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“Why do you think she told you?”

Barclay shrugged. “She was a talkative one. I liked to hear her talk. I’d let her ramble for hours and never minded. And she knew I’d met Miss Delacourt.” He drew in a breath and sighed. “She was very keen on her coming out of her shell. I don’t know why she involved herself in the matter.”

“At the tea shop, did you notice any other gentleman paying them particular attention?” Electra asked.

Barclay snapped his head up and narrowed his eyes. “No, miss, and I would have had words with any gent who had. I wouldn’t have allowed anyone to get near their table.”

“Anything else you can recall Calliope telling you about Miss Delacourt?” Gideon asked. “Anything at all?”

Barclay scrubbed at his chin and stared at the scuffed wooden tabletop. “Not that I can recall…” And yet he drew the words out slowly.

Gideon yearned for Barclay to dig for more. To recall some comment. Some tiny detail that might push their investigation further. He glanced at Electra, who watched Barclay with an intensity in her blue-green eyes that made him wonder if she was seeing something with her abilities that his meager senses could not perceive.

Suddenly Barclay sat forward and snapped his fingers. “I think he might have been a medical man.”

Gideon felt a tightness in his gut that occasionally came in a case when one piece seemed the missing one that might allow the entire puzzle to fit together. Electra felt it too if the way her hands clenched into fists was any indication.

“Why do you say so?” she asked Barclay.

“Something Calliope said about him treating Miss Delacourt’s ailments. I took it to be a saucy turn of phrase. She’d said it in a teasing tone, but that was Calliope’s way.”

“Did she say this to you or directly to Miss Delacourt?” Gideon asked.

Barclay indicated the table where the ladies had sat again. “Said it to Miss Delacourt. As I said, Calliope liked to tease. Never mean-spirited, mind.”

“And how did Miss Delacourt respond to the tease?” Electra asked.

“Turned red as a beet and shushed Calliope. Whatever she got up to with the gent, it was meant to be a secret. When Calliope kept on teasing her about it, she up and left.”

“And you never heard a name?” Gideon asked again.

“No.” Barclay said it firmly, as if offended Gideon had pressed him on the question again. “I would tell you if I had. I swear it.”

“Thank you, Mr. Barclay. We appreciate your time.”

The barman nodded, then pushed his chair back to stand.

Gideon and Electra followed suit.

“I hope you find her,” he said. “And that Hardy finds the devil who killed Calliope.”

It was what Gideon wanted, and yet he could see frustration growing in Electra each time an interview offered them nothing that would lead to Iris Delacourt. But now they had a tantalizing clue. One he intended to run to ground.

Chapter Fourteen

By the time they left The Willows pub, it was quite late in the evening.

Electra suspected Gideon would wish to escort her back home to Russell Square. In truth, it had been a long day by any measure, but she had no wish to stop. Constantly on her mind was the knowledge that a killer was moving through London, choosing young women and then taking their lives. And she was asked to help, and she desperately wanted to do so.

“Barclay spoke of a doctor,” she said, “someone Iris met with secretly. We must determine whether that man might be Dr. Tristan Wakefield and whether he knows where his future sister-in-law might be.”

Gideon glanced at her but said nothing as they strode away from the pub, seeking a cab, but he was watching her with a look she knew well—worry, concern. He lifted his pocket watch to check the hour.

“I think we should speak to Wakefield now,” she rushed out, hoping to stave off his usual gentlemanly instincts where she was concerned.

“It’s late, Electra.”

“Yes, for a polite call, perhaps. But he is aware the investigation is an urgent matter.”