Burn this and get moving!
Quite urgently,
Professor Quimby
Promptly at straightaway, before the clock struck posthaste, all the lady inspectors were gathered at headquarters, along with Professor Quimby, Charles, and Mama, who staunchly refused to remain at home—a breach of protocol the chief permitted without remark.
Positioning her wheelchair beside Mama in the parlor, Margaret took hold of her hand and squeezed it three times.Her mother wasn’t the only one who cared little about adherence to procedure at present. Although the conclave hadn’t officially been called to order yet, she needed answers. And she needed them now.
“Jane, did your investigation into Mr. Flaversham uncover anything that might give us an advantage? Perhaps we can use the leverage he has on Mr. Harrison to secure Papa’s release?”
Looking quite unlike herself in a dress the color of mud, Jane shook her head from her seat on the adjacent settee, her eyes rimmed in shadows. “Flaversham’s leverage turned out to be naught but a misconception derived from partial information. Having discovered that J. Dawkins was receiving checks for new inventions despite being retired, Flaversham traced the checks to the Benevolence Legacy and concluded that Mr. Harrison was engaged in company embezzlement. While I thought his conclusion unlikely—given the additional information uncovered by the D.O.G.S.—I asked Louisa to pick up where I’d left off and scrutinize the charity’s finances more thoroughly with fresh eyes.”
Margaret’s gaze darted to Louisa. “And?”
Wringing her ink-stained hands, Louisa heaved a sigh. “And my findings confirmed Mr. Flaversham’s leverage was a mirage caused by overheated vexation. The Benevolence Legacy is a legitimate organization. All of their charitable recipients are real people, and they do, in fact, receive the funds designated for them. No monies are diverted back to Mr. Harrison. Any blackmail attempt on Flaversham’s part will prove futile as there is no embezzlement scheme to expose.”
“I see.” The words were as heavy as the disappointment sinking in Margaret’s stomach. No embezzlement to expose. No leverage to apply.
No means to free Papa.
Mama squeezed Margaret’s hand four times.
“Take heart, Inspector Kingsley. There is good news to relay at this conclave, which I’d now like to officially bring to order.” Professor Quimby fortified herself with a long sip of tea and cleared her throat before addressing the assembly. “As you know, at the time of Lord Marlow’s disappearance, the covert asset assigned to tail Mr. Harrison reported having lost sight of the man exactly one hour prior. Mr. Harrison wasn’t spotted again until the following day, when he arrived at the Invention Factory for his customary rounds. To avoid losing track of Harrison again, I reassigned his surveillance detail exclusively to the society’s most experienced tracker, Inspector Larrimore. Inspector, please proceed with your findings.”
Jane handed Iva Leene a stack of photographs to distribute. Then she stood slowly, as though her muscles were stiff and sore. “Yesterday, Harrison deviated from his routine to visit a paupers’ cemetery. There, he spent forty-five minutes tending to a particular grave secluded beneath a willow tree. He pulled weeds, trimmed the overgrown grass, and even polished the headstone. When he finally departed, I approached the grave to investigate and snapped the photograph you now hold. Note the headstone’s inscription.”
Holding the photograph in her free hand, Margaret studied the image. The headstone in question seemed to spring from the very earth near the trunk of a weeping willow. Roots, protruding here and there from the soil, curled about the stone like gnarled fingers staking a claim. The willow’s grasping bid for possession had tilted the stone askew and forged a jagged crack, darkened from exposure to the elements.
In memoriam,
The Dodgers
“You were brought up bad. I will make something of you, though.”
“That quotation is fromOliver Twist,” Louisa announced. “It’s been altered, but it’s still recognizable as one of the Artful Dodger’s lines of dialogue.”
Gooseflesh rose on Margaret’s skin. The Artful Dodger as in J.Dawkins.
Below the literary quotation, the stone’s inscription continued with a series of odd words:Bumlets, Crutchie, Mush, Nibs, Racetrack, Slightly,andTootles. Names, presumably, each paired with a set of dates, birth and death. Margaret’s heart ached. The Dodgers had been young at the time of their passing, with the oldest being seventeen, and the youngest, Tootles, only fourteen. All still children, and all perishing on the exact same day—July 23, 1839. Fifty-six years ago. It appeared Mr. Harrison had visited the grave yesterday to mark what would’ve been Slightly’s birthday.
“Inspectors, do you understand the significance of that day in 1839?”
Jane answered the chief’s inquiry. “From research I’ve conducted at theLondon Dispatcharchives, I recognize it as being amidst the First Anglo-Afghan War. Was that date a battle?”
“Indeed, Inspector Larrimore. The Battle of Ghazni, during which my father served as a translator for the British military.” Somberness weighted Professor Quimby’s voice. “Gunpowder was detonated in the night at the gates of Ghazni, and once the explosion exposed the city stronghold, a hand-to-hand battle ensued. While considered a victory for England, two hundred British soldiers were killed—including, according to this headstone, the Dodgers. I wouldn’t be surprised, judging by Harrison’s tender care of the site, if these fallen soldiers were his comrades. Since all casualties were left behind in the desert, this headstone would serve as their sole memorial.”
Helena chimed in. “Based on the willow’s root growth, this headstone was placed long before Mr. Harrison’s rise to fame and the construction of Innovation Park.”
Professor Quimby replied, “If Harrison served with the Dodgers, that timing could coincide with a return to London from Ghazni.”
“I hate to be callous ...” Mama began. “But what does this have to do with my husband’s disappearance?”
“Or the stolen patents?” added Iva Leene.
Margaret wasn’t sure, but she’d a feeling this photograph had just given them the final pieces needed to assemble the puzzle of this case and see the larger picture. Thewhythat drove Mr. Harrison. She released Mama’s hand and placed the photograph upon her lap. From her pocket she took out the list of inventions stolen within the last year, which she’d spent about a week analyzing before becoming distracted by Papa’s disappearance.
She placed the list by the photograph, reading over the purloined devices again while keeping in mind the most recent information learned by Jane. A miniature steam engine for a portable carpet cleaner. A voice box for a talking doll. A hinge to improve mobility of prosthetic limbs. A piano string of superior strength and elasticity. A special lens that would allow a camera to photograph in day or night. A moldable metal alloy to craft bulletproof carriages for currency transport. Margaret gnawed her lip. Something was still missing.
