The Sign of Death (Victorian Book Club Mystery 2)

“Your mystery-writer persona is showing,” William said.

She bowed her head. “Thank you.”

The ride didn’t take too long, since the building that housed Harding’s office was only a few streets from Amy’s townhouse. William checked his timepiece. Precisely 12:20.

They entered the building, and William pointed to the staircase. “Next floor up.”

They made their way up the stairs and down the corridor to the second-to-last door on the end. The top half of the door was glass. MR. JAMES HARDING, BUSINESS MANAGER was printed in black, with MR. ERNEST TIBBS, BARRISTER directly below it.

William opened the door and ushered Amy inside. There was an outer area with a desk, but no one occupied it. In all the time William had been doing business with Harding, there had never been anyone at that desk.

Mr. Tibbs stepped out of his office, obviously dressed to go outdoors. “Oh, may I help you?”

“Yes.” William moved toward him and held out his hand. “I am Lord Wethington. I believe we met once before.”

If Tibbs was surprised to see him, it didn’t show. “Yes, I remember. How may I help you, my lord?”

“I would like to retrieve my files from Mr. Harding’s office. I assume there is no problem with that?”

Tibbs looked a bit confused, then uneasy. “I guess that would be all right. I’ve been waiting for the police to visit and secure the office.”

“Why is that?” Did Tibbs know something that had slipped past William?

Tibbs shrugged. “I just assume they will do an investigation. From what I know of criminal law, an unexpected death is considered suspicious and a routine investigation will take place. I’m sure the first place they would look would be Mr. Harding’s office.”

“Yes. That is true.” Tibbs was a Queen’s Counsel, so he clearly knew the law well. He looked at his timepiece. “I guess I can wait while you get your files.”

That would not do. They needed time to do a search of other files. But any concern on Tibbs’s part could make him deny them access to the office. “If the authorities do visit, please feel free to tell them I took my records. We don’t wish to stop you from taking your meal.”

Tibbs looked relieved. “Thank you, my lord.” He grabbed his hat. “I will leave you to your work, then.” He got as far as the door and stopped. “If you will turn this latch when you leave, it will lock the office and I have a key to get in.”

Once the door closed, Amy and William headed to Harding’s office. Everything was quiet, almost as if the room sensed its occupant was permanently gone. Dust motes danced in the sunlight streaming from the window behind Harding’s desk.

“Have you ever visited here?” Amy asked in a soft voice.

“Yes. Most times, Harding came to my home, but on occasion it became necessary for me to visit him here.” William moved to stand behind the desk. “I will search his desk, and I suggest you start with the files.”

Like most offices, Harding had employed the pigeonhole organization method, using vertical folders to sort and order his various clients.

“What are we looking for?”

“First of all, pull my file, then make a list of his other clients. I’m thinking if someone did want Harding dead for business reasons, it might be one of his clients. That is especially true if he was fleecing others as he was me and Mr. Lemmon. If we have time, we can skim some paperwork to see if there are inconsistencies or anything in the documents that looks odd.”

“That will take some time.” Amy spoke over her shoulder as she slid out a stack of files. “We only have about an hour. And not even that if Tibbs eats fast. He might not mind us being here to retrieve your files, but it would not take more than ten or fifteen minutes to make sure you have your things.”

“We will work as quickly as possible and get out of here before he returns.” William opened the center drawer of Harding’s desk. Pencils, paper, two pens, and a dried-up inkwell.

The two drawers on the right-hand side of the desk held personal items—the first one a comb, brush, toothbrush, and tooth powder, the second some photographs and an old, bulky sweater. As William shut that drawer, he looked up at Amy, who was frowning and leafing through folders. “What’s wrong?”

She continued to thumb through the files. “I’ve gone through these twice, and there are no files here under your name.”

“What? That’s impossible. I’ve been his client for three years.” He headed over to where Amy sat in a chair, folders on her lap and stacked on the floor next to her.

“These files are in alphabetical order.” She motioned to the piles on her lap and the floor. “Yet there is no file under William or Lord or Wethington.”

“How odd.” He bent over her shoulder and looked at the stack on her lap. “I can’t imagine why, but try my family name. St. John.”

Amy reached for a group of folders on the floor. She worked her way through them. “No. Nothing here for a St. John.”