He settled back in his seat, flicking through the pages of newsprint on his knee. He was still feeling delicate from the excesses of the laudanum, and silently chastised himself for giving in to his cravings. Miss Hobbes was astute, and his late arrival at the office and less-than-savoury appearance that morning had not gone unnoticed. He resolved to represent himself better in future.
The driver tapped loudly on the top of the cab and both Newbury and Veronica looked up in surprise, dragged away from their thoughts.
"Yes?"
"Is this the place you're looking for, sir?"
He glanced out of the window. The cab had come to rest outside a small office building appended to a much larger complex of industrial hangers and factories. A sign above the door read: Chapman amp; Villiers Air Transportation Services.
"Yes, thank you driver, this is the place." He sighed, and caught Veronica's eye, folding his newspaper under his arm as he did so. "Are you ready, my dear?"
"Absolutely."
"Well then, after you." He watched her clamber down from the cab to the street below. He had a feeling that today, one way or another, some of the missing pieces of the mystery would begin clicking into place.
The offices of Chapman and Villiers were an austere affair, housed within a separate structure that was divorced from the factory proper by a large courtyard and an elaborate set of cast iron gates. Clearly the proprietors were intent on maintaining a strict distance between their visiting clientele and the factory workers, who, Newbury guessed, would likely have a separate entrance somewhere around the rear of the complex. It appeared, from the signs evident in the windows, that the office not only dealt with the company's commercial affairs but also served as a travel agency, of sorts, selling passage on its fleet of charter vessels to locations all over the globe, from Prussia to China, Jersey to Hong Kong. Newbury toyed with his gloves for a moment. "Well, Miss Hobbes, I do hope you have your detective's cap on?"
In reply, she stepped forward and pulled the office door open before her. It groaned loudly on its hinges. "Of course. After you, Sir Maurice."
He shook his head, taking the door from her and ushering her inside. "Come now, Miss Hobbes, let's do things properly."
The main reception area was as sobering in appearance as one expected after taking in the view of the building from the outside; the walls were hung with a dark, burgundy covering that seemed to soak up all of the light, and a scattering of chairs were situated beside low coffee tables and tall, leafy plants. A set of short stairs led up to another, unseen level. A clerk sat in one corner with his back to them, talking to a customer in hushed tones about purchasing transport to the Far East.
Their attention was most immediately drawn, however, to the man behind a mahogany desk in the centre of the room, his fingers forming a perfect pyramid before him on the polished surface, his pale face belying his apparent displeasure at receiving customers so close to lunch. When he spoke, his voice was thin and nasal. "Can I help you?"
Newbury strode up to the desk and placed his hat down beside a sheaf of paper files. The clerk looked at the item as if it were a horse's head, his disdain clearly evident.
"I'm here to see Mr. Chapman."
The clerk made a show of looking in his ledger. "Are you sure, sir? I have no meetings scheduled for Mr. Chapman today. He really is a very busy man." He shut his ledger as if that were simply the end of the matter. "Perhaps you'd care to make an appointment?"
"I'm afraid you don't seem to understand. It's imperative I speak with Mr., Chapman today." Newbury glowered at the man behind the desk.
"Imperative, you say, sir? Could I inquire as to what business you may have with my employer that could possibly be so urgent? If you're looking to make a complaint about a recent journey then you can find the forms behind you on the table there."
Newbury sighed. "I'm here on the business of the Crown. It is a delicate matter that I wish to discuss with Mr. Chapman in private. Of course, if you'd prefer me to air his private business out here…?"
The man's entire demeanour changed. His face seemed to flush with colour and his pursed lips split into a wide smile. He swallowed, and parted his hands in a conciliatory gesture. The timbre of his voice became immediately more welcoming. "Of course, sir. I quite understand. Allow me to go and enquire as to whether Mr. Chapman is available. May I offer him your name?"
"Sir Maurice Newbury."
"Please take a seat, Sir Maurice. I will only be a moment."
Newbury watched as the clerk scuttled out from behind his desk and crossed the office, glancing once behind him to see if Newbury was watching. He climbed the stairs and disappeared from view, Veronica lowered herself into one of the chairs, smiling to herself. Newbury paced the office, obviously impatient.
A moment or two later the clerk appeared at the top of the stairs. He climbed down, his hands clasped behind his back, and approached Newbury tentatively, as one might approach a lion, "Mr., Chapman is in his office and would be only too delighted to make your acquaintance, Sir Maurice. I will show you up now." He beckoned for them to follow. Newbury remembered to reclaim his hat before helping Veronica to her feet.
At the top of the stairs, three doors led into what Newbury supposed were private offices. The clerk hesitated before the middle one, clearing his throat. He rapped politely, three times, and then opened the door with a flourish, stepping to one side to allow them to enter.
"Your visitors, sir,"
Newbury followed Veronica into the room, his hat tucked carefully under his arm.
It was a large office, and ostentatiously furnished, cluttered with artwork and fine goods from all corners of the globe. Newbury glanced around, trying to get a measure of the place. An enormous marble fireplace dominated one wall, whilst above it, a portrait of the Queen looked mournfully down upon the visitors. A display case in one corner held relics from as far afield as Constantinople, Baghdad, Greece and Delhi; souvenirs,
Newbury supposed, from journeys undertaken in pursuit of business in those far-flung nations.
Chapman himself lounged in a large Chesterfield, smoking a cigarette. His hair was blonde and cut long around his shoulders, and he was dressed in his shirtsleeves and a black waistcoat. Newbury thought he had the look of a cat about him, languorously warming himself before the fire. He stood as Newbury entered the room and moved quickly to shake his hand. "Sir Maurice Newbury, I presume?"
"Indeed." Newbury took his hand and shook it firmly. He stepped to one side. "Allow me to introduce my assistant, Miss Veronica Hobbes."
Chapman smiled and took her hand, holding it for just a moment longer than was necessary, before inclining his head politely. "Delighted, I'm sure." He gestured at the clerk, who was still standing in the doorway. "Now, can my man Soames fetch you any refreshments? A brandy, perhaps?" He glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. "Not too early for that, are we?" He looked baffled, as if he'd only just realised the time.
Newbury shook his head. "A pot of tea would be fine. Earl Grey, if you have it?"
Chapman nodded briskly and Soames disappeared again, clicking the door shut behind him. They heard his footsteps on the stairs as he made his way down to the office below.
Chapman beckoned for them to take a seat, folding himself back into his chair. He reclaimed his cigarette from the ashtray on the table and took a long, luxurious draw. It was clear to Newbury that the man didn't give much thought to convention: his entire manner was at odds with his station, and his appearance marked him as something of a fop. Nevertheless, he couldn't help feeling drawn to the man's bohemian charm. He could see immediately that there was a cool intelligence lurking behind the darting, ice-blue eyes, and whilst he didn't put much stock in the man's taste in furnishings, he had to admit the fellow had an acute nose for business. Either that or he was spending his inheritance at a rate that would soon see him bankrupt or destitute. Chapman tapped his cigarette in the ashtray and regarded Newbury with a wistful smile. "So, Sir Maurice, I presume you are here regarding that terrible business with The Lady Armitage} ^99 He looked suddenly serious. "A truly lamentable affair."