An Appetite for Murder by Linda Stratmann

I look after the bus’ness till they come back.’
    ‘It’s not that Filleter up to his tricks, is it?’ said Sarah, with a scowl.
    She was referring to the repellent young man, so called because of the thin sharp knife he carried, whose mere presence in Bayswater had once been enough to frighten Chas and Barstie away for weeks. He had recently given them to understand that he had no further designs upon their safety, although they felt that this might only be a temporary situation.
    ‘Nah, ‘e’s not been seen round ‘ere for a month at least,’ said Tom, airily, ‘an’ I don’t give ‘im no mind, in any case! I’m not afraid of ‘im! No, the gents ‘ave got bus’ness elsewhere – not Afriky, that was jus’ a joke, though I think Ratty believed ‘em. They’ve gone east.’
    ‘What? China?’ Sarah exclaimed.
    ‘Nah – Essex. Mr Knight, ‘e’s a sharp cove and no mistake, ‘e sez it’s a good place to go when you want do somethin’ quiet where you won’t get bothered, ’n put things where they won’t get found.’ He tapped the side of his nose with a grubby forefinger. ‘’Nuff said if you know what I mean.’
    ‘Well, when they come back, tell them Miss Doughty wants to see them,’ said Sarah. ‘It’s not your line of work.’
    ‘‘ow much for the message?’ Tom demanded.
    ‘It’s just telling them, there’s no work in that!’
    ‘I c’d choose not to if I want! ‘Ow much?’
    She snorted. ‘No result, no money!’
    ‘No money, no work!’ retorted Tom.
    ‘No work and a clip round the ear!’ Sarah gave an angry growl and stamped downstairs.

    ‘That is a disappointment,’ said Frances, when Sarah reported back. ‘Mr Knight and Mr Taylor would have known every underhand thing happening in both businesses, or at least know where to find it out.’
    She had no time to devise further plans because the arrival of the three warring gentlemen was imminently expected.
    Frances had read the letters sent to the Chronicle several times and had made a close examination of their appearance. The Sanitas letter was written on plain, pale blue notepaper of a very common type; a foolscap sheet, folded in half in the usual way. The hand was firm and legible, but was not that of an individual occupied in any profession where superior clarity and neatness of script was essential. The last paragraph, while undoubtedly in the same hand, seemed to have been written in a faster, more flowing manner than the earlier part, perhaps expressing its more emotional content. The letter from Mr Whibley’s medical man was a thready scrawl, which looked as though it had been done by someone careless of appearances. Little spots of ink suggested an indifferent pen, and the pressure on the paper expressed irritation. The paper was good quality and plain white, slightly smaller than foolscap, and the upper right corner of the top fold had been torn away, indicating that it had been printed with the sender’s address, which he had decided to conceal. The Bainiardus letter was neatly written, in a rounded hand, its execution slow and studied. If, as the writer claimed, he had suffered distress at the illness and death of a friend, it was not apparent in his handwriting. It was on a small, plain unfolded sheet, the paper inferior in type to the two others, and imperfectly cut on one edge. All three letters used standard black ink. None had any notable scent.
    Dr Adair was the first to arrive. He was a vigorous looking man of forty-five, who, if the size of his moustache and length of his stride were anything to judge by, liked to cultivate an air of authority. There was a rounded bulge about his belly, causing noticeable strain to his waistcoat buttons, which he seemed quite proud of and he had no hesitation about thrusting it forward to lend weight to his words. Frances could not help wondering if he was one of those medical men, of a type she knew to be all too common, who was very free with his advice to