Page 13 of Corpse in the Canal

“And a friend can be understanding,” Solomon allowed. “Do you suppose he also owes someone who might be less understanding?”

“I wouldn’t know about that,” Dunne said, between chews. “Don’t go to that kind of den.”

“But Harvey does?”

Dunne nodded.

“Do you know which ones?”

But Dunne did not know. Neither did Mr. Grantham, when Solomon eventually located him. So he set off for the next on his list of Harvey’s clubs.

*

He returned to the office to find Constance only a few minutes ahead of him. She cast aside the letter she was reading to say abruptly, “Adelaide Jenkins has gone home. She was staying with her son in a small hotel off Russell Square and left for home on Wednesday morning.”

Solomon threw himself into the chair on the other side of her desk. “With Harvey? His valet last saw him on Wednesday morning.”

Constance did not look surprised, but she said, “Not according to the hotel staff, though I suppose she could have taken him up later. She departed in her own carriage, with only her son and a moderate amount of baggage.”

Solomon frowned. “Did she have visitors at the hotel?”

“No. She seemed to be taking the boy around the sights of London—the Tower, the British Museum, Buckingham Palace. He’s five or six years old. She dined early in her room with the child and did not go out in the evenings. A man did call and ask for her on Wednesday, but she had already gone.”

“Percy?” Solomon asked.

Constance shrugged. “He didn’t leave a name. If it was Percy, he went on to have luncheon with Robert Waltham at White’s, and walked through St. James’s Park, according to Lady Phoebe, and that’s the last we know of him. What did you learn from his clubs?”

“Not much,” Solomon said ruefully. “Except that he’s in debt. Gambling debts of honor as well as simple borrowing. I suspect he’s robbing Peter to pay Paul. Oh, and he owes his tailor a hefty bill, too.”

“Then if he can’t pay his debts, how does he donate to charity? Perhaps he only did so once, when he was flush.”

“Or it was a story he told his father to account for all the money he’d spent on nothing. I’ve met likeable spendthrifts before, but I’m not sure I care for young Harvey.”

“I don’t,” Constance agreed.

“Someone who would have difficulty gaining admission to the establishment?” he asked. It was a serious question. Constance kept strict security and those she distrusted were rarely allowed over the door, let alone near her girls.

“Precisely,” she said. “Is he the sort of man to frequent brothels and back-street prostitutes?”

“For variety,” Solomon said with a grimace. “But he’s unlikely to linger in such places.”

“All the same, I think I’ll inquire at the establishment. Someone might have heard of him, especially the newer arrivals. I shall call in tonight—after dinner, of course. Shall we go home and change?”

*

Jenks, the manservant Solomon had originally hired with the house in which his brother now resided, forgot himself in so far as to beam at them when he opened the door.

“Welcome back, sir, madam.”

“Thank you, Jenks. How are you?”

“Very well, sir, and happy to have Mr. David home again. Cook is beside herself.”

Constance laughed. “Well, we’re very much looking forward to dinner.”

David appeared at the top of the stairs, beckoning them up. The main room was another revelation. Before David had gone to France, he had done little to change the place, leaving everything much as it was when Solomon moved out. But now Solomon’s rather staid study area had gone, filled instead with easels and canvases. The books remained in the sitting area, where the dining table had been set for three, but the pictures on the walls had been changed. Bright, vibrant landscapes and dramatic portraits now blazed from the walls.

“Sorry,” David said. “I hope you don’t mind. I put the other pictures in the spare room. I just wanted to try it like this.”