The Cheater's Game: Glass and Steele, #7 Read online

  "What is the nature of the questions?" Matt asked.

  "It's in regard to Mr. Duke's argument with one Emmett Cocker, the night before last. Mr. Cocker was…" He glanced at me.

  "Murdered," I finished for him. "The newspaper claimed a thief murdered him, probably by accident."

  "That may be, but the newspapermen made that up before knowing all the details. They had a deadline."

  "And you don't give out much information," Matt finished.

  "You think Duke did it, don't you?" I murmured.

  Brockwell's fingers tightened on the brim of his hat. "Just come to the station, Mr. Duke."

  "No! He's not going anywhere with you." I moved between them and crossed my arms over my chest. "If he goes with you, you'll throw him in the holding cells. I know how this works."

  "Step aside, Miss Steele. This is none of your concern." He appealed to Matt.

  "At least have the decency to look me in the eye," I snapped.

  Brockwell cleared his throat and his gaze momentarily lifted to mine before sliding away again. It would seem he was ashamed to even look at me, and that was most concerning of all.

  It meant he thought Duke guilty.

  Chapter 3

  "I didn't kill him," Duke said.

  "Just come to Scotland Yard, please." Detective Inspector Brockwell stepped aside and indicated the door and his constables standing in front of it.

  "No," I said again.

  Duke placed a hand at my back. "It's all right, India. I don't want a scene, not here. You'll wake Miss Glass."

  I took his hand and clutched it between both of mine. I hadn't expected Brockwell to be so unreasonable. I could never quite decide if I liked him or not. He was thorough, which was certainly a good trait in a detective, yet he was a stickler for following rules. I suspected he wouldn't bend them, not even for the royal family let alone acquaintances like us, no matter how many times we'd helped him in the past.

  "Come now," Matt said genially, "there's no need for formality, Inspector. We're old friends, and old friends help one another."

  "We are not friends, Mr. Glass."

  "Of course we are. You know more about me than almost anyone, and that makes our relationship unique."

  "It's true that we've been through a lot together, and I've seen things I cannot easily forget, but I have orders to investigate this matter thoroughly, and I intend to do just that."

  "I want you to be thorough too. I imagine there's enormous pressure to solve this case as quickly as possible. The murder of a cast member from Buffalo Bill's show will attract a lot of public attention." He glanced at the door. "Attention that I'm sure you would rather avoid. By taking Duke with you, you'll cause a stir."

  "There are a lot of journalists waiting at Scotland Yard," Brockwell admitted. He glanced at one of his constables, standing like a statue by the door. "They didn't stop me this morning because they didn't know I was assigned to the case, but they will probably know by now."

  "Your return will see them flock to you, and Duke's character will be maligned. I don't want that, Inspector, and I don't think you do either. Not after everything we've done for you."

  The inspector huffed a short laugh. "Very good, Mr. Glass. Very smooth. I'm surprised you haven't mentioned the commissioner's name yet. You usually do to get your way."

  "I don't need to mention his name." Matt smiled. "Come and join us for coffee, eggs and bacon and let's have a civil discussion."

  "And sausages," I added. "Bring your men."

  "They can stay here," Brockwell said. "Lead the way, Miss Steele."

  "If I'd known the breakfast would have convinced you, I'd have mentioned it first," Matt said, smiling.

  I headed back up the stairs to the dining room, the men following. Duke had gone utterly silent while Matt chatted with the inspector. Matt's charm was on full display as he made sure the conversation focused on the inspector and the confidence the commissioner had shown in his abilities by assigning him to this particular murder.

  "Please sit, Inspector," I said, taking a leaf out of Matt's book. "What would you like? The bacon and sausages are still warm and there's quite a bit of everything left. Cyclops is on a diet."

  "A little of everything would be excellent." The detective sat and asked Duke to sit opposite. "Once Mr. Glass and Miss Steele leave, we'll begin."

  "They can stay," Duke said.

  "No."

  Matt didn't object. He served food and coffee for Brockwell then held the door open for me. "Come and see us before you leave, Inspector."

