Disclaimer: This short story contains themes of death and murder which may be unsettling to younger readers.
Theyâd followed him from the opera house. He did not know who they were, what they wanted, or why he was their target. He debated his options: Call a bobby? No, that would scare them off. Go to the meeting? No, then they would see the obvious, and besides that is probably what they wanted him to do. He had but one choice. He started toward Baker Street.
They followed him until he turned on Easton Road, then they pounced. The figure grabbed him, wrapping his arms around his front. His assailant spoke no words but pushed him into a telephone booth, launching a brown bag at him, covering his face.
 Iâd seen it in the papers:
âMurder on the Thamesâ
Dr. Charles Dover dead
The paper told me little about the subject which naturally intrigued me. This catastrophe was covered up remarkably. There were no suspects and no motives to speak of. The doctor they called in to examine the body had only found two knife wounds, one in the right arm and another through the heartâwhich the doctor declared must have killed him. I wanted to know more; these sorts of crimes compelled me. It seemed like a clean kill. I somewhat admired the murderer. Heâd supposedly committed the perfect crime, no one had any idea it was him. But when murder was on the brain one always needed Kingsleyâs special tea to think.
The bell rang as I dropped my last of three sugar cubes in my cup. I got up to welcome my surprise guest, but no one was behind the ringing. Just a small wooden box inscribed with the letters âC.D.â on the lid. I placed the box on my side table. I surveyed it: the box was made of sturdy mahogany, polished within the last fortnight. There were strange vines carved on the back panel in the shape of a cross. Upon opening the lid, I discovered a small, rectangular card with a statement that shook me to the core:
âHeâs alive.â
These chilling words were typed, so there was no hope of a signature match. With little hope of any further clues, I packed the box in my midnight black briefcase, threw my coat over my shoulder, put my hat on, and walked to Scotland Yard. It was not a long journey, but enough to make me glad of the cold waiting room chairs when I finally got to The Yard. Janise Robes, the receptionist, greeted me as she always did with a hearty,
âShouldnât you call for an automobile next time you go out, Mr. Chesterton?â
âNever, Miss Robes. I fear I would smell something dreadful if I was forced on such a beastly thing, and besides, old men like me need their exercise.â
âAs you wish, sir.â
There was a childish silence then.
âSir, do you need Robert?â
âI suppose, Miss Robes. Do you mind telling him itâs urgent?â
âUrgent?âÂ
I nodded.Â
âThen come with me, sir, we must hear your information at once!â She beckoned me to follow, and I did. We made two rights then one left turn. Until we arrived at a door that read:
âInspector Robert Hamptonâ
I stepped inside only to see Inspector Hampton smoking a pipe. He blew a blissful smoke ring as I entered.
âWhy, Kingsley, olâ chap. Take a seat, take a seat. Care for a smoke? No? Well, to what do I owe this pleasure?â
I pulled the box out of my briefcase and situated it firmly on the desk. The inspector picked it up and ran a burly hand over the lid.
ââC.D.â I thought you didnât have a mistress. Thatâs a joke, old man! You think it stands for Charles Dover, does it now?â
âSomeone put it on my step and ran. Itâs clean of prints, and I found this inside.â
I removed the typed card from my packet and placed it next to the box.
âSomeone pulling a trick on you, Kingsley. Charles died from a knife to the heart and then he was thrown in the Thames. He canât be alive; I identified him myself! You were always a jokester, ole pal, but this is too much!â He pushed the specimens back toward me and I collected the objects reluctantly, âYou must come for tea sometime, Kingsley. Oh, bring your pipe, we can blow rings as big as your tall tales. Goodday to you, olâ chap!â
He got out from behind his desk and hurried me out the door. I then took one right turn and two lefts to proceed back to the waiting room. Janise smiled at me as I left,
âGoodday, sirâ
âIf it is good, Miss Robes, I would not be here.â
With that remark, I left Scotland Yard.
After my visit to Inspector Hampton, I was as eager as I had been in ages. Probably since my Oxford days, when my detective club pals and I were intent on solving Englandâs most nefarious cold cases. People had seen the promise in me, said Iâd be a real-life Sherlock Holmes, and said I was better than all of Scotland Yard. But then I disappointed them. People turned their backs on the detective prodigy of the nineteenth century.
