Constantine Capers: The Pennington Perplexity by Natalie Brianne (new ebook reader TXT) 📕

now that I would never purposefully lie to you, Mira.”

“I do.”

“Why don’t we go out for a little bit? You could show me the cafe that we met at, and we can get brunch.”

“I would love to.”

He stood and offered her an arm. She took it happily, and they left Palace Court en route to what had become her favorite cafe. They each ordered a plate of French toast and a pot of tea to share and talked about all the happenings during the last few weeks. When they finished their French toast and conversation, Byron checked his pocket watch.

“Chief Inspector Thatcher will be coming to Palace Court soon. We probably ought to get back.”

“How do you know he’ll be coming now?”

“I’d love to say that it was my deductive reasoning and brilliant observational powers…”

“But?”

“He sent me a telegram this morning saying he would stop by around one. It is around noon now, which means we can have a nice leisurely stroll through Kensington Gardens on our way back.” She laughed a little and then remembered what happened earlier that morning.

“Oh! I nearly forgot. On my way to Palace Court this morning, a mysterious gentleman stopped me. The same that had threatened me on my way home two days ago.”

“I didn’t read anything about this gentleman.” His tone turned serious.

“I forgot to tell you about it yesterday. Things were a bit hectic.”

“Did he threaten you again?”

“No, and I suppose the other time was just a warning. He gave me a letter to give to you. It’s back at Palace Court.”

“Then it can wait there until we arrive.” He held onto her arm protectively and kept his guard up as they walked through Kensington.

The sun rose high in the sky over London, melting the frost away and warming her back. She leaned into Byron a little. She felt entirely content. They watched squirrels running up and down the trees, the birds flying south for the winter, and the other couples walking past. They reached Palace Court and found Inspector Thatcher waiting outside.

“Good afternoon, Detectives.” He smiled and his eyes sparkled.

“Good afternoon, Inspector Thatcher! How are you doing?” she offered him a smile. Byron took out his key and unlocked the door.

“Very well. Very well indeed. We’ve gotten confessions out of the Shadow and the two men found with her, and apprehended the other woman you mentioned. She did, in fact, have the blueprints.”

“Wonderful news, Thatcher!” Byron opened the door. They all walked into the house and made themselves comfortable in the living room. Byron went to the kitchen to make some tea.

“And how are you, Miss Blayse?”

“I am quite content.” She smiled.

“I am very glad to hear that. I need to thank you. Your work has been invaluable in helping to solve this case.”

“I was more than happy to help.”

Byron returned with the tea things and poured them each a cup. Inspector Thatcher sipped at it gratefully.

“So, Thatcher, have you been able to make any headway on the smuggling part of the case?”

“Indeed, we have. My men were able to uncover quite a few clues this morning. We should have the whole thing broken open by the end of the week. The inquest is planned for the middle of next week.”

“Marvelous!”

“Of course, that wouldn’t have been possible without that package you sent us, Miss Blayse.”

“Package?” Byron looked at Mira.

“Before I came to Vale street, I made up a letter with all the facts, addresses, portraits I had drawn, practically everything I knew. I sent it to Scotland Yard in the hopes that if something happened to either of us that the case would still be solved.”

“And the post was faithful. We received it this morning.” The chief inspector set his teacup down in the saucer.

“I’m so glad it helped.”

“It is likely the link that will have solved this entire mess. I can only hope that the ‘Dear Boss’ letter that was received in relation to the Whitechapel murders will prove as useful. Then Scotland Yard can take it easy for a little while.”

“‘Dear Boss’ letter?” Byron’s curiosity piqued, and his gaze turned serious.

“Yes. It was a letter from the killer. Signed Jack the Ripper. Quite a chilling title for a mass murderer. But we’ll have caught him soon enough, now that we have a handwriting sample.”

Byron looked at Mira, recognition crossing his face. He picked up his journal and rifled through it, looking at his last entry. Mira felt a chill go up her spine, a feeling of nausea spreading through her.

“Inspector, I don’t know if the letter will solve this particular case. There are several killers.” Byron read the final page.

“Several killers?”

“Yes. Molly, the Shadow, she mentioned that there were multiple killers.”

“Oh! The letter!” Mira remembered and looked around for her sketchbook. She found it on the side table. She opened it, took out the mysterious envelope, and looked it over again. Thatcher leaned forward.

“What letter is this?”

“A man gave it to me in the gardens. He told me it was for Byron.” Mira handed it to him. He examined the seal and turned it over a few times. Then he stood and went to the mantle to retrieve his letter opener.

“Now let’s see.”

Byron slid the letter opener delicately into the envelope and tore through the seal. He hesitated before pulling out a single piece of paper and turning it over. He frowned and handed it to Mira. On the page was a triangle with a circle around it. Three smaller circles were drawn at each of the points of the triangle. The symbol of the Order of Circe. Below it there were three words.

We live on.

Thanks to the mystery authors who came before me. You've written significantly better murders and gotten away with it. However did you manage? Agatha Christie, Arthur Conan Doyle, and Dorothy L. Sayers, I hope I’ve lived up to your legacy. Of course, you’re dead, so unless you haunt me there isn’t much you can do about that. Did the lights just