  "I plan to. I want to speak to Miss Steele, too, and perhaps your cousin and your pirate friend, although I want to assure you they are not under suspicion."

  "I shouldn't be either," Duke said tightly. "I didn't do it."

  Matt lifted a finger, a small signal to Duke to remain calm, before he and I left.

  "Shall we listen in?" I whispered.

  "Duke will tell us everything. We'll wait in the drawing room."

  He asked Peter the footman to find Willie and Cyclops. Willie arrived first, looking worried. "Fossett says Duke's been arrested!"

  "Not arrested," Matt said. "Brockwell's questioning him now in the dining room."

  She glanced at the door just as Cyclops entered.

  "Duke's been arrested for murder?" he asked.

  "Questioned," Matt said. "It seems someone told the police he punched Emmett Cocker the night before he was murdered."

  I cast a glance at the door. "Poor Duke."

  "He's got nothing to worry about," Matt said, taking my hand. "He didn't kill Cocker."

  Willie snorted. "Innocent people get arrested all the time. You know that."

  "Brockwell is a good man. He won't arrest anyone without evidence, and he won't find any evidence against Duke because Duke didn't do it." He lifted my hand to his lips. The warm kiss was a comfort but my concern remained.

  The questioning took as long as it takes to eat two slices of bacon and two sausages. The inspector joined us with a satisfied look on his face and Duke seemed a little less worried too. I blew out a slow, measured breath.

  "I'm glad to see the three of you here," the detective said. "There's no need to question you separately. I'd just like to ask for your version of events that night."

  "Duke did nothing wrong," Willie snapped.

  "He punched a man in a public place. That's assault, Miss Johnson."

  "Emmett deserved it. He insulted me and India. Duke was just defending our honor."

  "It's still assault."

  Duke suddenly sat on a chair as if his legs could no longer hold him.

  "A jury wouldn't convict him," Matt said. "Not when they learn about the insults."

  Brockwell contemplated Matt's legal argument with pursed lips. "Miss Steele, in your own words, tell me what happened that evening."

  I told him everything I could remember, and Willie and Cyclops agreed with my version of events.

  "He got what he deserved," Willie added.

  "Because of the insults?" Brockwell asked.

  "Because he's a cheater."

  That got Brockwell's attention. Up until then, he seemed to be going through the motions, not even writing in his little notebook, but now he set pencil to paper. "Why do you say that?"

  "Because he cheated."

  "We have no proof," Cyclops countered. "Willie just suspects."

  "I don't just suspect. I know a cheater when I see one, and he had to be cheating. No one is that lucky."

  Brockwell sighed and flipped his notebook closed. "Let me know if you think of anything else. And Mr. Duke, don't leave London. I may need to speak to you again, if new evidence comes to light."

  "It won't," Willie said, "because he didn't do anything."

  Duke shook the detective's hand. "I'll be here if you need me."

  "What have you learned so far?" Matt asked. "Who have you questioned?"

  Brockwell pocketed the notebook and pencil. "I can't give you that
information, Glass. You know that."

  Matt pushed up from the armchair. "I might visit the commissioner this morning and offer my services for the investigation."

  "That won't be necessary. It's in hand."

  "No it ain't," Willie shot back. "If it were, you wouldn't be here questioning Duke, you'd be out there, looking for the real murderer."

  I linked my arm with hers and smiled at the inspector through gritted teeth. "Please forgive her passionate nature. She's American."

  "They're not all as passionate as Miss Johnson," Brockwell said. "Not a single tear was shed when I broke the news to Mr. Cody and Mrs. Oakley. They're not even stopping the show today out of respect."

  "There, see?" Willie said. "No one liked him. You should look among the other cast members for the killer. I'll even give you a name. A sharpshooter called Danny Draper lost a lot of money to him. Or he might have been a partner in his cheating game. I don't know, but it's worth questioning him. Ask if there were others who also got cheated. They might hate Emmett too, or owe him money. Talk to Danny's wife. She got real angry when she thought her husband was losing. What was her name again, India?"

  "May," I said.