There was no place for me now. All that heated anger rose in me. A need to prove them wrong. A need to show them that a young university kid still had potential even in my declining state.Â
Fueled by a need of worth, I made a few calls. I needed to find out who Charles Dover was and who would have wanted to end his life. While my sources searched the ends of London for intelligence, I made up my mind that I was going to uncover the source of this evil deed and lock them away in Wandsworth.
My first stop on this quest was to discover what Charles was doing on the day of his death. So, I headed to his medical practice on Crowndale Street. I headed out the door and made my way to Paddington Station; from there I got on the train to Regents Park. The train halted at Marylebone Station where I detected a strange sense that I was being followed. My tail was a woman; she possessed a tall figure, and though she was skilled in the art of espionage, her height gave her away. I resolved to stop. As I sat on a bench, the mystery woman proceeded to sit next to me.
âWould you like a chocolate?â she offered.
She knew.
âPerhaps. My head could use a break.â
She knew too much.
âDonât go on. I beg you. They know youâre looking for them. Do not go on,â she pleaded
âAnd if I do move forward?â
âTheyâll take a lesser life.â
I was weary of her words, what did she know?
âYouâre an old man, you know the dangers of sniffing places youâre not wanted. Remember Dayton.â
She knew DaytonâŠ
I looked at the empty bench next to meâŠ
She knew about DaytonâŠ
I resolved to turn back, and upon arrival at my humble abode near Hyde Park, I found a most disagreeable sight sitting in my favorite smoking chair.
âI was wondering when you were going to show up,â Lucy tilted the chair back and put her muddy boots on my side table, âI have uncovered everything you could ever want to know about Charles Dover. Shall I brief you?â
At the slight nod of my head, she began. âCharles Dover, born around 1876, died well two days ago. No surviving family that I know of, and I know everything, never married, no children. He studied medicine at Oxford College. Kingsley, sorry to disappoint, thereâs not much else. Dover is too common a name, and he sprouted out of nowhere in 1906.â
âThanks, Lucy.â I pondered the information. âItâs almost like he never existed.â
âThereâs one more thing if you donât mind.â I nodded and she went on. âCovent Gardens found a silver dagger, mahogany handle, in their E-flat organ pipe.â
âWhy is that relevant?â I mused.
âThe Opera House was the last place he was seen. It could be possible he was murdered there.â
âWhenâs the next concert?â
âTonight. Purple or black tie?â
âBlack.â
âIâll get everything ready. Weâll need to leave by 5:00 to get there on time.â
âOf course, Lucy.â She smiled, excited at the prospect of a Bach concert, and set off quickly. We had a case to solve.
Iâve never seen Covent Gardens so lit up. Lucy walked beside me into the opera house.
âItâs like they knew I was coming,â I muttered under my breath.
âI heard that, Kingsley.â
âLucy, you know Iâm right.â
âArenât you always?â she mused.
âI hope so.â
The gatekeeper waved us in, and the blissful atmosphere of a Bach symphony wafted into my head. I pushed the flashbacks of dancing through these halls out of my mind and offered Lucy my arm,
âLead the way, Miss.â She smiled and led us down the side hallway. We passed other patrons, none of whom questioned our presence. Lucy took a few more turns, and we landed in a spacious amphitheater.
I could see the millions of stars I had once dared myself to count; I never could. I reminded myself of the real reason for this outing, so I hastily started peering under chairs and felt along railings. Meanwhile, Lucy went straight for the organ. After an unsuccessful search, I joined her, inspecting the pipes for clues regarding our dagger.
âLucy, who has the weapon now?â
âThe Yard, of course. A certain Inspector Hampton, I believe. His assistant informed me that heâs not at liberty to show it to anyone.â My disgust must have been evident, for Lucy laughed. âDonât worry, Kingsley, Iâm friends with Robert. I'll get it from him.â
âIâm not going to ask.â
âSmart man. Oh, hereâs our E-flat pipe.â
âDo you feel anything?â I implored.
âThereâs a small panel here, airtight. That must be how the dagger got in. But who put it there?â Lucy retreated, so I went in.
âThereâs not much hereââ Abruptly, there was the hasty sound of dress shoes on cobblestone, ruining my investigation. Lucy heard it too, and she dragged me into the shadows. As we crouched there, the boots, and my breathing, grew heavier. I peered around the corner and what I saw was a little unexpected.
