Murder at the Mayfair Hotel (Cleopatra Fox Mysteries #1)- C.J. Archer Page 0,46

echoed. “Has he ordered several items from you? Should I be searching for other parcels too?”

He pointed at several entries in the ledger. “Two coats and two cloaks, four jackets, trousers and waistcoats.” He flipped the page. “Two formal dinner suits—”

“Two!”

“Two formal dinner suits, seven shirts and ten ties. Could you check that Mr. Hookly received them all?”

Good lord, he had enough clothing for several men. “I suppose he requires new things for winter.” I leaned in a little, hinting at a conspiratorial alliance between shopkeeper and hotel employee. “I believe he has just come from Africa.”

“So he told me.” The tailor spun the ledger back and closed it with a thud. It would seem he wasn’t buying my attempt at friendliness.

“How odd that they don’t dine in Africa.”

“Pardon?”

I indicated the stiff shirt and formal jacket on the tailor’s mannequin in the corner. “If they have dinners in Africa, he wouldn’t need a suit, would he? He’d already have one.”

The tailor regarded me down his nose. “Perhaps he required a new one. It is neither my business nor yours as to the reasons for his purchases upon his return to home shores. I suggest you don’t gossip about your hotel’s guests, miss, particularly ones who are friends with Lord Addlington. His lordship would not approve.”

“You know him?”

“He is a great customer of mine and a gentleman of the first order. Now, if you will check with Mr. Hookly that all packages have been received, I’ll be most grateful.”

“I’ll be sure to ask him.”

He studied the ledger and I turned to go. “One more thing, miss,” he called out. “Do you know when Mr. Hookly is leaving London?”

“I’m not sure, but I believe he is staying for the ball.” I recalled Mr. Hookly asking Mr. Armitage about an invited guest he wished to see that night so he must intend on staying until then.

The tailor looked relieved. I was considering whether to probe further when a customer entered. He held the door open for me and I left. The stop at the tailor’s shop had been a waste of time. I’d learned nothing.

I loitered in the foyer again the following morning, pretending to study a tourist map of London which Peter had given me. I had coat, hat and gloves in hand, ready to follow out one of my suspects if they happened to leave the hotel.

My patience was rewarded when Mr. Duffield walked past. I hid behind the map then raced after him. He didn’t stop to collect an umbrella from the luggage desk so I didn’t either. Hopefully the rain would stay away for the duration of our walk. I tucked the map into my coat pocket then put the coat on. I was still pulling on my gloves when I exited the hotel.

“Heading out, Miss Fox?” Frank the doorman asked. “Do you require a conveyance?”

“No, thank you.”

“A map?”

I peered after Mr. Duffield, not wanting to lose sight of him. “I have one.”

“Would you like me to fetch you an umbrella from—”

“No, thank you,” I called out as I headed off. Poor Frank was trying very hard to make up for his initial rudeness, but today was not the day for me to indulge him.

Mr. Duffield was a fast walker with a determined step. While Mr. Hookly seemed to be quite the shopper, Mr. Duffield was not. He did not venture into any of the shops, nor did he head to any parks for a leisurely stroll.

I was curious about where he was heading, and my curiosity piqued even further when he turned into Fleet Street. A boy selling newspapers outside The Daily Telegraph building tried to sell him a copy, but Mr. Duffield ignored him. He entered the office of The Evening News, two doors down. I put my map up to cover the lower part of my face and peered through the window. Mr. Duffield spoke to the clerk at the front desk. He then waited while the clerk sent a lad into an adjoining room.

A few minutes later, a middle-aged fellow emerged. He and Mr. Duffield greeted one another in what appeared to be a cordial manner, then they exchanged envelopes. Mr. Duffield tucked his into his coat pocket, while the other man opened his and read the enclosed letter. He smiled, nodding his approval, and extended his hand to Mr. Duffield.

For a long moment I thought Mr. Duffield wouldn’t shake it. He eventually did, but not before the other man’s smile turned cynical. Then Mr.