Garden of Lies by Amanda Quick

graceful.
    Slater took out his pocket watch to check the time. He and Griffith had arrived at the offices of the Kern Secretarial Agency a short while ago and found only Matty Bingham and Fenton.
    Fenton was a little gnome of a man. Judging by his rumpled, ink-and-oil-stained coat he had come straight from his workshop. He was going bald. What scraggly gray hair he had left had not been touched by a barber in a very long time. Behind the lenses of his spectacles, his gray eyes glittered with passion for his creation.
    â€œMrs. Kern and I have established a professional association,” Fenton said. “I advertise that my typewriters are tested here at the Kern agency. That information attracts the very best class of buyer, you see, because of the reputation of Mrs. Kern’s business. My goal is to put a Fenton Modern in every office in the country.”
    He whipped out a card. Slater took it and glanced at the wording.
    FENTON MODERN TYPEWRITING MACHINES.
    Tested by the expert typists at the Kern Secretarial Agency.
    Matty stopped typing and smiled. “Every time Mr. Fenton makes an improvement in his machines, he brings one around for us to test.” She patted the new Fenton Modern on her desk in an affectionate manner. “This is the finest one yet, Mr. Fenton. I do believe you have outdone yourself. None of the keys or type bars jammed. I did not have to slow down or pause at any point.”
    Griffith leaned over Matty’s shoulder to get a closer look at the keyboard. His brows scrunched together. “Why are the keys arranged in such an odd fashion? Q, W, E, R, T, Y come first. Shouldn’t it be A, B, C, D, E?”
    Fenton snorted. “Sadly, after the success of the Remington typewriting machines, everyone has grown accustomed to this keyboard design. Damned shame but that’s what you get when a manufacturer of firearms turns its attention to other products.”
    Slater looked at him. “A trigger?”
    â€œNo, mass production.” Fenton looked deeply pained. “So many Remingtons out there now with the QWERTY keyboard that it’s become the standard, as far as the public is concerned. I’ve given up trying to persuade people to change over to another arrangement of the keys. None of my competitors have been successful with new designs, either. But that’s not to say that there isn’t room for improvement in the machines.”
    â€œMr. Fenton is constantly increasing the efficiency and striking speed,” Matty explained. “So many typewriters jam when one works too quickly. I’ve even heard that’s the real reason the keyboard is designed in this odd manner—to slow down the typist so that the keys and type bars won’t get tangled up with each other.”
    Fenton brightened. “I’m actually working on a device that will get rid of the basket arrangement for the type bars altogether. All the letters and numbers will be on a ball that rotates, you see. It is quite revolutionary—”
    He broke off as the office door opened. Slater turned and saw Ursula. He knew at once, even before she removed her hat and veil, that something had happened. Her shoulders were rigid. Her eyes were cold and grim. It was obvious that she had not slept well.
    When she saw him, he could have sworn he caught a flash of near panic on her face. But it disappeared almost instantly behind an aura of cool reserve.
    â€œGood morning, everyone,” she said. She stripped off her gloves and set them aside. “We don’t usually have so many visitors at this hour of the day. I see you have brought us a new model, Mr. Fenton.”
    â€œMuch improved,” Fenton assured her.
    â€œThe action is extremely smooth,” Matty said.
    Fenton glowed.
    Ursula nodded at Griffith and then looked at Slater with an air of challenge.
    â€œWhat brings you here today, Mr. Roxton?” she asked.
    They were back to Mr. Roxton. Something had most