I beheld a rather well-dressed gentleman. His tailcoat fluttered behind his tall figure. I spied a top hat and a mustache that had been trimmed recently. He made his way over to the organ and found our airtight panel. He took something out of his coat pocket and deposited it in the pipe. He then stepped back, took an impulsive look around, and trotted off. Without speaking a word, Lucy hopped up and tailed him back into the building, leaving me to uncover our mysterious package.
I darted across to the panel, trying to be as silent as possible. Opening it, I revealed a short stack of cards. Each card had a seemingly random set of letters typed on it. My thoughts went instantly to the mixed-up letter codes, my buds and I would create in university. I pocketed my find and made the short trip back into the Opera House. Lucy greeted me with a hurried âwe should goâ look. So out we went.
We took the Tube back to my lodgings. We headed inside, and thatâs when Lucy spilled her findings.
âHis nameâs Lawrence Haversham. So far all I know is that heâs rich: heir to some major estate. Heâs also dreadfully cocky, I can barely stand being in his vicinity.â
I rolled my eyes, that statement was a very Lucy-like thing to say, âAny connections to Dover?â
âNot that I know of at the moment. He does look remarkably like the few sketches of Charles I got my hands on.â
âCould he be a relative?â
âNo, I doubt it. Charles had no family whatsoever.â I pondered Lucyâs findings intently. She recognized the look on my face, so she exited the room and let herself out.
I made myself a strong cup of tea then sat in my chair and I sipped peacefully. I had my theories, but there was little proof backing any inquiries I had. I must have fallen asleep for the light of a smoggy London sunrise greeted me in my hazy state.
I remembered the task at hand. I had a murder to solve.
I set my brain to rights, grabbed my coat, emptied the pockets, and laid the cards on the table. I fetched a sketchpad and pen and got to work unscrambling the letters. With eleven cards and no hints as to the origin of this code, I went through three cups of tea and two trays of biscuits, eventually, I had a legible message.
âStop looking. Whatâs done is done. Dover is dead. Stop looking.â
Ominous and self-explanatory, I grunted in distaste. I resolved to make a call to my acquaintance, Asher Gravested. Quickly, I grabbed my coat and hurried across town, ending up at Mr. Gravestedâs doorstep. He opened the door as I was reaching up to knock.
âKingsley,â he grunted.
âAsher.â His cold stare blasted into my bones.
âWhat is it this time?â Asherâs evident indifference was laced through his words.
âThis symbol,â I said, offering up the wooden box. âWhom does it belong to?â
âCome in,â he sighed while beckoning me through the door.
Asher led me to a small room with a skylight and two chairs with a small table in between.
âYour old chess room. I thought Iâd never see it again.â
âThe symbol is what youâre here for, not pleasantries. Hand it here.â
âWhat do you make of it?â I inquired, handing the mahogany box to him.
ââC.D.â with a cross made of vines.â
âYes. What does it mean?â
âWell, if Iâm right, and I usually am, the cross is part of an ancient coat of arms. I believe the Haversham clan of Ireland used it in the early sixteenth century.
âAnd this is why I came to you.â
âIs that all?â
âYes, Asher. Thank you. Iâll be in touch.â
âOf course, you will.â He escorted me out.
As I maneuvered my way through the London streets, I pondered what the crest could entail. If Laurence Haversham was connected to Charles Dover, then Laurence must have something to do with the murder. He could have been the one to leave the box at my door. But if so, why did he change his mind about me digging into this case?
And the woman who had followed me, was she an accomplice of the murderer or the victim or was she the murderer herself? I also needed to get my hands on that dagger. It might have held some sort of clue to the case. It seemed the amount of questions that needed to be answered outweighed the answers I had.
Instead of heading back to my flat after my call on Mr. Gravested, I figured I would look into the Haversham family. I set my course for the London Archives, which just so happened to be the right choice because I ran into Lucy in the âHâ room.
âFancy seeing you here,â I said, tapping her shoulder.
âOh, Kingsley, hello.â She looked up a tad bit surprised at my presence.
âFind anything of importance?â I inquired, grabbing the stack of papers and flipping through them.