  "I reckon there'll be a lot of folk who hated Emmett on account of his cheating. Look for someone who doesn't seem to have enough money."

  I put my arm around her. "Let the inspector do his work now, Willie. He knows what he's doing."

  "Look for someone with a temper," Willie went on. "That ain't Duke. He's as gentle and kind as can be. Sometimes too kind."

  "He did hit the victim, Miss Johnson," Brockwell said. "He's not all that gentle."

  "Only to defend my honor. Please, sir, it weren't him. Understand? It weren't. It couldn't have been."

  Duke took her hand and squeezed. "You're going to get hoarse if you keep talking."

  Willie sniffed and hugged Duke's arm.

  Brockwell reached for his hat, but Matt got to it first.

  "I will be speaking to the commissioner," Matt said.

  "This is not your concern, sir," Brockwell said.

  "I beg to differ. When one of my friends is questioned over his involvement in a murder, it is my concern." Matt handed him the hat. "Good day, Inspector. Fossett will show you out."

  Matt opened the door and asked Peter to see the detective to the front door.

  "Now what?" Cyclops asked as we all stood in the drawing room after Brockwell had left.

  "Now we wait," Duke said.

  We were all rather terrible at waiting. None of us could stand being in the house. Cyclops and Duke went to the convent to see if they needed any work done, while Willie and Miss Glass accompanied me to the dressmaker's. Willie was poor company, worried as she was, and Miss Glass was little better. She insisted I change the hem detail and when I refused, she had one of her turns. This time I was certain her mind was in perfect working order and she was simply doing it to get attention, but I took her home anyway. Matt was already back from his visit to Scotland Yard.

  "Well?" I asked.

  "Commissioner Munro refused my assistance," Matt said. "He only wants our help if it's a magical matter." He sighed and rubbed his temples.

  I sat on the arm of his chair and massaged the back of his neck. "I don't think Brockwell believes Duke did it. He looked satisfied with our account when he left here."

  "It's not always easy to tell with the inspector. He keeps his cards close to his chest."

  "Speaking of cards, no doubt he'll find a few more suspects who think Emmett cheated. I assume Brockwell hasn't ruled out theft because Emmett's valuables were stolen, but his money could have been taken by someone Emmett beat at poker."

  He nodded slowly. "It's a good theory. We'll see how it plays out, but if Brockwell questions Duke again, I'm going to insist Munro allow me to help clear his name."

  "If Duke is a suspect, he won't allow any of us near the inspector for fear of compromising the investigation." The truth of that stung us both into silence.

  The following morning, we bought as many newspapers as we could and gleaned some new information about Emmett's murder. It was a popular topic, making the front page on every daily. According to the reports, Emmett was found in a laneway near The Prince of Wales with a gunshot wound to the chest. No gun was found at the scene and the bullet was lodged in the body. All newspapers still reported it as a robbery gone wrong and claimed the police had interviewed several suspects but not arrested anyone. Two of the papers had accompanying articles about the victim, his life in America, and his work as a sharpshooter. It read like an advertisement for the Wild West show.

  "I bet Buffalo Bill himself wrote these," Willie said. "Or told the reporters what to write."

  "Will they take the bullet out of the body?" I asked. "So they can check what type of gun fired it?"

  "Most likely," Matt said. "That'll narrow down the type of weapon, but I suspect most of the cast from the show own a gun."

  "The sharpshooters will own several," Duke said. "Annie Oakley uses smooth-bore rifles in the show but she'll have pistols and revolvers too."

  Willie snatched up one of the newspapers and read through the article again. "Emmett's gun wasn't found." She slapped the paper with the back of her hand. "He's a sharpshooter, he wouldn't walk about the city without his gun. Maybe he was shot with his own gun, and if he was shot with his own gun, he let someone get close enough to him to take it. He knew his killer."

  She looked so happy that I hated shooting down her theory. "If it was a robbery, the thief wouldn't leave behind a valuable weapon. And if the robbery was staged by the murderer, to make it look like a theft gone wrong, then they would have taken the gun with his other belongings for authenticity. In other words, the murderer could have shot him from a distance and removed Emmett's weapon afterward."

