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“He doesn’t like to be disturbed in the night, sir,” the younger constable says. “Been with the police office nearly from the start and says he’s earned his sleep.”
“I have heard that,” Gray murmurs. “Would you say Detective Crichton would prefer if I were to rouse Detective McCreadie?”
The younger officer gives a knowing grin. “Oh, I would say he would much prefer it, sir.” He turns to his partner. “What say you?”
I brace for the other officer to protest, but he only shrugs and says, “McCreadie’s a good fellow. You can run and fetch him.”
“You will pass Dr. Addington’s home on the way,” Gray says. “Would you please inform him that there has been a murder, and ask what he wishes you to do?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Please speak to Dr. Addington directly. He may prefer to convey a message through his butler, but messages are easily misunderstood, and it is best to be clear.”
“Yes, sir.” The young man tips his hat to Gray, and then he’s gone.
TWENTY-FIVE
By the time McCreadie arrives, I’m pacing the floor. He walks in, and I have to resist the urge to slump and say “Finally!” The detective in me has been foaming with frustration. The murder weapon could be right above us, in Ware’s office, and each moment we waste is a moment when the killer might return to sneak off with it.
Every time Mrs. Hamilton made a move toward the door, I wanted to drag her back, lest she suddenly realize she really ought to hide the food that poisoned her boss. Even when the young maid left, I slipped to the window to be sure she actually went home, just in case.
Then McCreadie walks in, looking fresh and dapper, wide awake and, worst of all, cheerful.
“Fancy meeting you two at a murder scene in the middle of the night,” he says. “We really ought not to make a habit of this.”
“This is Mr. Ware,” I say. “He died—”
“Mallory,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder. “You poor girl. It is well past your bedtime. No need to worry about this unpleasantness. Run along home, and let us handle it.”
“Tease her at your peril, Hugh,” Gray murmurs under his breath. “It has taken you twenty-nine and a half minutes to arrive, and she has been counting every one of them.”
“Missed me, did you? I am flattered, though I must warn that you are much too young for my tastes. Now, if you were thirty, it would be a vastlydifferent thing but, alas, you are a mere child and, while adorable, I cannot think of you as more.”
“Do you hear that little noise she’s making?” Gray says. “It sounds suspiciously like a growl. I would heed the warning.”
“It is the most adorable little noise, coming from the most adorable little maid.”
“Have you been drinking?” I say.
“Why does everyone ask me that when I am in a good mood?”
“Because you are in a good mood at an ungodly hour.”
He only smiles at me. “Not drinking, my bonny lass, but imbibing in a far more pleasant restorative. Sleep. You ought to try it.”
“I need—” I glance at the officers and Mrs. Hamilton and then clear my throat as I raise my voice a little. “Detective McCreadie, sir, Dr. Gray has suggested I search the offices above for any sign of the food that might have poisoned poor Mr. Ware. Might I do that, perhaps accompanied by one of these fine officers of the law?”
“You may do so accompanied by me,” he says, “and by Dr. Gray himself, if he is done here.”
“Dr. Addington—” Gray says.
“—is unable to join us,” McCreadie says. “He would like Mr. Ware’s remains transported to your examination room, where he will tend to them at a more seemly hour. He is also quite displeased at being woken two nights in a row.”
“And he’d like people to stop dying at unseemly hours?” I say.
“His own words almost precisely, miss,” the younger officer says with a grin.
I shake my head. “All right. You two—” I cut myself off with a cough before I give orders.