âFamily records have yielded nothing interesting⊠yet. I havenât seen any birth certificates, but those are probably hidden somewhere.â
We worked in silence for four hours. There was plenty on the Haversham family, from land claims to financial records from thirty years ago. There, however, wasnât much on Lawrence Haversham. We knew he was born in March of 1876, and he was heir to the Haversham fortune, other than that he had a clean trail.
The only intriguing thing about him was an entry Lucy found in an old journal of his motherâs. The entry mentioned a âsurprise of dire circumstancesâ and that she quote, âdidnât know what to do. There was no logical way to keep going forward.â This was the last entry in the journal. So, with no other context on the âdire circumstance,â we were left to speculation. Our search yielded little else on Haversham, but it was possible Lucy found the proverbial needle in a haystack when she came to me with a record of adoption from the âDâ Room.
âKingsley, I think I found something that might interest you.â When I didnât respond, she continued, âThis paper states that Charles H. Dover was adopted by a Mr. and Mrs. Dover of Southampton.â
âHand me that⊠yes⊠It looks promising. Nice work, Lucy. It doesnât tell us much, but knowing Dover was adopted could lead to more connections. Letâs call it a night!â
And with that, we took our findings from the journal and the adoption papers and took the Tube home.
After a grand nightâs sleep, I brewed a cup of tea with my usual three sugar cubes and today added a tidbit of cream. I sat down to the morning paper, which sadly was uneventful and also held no further news on the Charles Dover murder. I suppose I was the only soul in the whole of the empire that was suspicious of Charles Doverâs sudden death.
I briefly reviewed the evidence in my mind. We had the mahogany box engraved with C.D. and the vine cross, which according to Mr. Gravested was part of the Haversham crest. I also had many incriminating messages from Lawrence Haversham or someone working for him. Our main dilemma was I didnât have access to the dagger, which very well could be my murder weapon. If I had that in my hands, I could connect Haversham to the crime. In addition to all that, we had the papers from last nightâs scavenger hunt in the archives. But to my immense fascination, none of these finds seemed to connect a dead body found in the Thames to anything in London. I have no suspects and no solid evidence. In the eyes of the law, I could hardly even scrape up a case file. I sighed. I sighed a second time. It was hopeless. There would be no solution to the Charles Dover murder.
With the morning post came a welcome surprise. It was, of course, Lucy with a brown paper parcel under one arm.
âI trust youâve had your morning cup already?â Without waiting for an answer, she bumbled in the door and sat in my favorite smoking chair. I offered up no complaint, but inside I wished she had a different favorite thinking spot.
Lucy threw the package at me. When I didnât catch it, she, annoyed, got up and retrieved it. She then handed it to me with a murmur that sounded suspiciously like âyouâd think an old man could catch.â I didnât regard this comment as necessary, so pretending she didnât say it, I tore the paper off the parcel, revealing a box. I opened the lid only to discover the mahogany dagger Iâd heard so much about.
âHow did you get this?â I was bewildered.
âYou know better than to ask.â
âFine, as long as it wasnât illegal.â
âNo comment.âÂ
I scowled, and Lucy shrugged.Â
âToo easy of a picking.â
âI donât want to know.â
âI wasnât planning on telling.â
I scanned the weapon with speed, the mahogany handle and the silvery gleam of the blade suggested it had been cleaned recently. That also meant that there were no prints, not that prints would help much. All I needed to do now was compare the two wooden finds.
Lucy had read my mind. She fetched the engraved box from the drawer I was keeping it in, and as I expected, the woodcut matched. Both specimens were of the same mahogany gleam, both polished by a cloth within the last fortnight. Now comparing them I saw the crafter mark. An immensely tiny âHâ carved on the bottom of each piece.
âAny theories, Kingsley?â Lucy asked.
âThereâs an identical crafterâs mark on each of these pieces, so they must have been made by the same person, or at least owned by the same person. I wish I had a better idea.â
âKingsley, if you donât mind, I had a thought this morning.â
âSure, Lucy. Any thoughts help.â
âWell, I was thinking about the papers we found and the resemblance between Dover and Haversham, and I thought that they might just be brothers.â
âLucy, thatâs genius. Of course, theyâre brothers. The journal entry might even go as far as to suggest that theyâre twins! After all, twins arenât a good fortune. My, my, Lucy, youâre rivaling Inspector Hampton for his job!â I shook my head. âI canât believe I didnât see it before.â I gave Lucy a bear hug. After all, she deserved it. This was our biggest breakthrough yet.
