She ate in silence, as did he. Only as she walked across the room to leave did he say sternly, “I hope you are not contemplating meeting Tizsa?”
“Why, yes, I am just packing for Gretna Green,” she said and slammed the breakfast parlor door.
In fact, she took the carriage alone to Great Scotland Yard and asked for Inspector Harris. Almost immediately, she was bowed into his office, a room dominated by a large, paper-strewn desk and a bookcase containing rows of leather-bound volumes containing laws and statutes.
The inspector, looking slightly less harassed than the last time she had visited, bowed and invited her to sit.
“No dog this time,” he noted.
“I learned from my mistake,” she said meekly.
“I hope so.”
Ignoring the ambiguity in his voice, she said, “I was wondering how you are progressing with finding Nancy Barrow’s murderer.”
“Well, as it happens.”
“Oh, good,” she said, crossing her fingers and hoping it was.
“Her friends—your other maids—believed she was seeing a young gentleman.” Harris smiled thinly. “The same young gentleman you made a statement to defend.”
“I stand by that defense,” she said at once. “For I don’t believe Dragan Tizsa was the young man she was seeing. Nor do I believe he killed her.”
“Sadly, we must accept evidence, not your ladyship’s beliefs.”
“Good,” she said at once. “Then you must accept that he could not possibly have committed the murder. As I said in my statement.”
“I certainly accepted it at the time, but neither you nor I were then aware of all the facts.”
Her stomach twisted. “To which facts do you refer?”
“You claimed, with perfect correctness, that Tizsa could not have committed the crime and escaped via the opposite end of Mudd Lane and been able to join you only a minute or so after you arrived on the scene.”
“I did. You agreed. And in fact, we tested another theory, shortening the journey by cutting through the carpenter’s shop, but it still takes too long.”
“Agreed. But there is another way.”
She frowned, taken by surprise. “What other way?”
“An old drainage tunnel entered from Mudd Lane and coming out close by the opera house.”
“A tunnel,” she repeated, flabbergasted. “But…surely that wouldn’t save enough time either?”
“Actually, it does.”
“But you must have noticed yourself, he did not smell of drains!”
“Not obviously,” he agreed, “yet still, it is possible.”
She was silent, trying to absorb the danger this presented to Dragan, as well to justice. She licked her dry lips. “You did not mention a tunnel when last we spoke.”
“I did not know of it,” he admitted. “Neither did the constables who attended the scene. The plans of the drainage system were shown to me only recently.”
By Mr. Gabriel! With difficulty, she kept the words to herself. She had no proof with which to accuse him, except a hairpin that only she could swear was Nancy’s. And Gabriel was already clearly in favor with Harris for helping solve his case. She had to fight down fear while she tried to think.
“That is most interesting,” she managed at last, rising to her feet. “I shall take up no more of your time, except to mention that you should probably speak to certain women whom you will find around Covent Garden…um… particularly of an evening. One of them, who is called Junie, saw a man beckoning Nancy to follow him up the side of the opera house, toward Mudd Lane. That man was not Mr. Tizsa.”
To her surprise, Harris only smiled cynically. “And I suppose you asked her in his presence?”
“What difference does that make?” she demanded.
“All the difference in the world,” Inspector Harris assured her. “However, I shall send someone to speak to your Junie and discover the truth.”
“Thank you,” Griz said, inclining her head and walking out.
Where, now, was the triumph she had felt the last time she had walked out of this building with Dragan at her side? Now, he was in more trouble than ever. At least Junie would win him some time. But they had to find the truth of the matter at once.
Chapter Twenty-Two
On impulse, Griz directed the carriage to drive past Horace’s office in Whitehall. She imagined Dragan might be lurking there, watching to see if and when Gabriel might step out and follow him.
But amongst the people scurrying in one direction or another, or those who paused to talk in doorways, she saw no one she recognized. A plea to Horace at this stage would do no good. He would not interfere without evidence of an injustice. So she