Murder on Cold Street (Lady Sherlock #5) - Sherry Thomas Page 0,128

abused the power of his office.

“His had not been subtle crimes. They had not come to light, because he oversaw all reports and the younger Mr. Cousins had been lazy and incurious. But then Mrs. Treadles took over the company and she wanted to know all about its inner workings. She was intelligent and tenacious, and she was entirely within her rights in making those inquiries.

“This must have terrified him. By exploiting the other men’s hesitation about and hostility toward having a woman preside over their work, he could only stall her for so long. She was, after all, the owner of the company. Even a threat against her marriage was no long-term guarantee. He had to do something else.

“And I’m guessing . . .” He glanced at Charlotte. “Perhaps Mr. Sullivan didn’t lie entirely to his wife. Perhaps he did intend for something to disrupt the party—ruin it, even—to distress Miss Longstead, infuriate her uncle, and cause a rift between Mr. Longstead and Mrs. Treadles.”

Charlotte, her mouth full of airy cake and decadent crème Chantilly, nodded in agreement. “Mmm.”

“But for Mr. Sullivan to cause that uproar at the party, wouldn’t he need Inspector Treadles to be there?” asked Miss Redmayne. “But how could he be sure, even if he had put that provocative taunt in the papers, that Inspector Treadles would indeed arrive on the scene? And how could he anticipate what the inspector would do, even if he were there?”

She sucked in a breath. “Oh, so that’s why he had Inspector Treadles’s service revolver stolen!”

“Precisely,” said Lord Ingram. “He didn’t need Inspector Treadles to be there, only something that was unmistakably and identifiably his. As for what exactly he intended to do, I believe he planned to fire the revolver into number 31.”

“What?” Mrs. Watson exclaimed.

“Not to injure anyone, at least not intentionally, but to cause a panic. He would make sure to leave the firearm behind and get out of number 33 quickly. And then, even better, once he was back in number 31, he could organize a sortie with a few other intrepid gentlemen to see what was going on. And when this cavalcade of heroes arrived next door, what should they find but Inspector Treadles’s still warm revolver.”

“Leading them to conclude that Inspector Treadles, who must have fled the scene, had been responsible for the shot. A diabolical plan,” marveled Miss Redmayne. “But how did Mr. Sullivan plan to get into number 33 in the first place? He had no idea that the back door would be open.”

Lord Ingram turned toward Charlotte and raised a brow. His timing was perfect: She’d just finished the small slice of cake she’d allotted herself and was looking mournfully at her empty plate.

“My guess is that he was prepared to shoot the door,” she said, “taking advantage of the sporadic going-off of the fireworks, which he would have read about in the news. If everything went according to plan, Inspector Treadles would be blamed for damages to the door, too.

“And because he didn’t expect Inspector Treadles at the party, he would have considered it a boon, when he spied Mrs. Treadles headed for number 33. If he could corner Mrs. Treadles for a moment and transgress upon her, then Mrs. Treadles, at least, would be much more likely to believe that her husband had actually fired the shot into number 31, dooming Miss Longstead’s party.

“And Mrs. Treadles, after all, was the one Mr. Sullivan needed to evict from Cousins, as soon as possible. To his thinking a scandal of such a magnitude should have made Mrs. Treadles much too ashamed to leave her house again. And who knows, he might have succeeded. One reason Mrs. Treadles did manage to at last take over the reins at Cousins was because Mr. Sullivan was no longer there to oppose her. Imagine if he had still been there, with Inspector Treadles arrested as a jealous husband who would fire into a crowded gathering.”

The room was silent.

“Is it terrible to be glad that a relatively young man is dead?” asked Miss Redmayne, her voice soft.

“Yes,” said Charlotte, “but not as terrible as no one taking this man to account while he lived.”

This time, it was Mrs. Watson who gently rubbed Miss Redmayne’s arm. Miss Redmayne smiled radiantly at her aunt—her mother—and turned to Charlotte again. “But everything did not go according to Mr. Sullivan’s plan. He never expected to be interrupted while he accosted Mrs. Treadles, for example. And we know now that