Just as Lucy came with the morning post, a perhaps unwelcome surprise came with the evening post. It was an envelope fashioned of the same material as all the mysterious cards Iâd been receiving. The heavy paper weighed my spirit down. All this ink contained were threats and mystery. I was not looking forward to this next and hopefully final installment. My letter opener danced fervently under the seal, tapping the suspense to a tee. The paper slid out with my unsteady hand. Eyes grazed the contents, there for me to behold. A tulip flower glued upside down. No words, the flower spoke volumes. If Charles was truly alive, I had to find him, now.
He had scared Kingsley, all right. He watched the panic on Kingsleyâs old face when he saw the present. The mystery man hoped he wouldnât have to take an unnecessary life. It would be so tragic if London lost its former prodigy. Simply tragic, no one would ever recover.
The man hopped on the back of a black carriage, got off at Regents Park, and made his way towards the Zoological Gardens. He parked himself next to the lionâs den. The great king of beasts caged like this; proof even kings and rulers could be caught.
âMi, lav nikad u kavezu.â
Now the real purpose of his visit. The meeting. His partner approached cautiously, her stature high and lofty, but careful.
âWhy the lion?â She inquired.
âEven rulers can be dethroned,â he explained.
âDid you dethrone the ruler? Is that why you rescheduled the meeting?â
âMy wishes have changed. Did you do what I asked?â He loved being ominous.
âThe old man was scared quickly when I brought up Dayton.â
 âGood, good, thatâs what I wanted.â
 âIf you donât mind me asking, who exactly is Dayton?â
âThatâs for me to know and for you to discover.â
âIf you say so, mister. How may I be of service now?â
âIf my plan works, he should come looking for me, and when he does, weâll make sure he doesnât get a fairy tale ending.â
âYou plan to kill him?â The bland nature of her statement entailed that she perhaps despised his plan.
âOnly if he gets in the way, which he is right now.â
âAs you wish, mister. Tell me if Iâm needed again.â She left without a response.
Meeting adjourned.
I was roused from my sleep, by the telephone on my wall ringing, âLucy this better be good.â
âIt is, so, I followed a hunch and tailed Haversham from Regent Park to a party. I snuck in and managed to have a conversation with Laurie.â
âLaurie?â
âExcuse me, I meant Lawrence. I had to play my angle, which was a prospective lady⊠It was legal, I swear.â
I rolled my eyes. âGo on.â
âSo, after cozying up a little, I got him to invite me to his birthday ball in three days.â
My eyes widened. âYou arenât thinking about going, are you?â I knew she shouldnât go. But how to tell her?
âYou want to find Dover, donât you?â
âYes⊠but LucyâŠâ
âKingsley, this could be our only chance. Laurie is our biggest lead. We have to talk to him sometime.â
âLucy, itâs too dangerous for you to go.â
âBut he invited me!â
Our voices became louder with each word.
âLucy⊠the day your father first placed you in my arms, he made me promise nothing would ever hurt you. When they diedâŠâ
âIâm not a kid anymore, Kingsley. Youâre not my father. Not mine or Daytonâs. You never will be. Just let me grow up.â
She was pleading with meâŠ
âI⊠Lucy⊠Please donât bring Dayton into thisâŠâ
âYou may have raised us, but you canât order me around!
I had to knock some sense into her, âLucy, they know who Dayton is, so they must know who you are⊠All these threats; Lucy, you canât go. I wonât let you.â
Neither of us spoke a word.
âYou and Dayton will come with me,ââshe had made up her mindââI will introduce you and youâll figure out the rest. You need to solve this murder, Kingsley; You need a motive and a suspect. You taught me everything and Iâm willing to take a risk.â I pondered her words. She was right, âFather would have wanted you to do this. âJustice upon justiceâ.â
âFine, weâll go inform Dayton of our plans.â
âWill do, see you there.â
âOne more thing, LucyâŠââI heard the beep signaling the end of the callââBe careful.â
Three nights later, I had nothing. No more threats or evidence, nothing. My final hope was to learn of some evil scheme of Mr. Haversham or to perhaps meet Charles Dover at his ball.
