“They can. He swallowed a tonic, for his ailments, he said, before he went to bed. The maid was curious about the tonic and took a sip. Laudanum, she said, very strong on the opium. She slept well all night with that one nip, and Laybourne had taken a full swig. Her brother is an opium eater, she said, so she knows what it smells and tastes like.”
“I see.” If Laybourne had drunk a good dose of opium before retiring, he’d likely not have waked until late in the morning. I had taken strong laudanum for my aching leg before and knew how solidly a man could sleep on it. “He was a good suspect, near to hand and disliking Warrilow so much.”
“You won’t have a small number of people who disliked the man, I’ll wager.”
“That is the trouble. Laybourne was correct when he said almost any Warrilow spoke to could have struck him down. I perhaps should worry less about who actually did and simply find evidence that Eden did not.”
“Would help if Major Eden were more forthcoming. I understand he’s your friend, but I know a liar when I see one.”
“Yes, but about what is he lying? I suspected him of spiriting away a beautiful woman, but he was right when he claimed me to be too romantic. My idea genuinely surprised him.”
“Don’t mean he didn’t spirit away something else. Suppose he helped someone transport goods he shouldn’t? Maybe Mr. Warrilow found out and threatened to expose him.”
I did not like to embrace the possibility, but I knew I had to. Eden was in a good position to be a smuggler—no immediate family to disgrace, no ties to anyone but an uncle and cousins he was not close to. He had enough money to stay in elegant rooms in St. James’s and by his own admission was not worried about cash.
“Eden was surprised about the carbine you found,” I said as we turned down a lane that took us to Wellclose Square. “I would swear he knew nothing about it, which relieves me. I’d hate to believe Eden had become a gun runner. However.” I paused as we entered the square, the church rising in the open space, surrounded by the welcome sight of trees with their autumn foliage. “Laybourne appeared most upset I’d mentioned it. Was terrified.”
“Was he now?” Brewster rubbed his hands. “That’s summut.”
“Have you ever been to High Harrogate?”
Brewster’s brows came together. “Where’s that, then?”
“Yorkshire. The West Riding, I believe.”
“Well, I wouldn’t know about it. Never been to Yorkshire. My family came from the Black Country, but a long time ago. I spent most of my youth in London.”
“High Harrogate is a spa town,” I said. “Not as much in fashion as Bath or Tunbridge Wells, but there are hot springs and plenty of visitors. Not that I have ever been either.”
“And why are we discussing a spa town in the West Riding of Yorkshire?”
“That is Laybourne’s destination, or so he claims. It’s a town for retirement and leisure, not for finding work when you’re hard up. Laybourne was very angry when I spoke to him, angry at his surroundings—you say he complained about everything.”
“According to the kitchen staff.”
“Perhaps he is a man used to finer things. Perhaps he was stealing and selling weapons—a lucrative practice, I am certain—and is lying low here until he can collect his money and move to Yorkshire. Perhaps Warrilow discovered what he was up to, taking one of the carbines as proof. But Warrilow was killed before he could show the gun to a customs agent or a magistrate.”
“That would tie things up nice and neat,” Brewster said with approval. “Have your Runner arrest Mr. Laybourne, then.”
“Though I wonder why Warrilow didn’t simply show the gun to the customs agents when they boarded the ship. Apparently he was remonstrating with them.”
“Maybe he tried to show them, and they didn’t believe him.”
“Could be. So he took the carbine home with him and hid it, preparing to tell a magistrate about it in the morning? Laybourne knew this, paid a visit, and killed him?”
I began walking again, heading for the house in which Warrilow had died.
“There’s another possibility, guv. Warrilow maybe kept the gun to see how much cash he could pry out of Laybourne for his silence. But you’re up against Mr. Laybourne going to bed early, dosed with laudanum.”
“Unless he only pretended to drink it. Or, he paid a visit to Warrilow earlier, long before he went to bed, and killed Warrilow then. Perhaps telling Mrs. Beadle when he came downstairs that Warrilow said he’d go early to bed and didn’t want to be disturbed.”
“Then Mr. Laybourne drinks the laudanum to put himself hard to sleep so he can’t possibly be accused of killing the man.” Brewster rubbed his nose. “A bit far-fetched.”
“We can clear it up easily.” I rapped on the door of Warrilow’s lodgings.
Mrs. Beadle opened it promptly. “Oh, it’s you again, Captain. I’m sorry, love, I’ve let the room and can’t let you search it no more. I need to make a living, you know.”
“I have no intention of disturbing you at all, madam.” I gave her a bow. “I only wanted to ask you—did a Mr. Laybourne visit Mr. Warrilow the night he died?”
“Thin little man with a face like he’d eaten a lemon? Oh, aye, he were here. But much earlier than your Major Eden. I’d say about six o’clock or so.”
“And he spoke to Mr. Warrilow?”
“I suppose so. I sent him up. Came down not long later and went off.”
“Did he mention that Warrilow was going to bed? Or did not wish to be disturbed?”
“He said nothing at all, love. I heard the door bang and then spied the small man speeding off down the street in a pique, fists balled.”
“After that, did you see Warrilow?” I asked.
“Didn’t see him, but he called for some coffee, which me grandson carried up to him. Heard him growling when he took the cup. Not a patient man, was Warrilow.”
So Laybourne had been here, but he’d left Warrilow alive. So much for my theory.
“Is your grandson about, Mrs. Beadle? I want to ask him about that night, if it is all right with you.”
“The lad is here, as it happens, and he’ll answer you. He’s a bright boy. Come in out of the damp, and I’ll fetch him.”
CHAPTER 15
A s we stepped inside the boarding house, I was struck anew by the difference between it and Laybourne’s lodgings. The house was no longer lavish, but its polished banisters and scrubbed floors shone with care and pride.
Mrs. Beadle left us in the hall while she hurried toward the back. I glanced inside a room to my right and found a pleasant if sparsely furnished sitting room. The ceilings were as high as those in White’s, the plastered decorations once as luxurious. Time and chance had let this house and area recede into faded respectability while White’s was at the relative height of its grandeur.
Mrs. Beadle returned quickly. “He’s in the yard.” She waved her hand at a rear door, the top half filled with a windowpane, through which we could see a small space with a gray wall. “Too muddy to come in without a good bath. Perhaps another time?”