme, she laughed.
    ‘London theatregoers accept this sort of thing without question. Mr Shaw is well known for his outrageous opinions, but I fear it may be a little strong, still a little too modern, for Edinburgh audiences.
    She was very knowledgeable about the theatre and as we were approaching her carriage she was hailed by a man standing near the entrance of the theatre.
    ‘Excuse me, Rose.’
    She hurried towards him, and although it was too dark to see him clearly, I could make out a top-hatted rather flashily dressed young man who greeted her warmly; he placed an arm about her shoulders. She was obviously not pleased. She left him standing and seemed anxious to escape as soon as possible.
    As she stepped smartly into the carriage, he made a move and dashed across to her window. From my side of the carriage I was unable to see his face clearly, and the noise of the horses setting off made it impossible for me to distinguish the words he was shouting.
    Something about their next meeting; he sounded angry and, as she leant back in her seat, I was aware that she was very upset by this encounter.
    It was none of my business, but obviously aware that politeness demanded some explanation, she summoned a smile and said, ‘So embarrassing, Rose. I don’t even remember his name. An actor I met in London, no one of any importance.’
    But her voice rather shrill and her laugh a little false spoke a different line and left me with the certaintythat, at some time, they had known each other extremely well.
    Indeed, her knowledge of the theatre, and of the circus come to that (how expertly she had told me about the equestrian jockey acts and she seemed to know a great deal of what went on behind the scenes in the world of