My afternoon cup of tea was a stress brew, five sugar cubes, and an overly abnormal amount of cream. I ironed my crimson tie and matching vest till they looked like paper. I had one chance; one shot to uncover the possible final clues to the Dover murder. I lifted up a silent prayer and hopped a train out of London to the Haversham estate.
When the train made its stop at my destination, the butterflies were recreating Lexington and Concord in my stomach. Just as our plan detailed, Dayton and Lucy awaited me on the platform. Lucy stared coldly at the ground, while Dayton, too, said nothing. He was not a man of many words, so that didnât surprise me. Crickets hummed in the air until Lucy hailed a cab.
âAre you going to walk, Kingsley?â Dayton said when I didnât get in the car.
âMr. Chesterton doesnât like automobiles,â Lucy offered.
âWell, then are you going to walk?â
My eyes met Lucyâs, âNo, today I face a mountain of fears and anxieties. I can settle for a car just this once,â Lucy scoffed, the driver laughed, and Dayton offered his hand.
âThen in you come, old man!â
The ride was short, just a bumpy jaunt up a gravel drive. The Haversham mansion was exquisite. We were escorted up marble steps that were host to a red velvet carpet. Dayton and Lucy stood in awe; theyâd never seen such a building in their lives.
The interior of the Manor was just as magnificent as the exterior, if not more elegant. The tall ceilings and Renaissance-era paintings depicted the already evident wealth of our host. We passed a portrait hall, which we bypassed, but was undoubtedly filled with paintings of the Haversham family. I resolved to get an invitation down there before we left tonight.
Our host was fairly easy to find once we entered the ballroom. Dressed head to toe in an emerald green ensemble, from his tie to his dress shoes, he looked like the Dales of Yorkshire right before dawn.
âMiss Delaney, glad you could make it.â
âLaurie, you promised to call me Lucy.â
âOh, youâre right, I did. Well, whoâd you bring with you?â Lawrence extended his hand to me, âIâm Lawrence Haversham. Some feel free to call me Laurie.â
 I shook his hand. He had a steady grip, âKingsley Chesterton, retired man.â
âPleasure, Mr. Chesterton. I feel like Iâve heard of you before.â
âIâm not the kind of man you read of in the papers.â
âAnd this is my older brother, Dayton,â Lucy interjected. She gestured toward Dayton, who shook Lawrenceâs hand.
Laurence drifted off, dragging Dayton along for the ride, âWhat do you do to make your money, pal?â
âHe seems a little chipper for a possible criminal, donât you think, Lucy?â
âBelieve me, Dayton will be wishing heâd never come if he follows Laurie around all night.â
âOh, I believe you. Lawrence seems intolerable.â
Lucy nodded slowly, âDo you have a plan?â
âSomething along the lines of âI have no ideaâ.â
âKingsley, if heâs really who you think he is, youâre going to need to plan.â
âI know, Lucy. I know.â
The night wore on.
I hadnât got any information on Haversham or Dover. I talked to as many humans as would listen, to talk of murder at a celebration of life, but no one here knew Charles Dover or knew of him. By the time the estate clock sounded nine chimes, I started to feel like this excursion was useless. That was until the birthday boy himself sauntered over with a half-full drink in one hand and a full one in his other.
âKingsley, I thought you might like a tour of my portrait gallery. Lucy said youâre quite the budding art enthusiast.â I was shocked. Lucy knew I wasnât into art.
âI suppose I am,â I tried smiling through gritted teeth.
It didnât work.
âWell, come with me then. Oh, and this is for you. I thought you could use a pick-me-up.â He passed over the drink and we set off.
I didnât hear most of what he said on the way to the gallery. He blundered on and on about the paintings in his collection and how he had such a refined taste. I simply nodded and followed close behind. We finally arrived somewhere between his trips to Italy and his perfect betting streak.
âWell, perfect timing, hereâs my collection.â He made a grand gesture down the lengthy hall.
Paintings lined every wall from top to bottom. Frames contained everything from dogs to dead pet raccoons. Lawrence made it his goal to share every backstory and every brushstroke with my ears.