  Willie threw the newspaper back onto the table and slouched into the armchair.

  "So we're back where we started," Cyclops said heavily. "With no clues."

  "This ain't going to get us anywhere," Duke said. "We'll leave it to the police. Brockwell will find out who did it."

  "Sorry, Willie," I said. "Your theory might still be proven correct. I do like it."

  "As do I," Matt said. "In fact, I like your theory better than the story about a theft and accidental shooting. For one thing, not many simple thieves carry guns. Country highwaymen who prey on moving vehicles do, but city criminals are more opportunistic. And for another, none of these reports mention missing clothing. Someone desperate enough to resort to thieving is probably not going to leave behind good shoes and a hat." He leaned forward and scanned one of the newspaper reports on the table. "This journalist specifically mentions the victim's fur-felt hat lying near the body."

  "Fur-felt's good quality," Willie said, sounding enthusiastic again. "No thief would leave that behind. Seems it wasn't a stranger with their own gun who killed him after all."

  Bristow appeared in the doorway and announced two visitors. "Mr. Barratt and Mr. Nash to see you."

  "Professor," Nash corrected, as he passed Bristow. "Good morning. I hope we're not intruding."

  Oscar eyed the newspapers spread out over the three occasional tables. "Has something happened?"

  "There was a murder," Willie said.

  "We met the victim," I clarified. "He was one of the sharpshooters from the Wild West show at Earls Court."

  Oscar scanned one of the articles. "Is magic involved?"

  "Shhh," Nash hissed, glancing at the doorway. "The servants."

  "The servants know," Oscar told him. "They must, if they've been living under this roof."

  "Magic isn't involved," I told them. "We're merely interested in the outcome. Please come in, sit down."

  "Are you two here for a reason?" Matt asked. "Or simply to read my newspapers?"

  Nash looked worried that he'd offended Matt. "Oh, no, of course not. It's a very good reason, as it happens. It's about a book."

  Willie pushed herself up. "Then I'm leavin
g. Books make my eyes hurt."

  "Oh? You should visit an optometrist. Spectacles can really help." Nash removed his spectacles, squinted in Willie's general direction, and put them back on again. "I visit a fellow near Trafalgar Square. I can give you his name if you like."

  "I don't need no goggles." She strode out of the drawing room.

  "But she thanks you anyway," Duke said and followed her.

  Cyclops tapped his fingers on his thighs before he too rose. "I've got something to do."

  "Was it something I said?" Nash asked, watching Cyclops leave.

  "They don't like books?" Oscar offered.

  "They don't like talking about books," Matt said.

  "They might like talking about this one," Oscar said. "It's about magic."

  I winced. "I have been meaning to return it to you, Professor, but I haven't finished it yet. I've been busy with wedding plans, you see."

  "I understand and congratulations." Nash cleared his throat and his cheeks flushed. "Barratt told me of your engagement. I'm very happy for you. Congratulations," he said again.

  I'd thought Matt was exaggerating when he claimed the professor liked me in that way, but if the blush was any indication, perhaps he was right. How sweet.

  "Thank you," Matt said. "I'm a very lucky man."

  "You are indeed. Miss Steele is very rare. That's what we've come to talk to you about, as it happens."

  "Our wedding?" Matt prompted. "Your invitations are in the post."

  I tried to glare at him but he wasn't looking my way. Indeed, I'd say he was purposefully not meeting my gaze so he didn't burst out laughing. He looked as if he could barely contain it.

  To my surprise, it was Oscar who chuckled. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Gavin."

  They were using first names? When did this close friendship begin? And why did it leave me with an uneasy feeling? Matt seemed worried, too. His amusement suddenly faded as his gaze flicked between the two of them.

  "First of all, this isn't about the book Gavin loaned you, India," Oscar said.

  "You can keep it for as long as you need it," Professor Nash added.

  "Second of all, I wanted to offer my congratulations on your engagement in person. I know I sent a note after reading the announcement, but I should have come. We're friends, after all."