âAnd thatâs my grand⊠No great, great, great, grandfather⊠He was close friends with Edward the 4th⊠And this was my grandmotherâs favorite riding saddle. It got impaled... Oh, and finally my father and mother. This painting was done right before she died...â I was so zoned out I barely even heard the last part of the sentence â... giving birth...the childâŠhe didnât live either....â
I collapsed.
Lucy was alone on the dance floor. Kingsley had disappeared, and Dayton was probably in a corner reading. Kingsleyâs absence was what most concerned her. It wasnât like him to disappear. And with all that heâd said during their phone call. She was scared, the last thing she wanted was her godfather found dead in the Thames. She had to do something.
Lucy exited the ballroom and wandered the halls of the Haversham estate. She stumbled upon a hallway with a bulky man standing outside a door towards the end. Lucy marched forward, planning to eliminate the guard. But he stopped her,
âYou canât go in there miss.â
Agh, a roadblock⊠âLaurie wanted me to see the captive.â
âHe told me that no one was to go in.â the guard was not bugging.
She would have to use force, but taking down a massive man was something even Lucy doubted she could do. She would fight her war with words.
âAh, Lucy, darling.â
Haversham.
âWhy let the lady in? I gave her express permission.â
âOh, sorry.â The guard moved out of the way and Laurie advanced and opened the door.
âAfter you,â Lucy passed through the door and the sight that greeted her was a very asleep Kingsley.
âWhat did you do to him?!?!â she exclaimed.
âHe came, Lucy. I did nothing.â
âYou liar! Set him free.â
âIâm afraid I canât do that. And you wonât help him.â
âWhy notâŠâ
âBecause Iâm not going to let you out of this room until you accept my deal.â
âWhat do you want,â Lucy asked.
âIâll let you take a message to Inspector Hampton, youâll tell him, âDover has Kingsley, if you want your friend back, youâll let a man by the name of Lawrence Haversham out of the country or lose Kingsley.ââ
Lucy realized she was in no position to decline his offer, âAnd if I donât?â
âThen Kingsley G. Chesterton will be engraved on a headstone outside your window.â
âFine. Iâll do it.â
âGood girl, you have 3 hours to return or come back with a shovel,â Laurie let a sly, cocky smile graze his lips.
After taking one last look at Kingsley, Lucy sprinted out of the estate and toward the train station. She didnât even bother buying a ticket, she had to save her friend.
âWake up, old man.â
My eyes flickered open as a booted foot made contact with my leg again.
âOUCH!ââ
It hit me. I was tied to a chair.
The rope itched my wrists and ankles, âLet me go!â
âNot a chance. The head man wants you here.â
âTied to a chair?â
âYou talk too much,â This voice was different from the burly guardâs deep tones, âKingsley Chesterton, Londonâs protĂ©gĂ© tied to a chair.â
âHaversham?â
âNo, no. I thought you figured it out by now. Charles Dover.â He stuck his hand out for me to shake but then laughed, âHa. You canât shake my hand. Silly me.â
I instantly disliked this man, âYouâre alive.â
âYes, I know. Funny business life.â
âSo, if youâre alive and youâre not Havershamâ"
Thatâs when I made the connection. Dover hadnât drowned in the Thames; the body was Laurence Havershamâs. Dover had killed Haversham and taken his place. But with me in this state, there was no way for me to alert a bobby or Scotland Yard of this discovery. I would have to escape.
Anyone walking down Whitehall Place at two am would have seen Lucy flying toward Scotland Yard. She banged the door, til its hinges shook with horror. Luckily, Janise was still there, and the metal door opened by her hand.
âLucy!â
âJanise, I need to talk to Robert right now!âÂ
âWhy do you need him?â
âJanise, itâs Kingsley. I donât have much time.â
âRobert left four minutes ago, Iâm sorry. He headed toward Big Ben. Do you want me to call his place?â
âNo, he couldnât have gotten very far in four minutes.â
Then Lucy sprinted off in the direction of Big Ben.
I sat there.
I had been sitting in the same chair for a while now. I had no idea where I was. Charles hadnât done anything to me since Lucy left, and that had been at least two hours ago. I wished Lucy would hurry up. I didnât want to die, and this chair was cold.
The wooden door holding me here creaked open and Charles sauntered in,Â
âYou enjoying these arrangements?â
I glowered at his dark figure, âYou arenât the worst host Iâve ever met.âÂ
âGood, good. Lucy better hurry up,â he tossed his pistol back and forth, âOr I might have to use thisâŠâ
Lucy ran down the gas-lit streets toward a tallish figure, she only hoped could be Inspector Hampton.Â
âInspector!âÂ
The man turned toward Lucy, âMiss Delaney?!â
âRobert, itâs Kingsley. Dover has him!â
âYouâre just as crazy as the old man! Charles Dover is dead!â
After that statement, he turned back to his path and trotted off.
âInspector, you have to let a man by the name of Lawrence Haversham out of the country.â
âMiss Delaney, whatever game youâre playing you must stop. Pretending dead people are alive and have kidnapped old men is no sport.âÂ
âIâm not playing any games! The man who showed up in the Thames two weeks ago was NOT Charles Dover! Rather it was his twin, Lawrence Haversham! Dover murdered Larie for the Haversham estate. Because Dover is the younger twin, he was exiled from the fortune. Inspector, how can you not believe this?! Itâs clearly a murder,â Lucy was screaming at this point, âWe need to save Kingsley!â
Inspector Hampton stopped. He took a deep breath,Â
âIf Kingsley is really kidnappedâŠâ
âWhich he isâŠâ
âThen take me to him.âÂ
The pair hailed a cab to Kings Cross Station. Neither of them was prepared for the events of the next five hours. Neither of them got on that train with a plan. And neither of themâ
The tension hung thick in the musty air. Lucy and Dover stared holes through each other. I was flattered that they cared this much about an old man like me. But beyond flattery, this standoff was for my life and the immediate justice of a murderer. Inspector Hampton was here too; standing in the dark corner, surveying the battle, hopefully thinking of ways to get me out of here.
âYou know, staring at each other is not going to free me.â
âYou are in no position to speak, Kingsley,â Dover stated.
âI suppose not, but Iâm rather tired of this chair.â
âIâm working on it, old man. What do you really want, Dover?â the Inspector asked. âI doubt you just want to leave the country.â
âFinally, some productivity in this room. Well, now that I have my money back I can do whatever I want. The only problemââ
The door burst down at that moment, with who but Dayton behind it. Various versions of âDayton!â, âWho is that?â, and âWhat is going on?â filled the room.Â
âThe problem is me. Hello, Kingsley, Lucy, Inspector.â Dayton tipped an imaginary hat to us.
âDayton, I thought you headed back home, what are you doing?â Lucy perking up, mused
âFinishing a task I started a while ago.â Our confused faces prompted an explanation from Dayton. âI never told you who I worked for. And thereâs a good reason for that. Last year a buddy of mine got a call from a mystery person, inviting us to join a secret club of sorts. Well, that club turned out to be a government-run organization known as the Secret Intelligence Bureau. Our first mission was to investigate a suspicious purchase made by this very estate. That led me to follow a trail of fraud and stolen artifacts. All led to a man known as Lawrence Haversham. Which I presume are you,â he pointed at Dover, âMr. Charles Dover, also known as Lawrence Haversham, you are under arrest for the charges of murder, theft, and fraud. Along with a slew of other things I donât wish to mention.âÂ
At that instant, my chair was thrown toward the Inspector, who, anticipating Doverâs will to escape, had drawn his knife. Just as the inspector let the blade fly from his grip, he realized his mistake. The blade made contact with my scalp. I felt the blood drip from my head to my hands to the ground.Â
Lucy rushed to my aid, but it was too late. I felt myself slipping away.Â
I guessed this is what death felt like.Â
Secret Intelligence Bureau reportÂ
16/8/1910Â
Agent 157: Delaney, D.
Case: 7Â
â The Haversham fraud case
Agent 157: âThe case is still ongoing. Dover is a wanted man. All of England is looking for him. He will not get far.â
C: âHow could you have let him escape?â
Agent 157:Â âOther things were happening.â
C: âDayton youâre a good man. What happened to Kingsley is not your fault.â
Agent 157: âYes, sir.â
C: âAnd, DaytonâŠâ
Agent 157: âYes, sir?â
C: âTake a break. Come back to the case later.â
Agent 157: âYes, sir.â