‘And he wore it always?’ asked Frances.

‘He did. He had a great sentimental attachment to it.’

Sharrock nodded thoughtfully. ‘That being the case we can now feel sure that Mr Antrobus must have returned to London. It doesn’t seem likely that he went missing elsewhere and the ring found its way back here on its own.’

Frances agreed. ‘Does the pawnbroker have a record of where and from whom he obtained it? How long has it been in the shop?’

‘I always thought it was the police who asked the questions,’ said Sharrock.

‘Apparently not,’ observed Antrobus, dryly. ‘Unfortunately Mr Taylorson does not have the individual’s name. It was a woman of the poorer class who said she had found it lying in the street, and she brought it to him about two months ago.’

Frances was astonished. ‘Only two months?’

‘Which does rather leave us with the question of where it has been since it was last seen on Mr Antrobus’ finger,’ added Sharrock.

‘Has the pawnbroker seen the woman since?’ asked Frances, ‘because I am not at all convinced by her story.’

Sharrock gave a sceptical chuckle. ‘I’d like sixpence for every item of value pawned that’s said to have been found lying in the street. He hasn’t seen her lately, but if she comes back he’ll let us know, and the constables will keep their eyes open.’

‘I can help the police find her if you wish,’ Frances offered. ‘If you can supply me with a description, I will ask Tom Smith’s men to keep a look out for her.’

‘A kind of junior police force that Miss Doughty has at her beck and call,’ explained Sharrock to Antrobus. ‘Sharp-eyed lads, quick on their feet; when they grow up I could do with some of them in uniform.’

‘Very well, I will fund the work, whatever is required,’ said Antrobus.

Sharrock consulted his notebook. ‘The woman was about fifty years of age, dark dress, brown bonnet, coarse woven flowered shawl, neither stout nor thin, complexion sallow, slight cast in one eye, probably washerwoman or charwoman.’

Frances copied the details into her notebook. ‘If she is seen I will make sure that she is followed home and a report made of where she lives.’

Lionel Antrobus had been staring thoughtfully at the ring. ‘I think it will be necessary to speak to my sister-in-law about this, difficult as that will be.’ He replaced the ring in its box. The Inspector held out his hand, but Antrobus slipped the box into his pocket. ‘I will secure a cab.’

The two men hurried outside, walking up towards Ladbroke Grove where there were more cabs to be had. Frances, although uninvited, quickly followed and the Inspector turned to confront her. ‘Now then, this is police work! Or do I have to handcuff you to something?’

‘Mrs Antrobus is my client,’ insisted Frances. ‘I am engaged by her to find her husband.’

Sharrock grunted and began to sprint down the street after a cab that stopped as he waved. He stood back to allow Lionel Antrobus to mount the steps first, but Antrobus paused and looked at Frances. ‘I rather think the Inspector intends to drive away without you Miss Doughty.’

‘I think so too.’

‘What is this, musical chairs?’ exclaimed the Inspector as Antrobus waved him into the cab then stood aside for Frances to climb in. There was a lurch as Sharrock sank heavily into his seat, and while Frances was safe enough, it was surely only gentlemanly courtesy that led Antrobus to clasp her firmly by the arm to steady her.

Frances thanked him, climbed into the cab and took her seat, her cheeks unnaturally warm. She was still being troubled by the nightmares, experiencing again and again the brutish strength of her attacker, the imprint of his fingertips gripping her shoulder, the foul smell of his breath, the sting of the chloroformed cloth as he tried to press it onto her face. This was different, a man’s strong clasp offered as a woman’s support and not her danger. She collected herself by making a close examination of her notebook.

‘Perhaps, Inspector, you can tell me if there is any news on the murder of Mr Eckley?’

Sharrock scowled. ‘I thought we had our man, and we may still do, but there was nothing we could use so we had to release him. I don’t mind, I can wait.’

‘Are you looking into murder, Miss Doughty?’ enquired Lionel Antrobus, disapprovingly.

‘I am afraid Mr Eckley was a client of mine,’ admitted Frances.

‘Do you lose many of them that way?’

‘Miss Doughty is not only a danger to herself but all of Paddington,’ Sharrock snarled. ‘Wherever she goes, companies fail, banks close and buildings come tumbling down. If you employ her, Mr Antrobus, you should be very careful.’

‘Inspector, I would prefer you not to undermine my business,’ objected Frances, sharply.

‘I do it because I don’t want you ending up dead in an alleyway as you very nearly did last winter!’ thundered Sharrock. There was an uncomfortable silence.

‘Is that true?’ asked Lionel Antrobus, evenly.

‘Not precisely,’ said Frances, feeling disinclined to prolong the argument.

Sharrock grunted. ‘Luckily her servant was with her and flattened the man’s nose for him. He’ll live but his mother won’t know him again.’

Frances felt unable to meet the gaze of either man.

At Craven Hill all three were admitted to the Antrobus house by Charlotte Pearce, who looked dismayed to see the Inspector and even more so to see her brother-in-law.

‘Now then, Miss Pearce,’ began Sharrock, ‘I want to see Mrs Antrobus, and I won’t take no for an answer!’

‘Inspector, I beg you to moderate your voice or you will simply be torturing a very ill woman.’

‘It is pointless to argue,’ Antrobus told him. ‘Agree to what she wants so we can hold the meeting.’

With a certain amount of grumbling, the gentlemen submitted to the inconvenience of removing their boots, the Inspector offering a nice display of Mrs Sharrock’s neat darning, while Charlotte, having ascertained the reason for the visit, went to speak to her sister to advise her of what had transpired.

‘Mr Wylie is with her now,’ said Charlotte when she reappeared, ‘perhaps in a minute or so —’

Sharrock shook his head. ‘No, let him stay, I’ll speak to him too.’

‘Very well. But please ensure that only one person speaks at a time.’

It was a difficult arrangement. Harriett gazed in alarm at the visitors as her private sanctuary was invaded, and Mr Wylie, rising to his feet in decidedly shaky fashion, looked as if he was afraid of being arrested for perjury.

Charlotte took the signet ring from Lionel Antrobus and handed it to Harriett. ‘This was found in a pawnshop. Is it Edwin’s?’

Harriett held the ring in her hands and then clasped it tightly. She squeezed her eyes shut and tears rolled unchecked down her face. At length, she wiped her face and looked up at the visitors. ‘Yes, I would know it anywhere. A pawnshop, you say? But who brought it there?’

‘A woman,’ boomed Sharrock abruptly, and Harriett flinched and put her hands over her ears.

‘Please Inspector!’ Charlotte begged him.

Frances read out the description of the woman who had pawned the ring, but neither Harriett nor Charlotte nor Mr Wylie could suggest who she might be. ‘But a careful watch is to be kept and I am sure she will be found,’ she added.

The Inspector opened his mouth to speak, and Charlotte placed a warning finger to her lips. ‘Really, this is impossible!’ he muttered.

‘Not impossible, Inspector, it just needs a little care. And however inconvenient it is for you for these few minutes, kindly try and imagine if you had to live like my sister forever.’

Sharrock puffed out his cheeks with frustration. ‘Very well,’ he went on as quietly as he could. ‘Mrs Antrobus, can you tell me if your husband was wearing this ring when you last saw him?’

Harriett nodded. ‘I am not sure if I have ever seen him without it since it became his. In fact it was getting a little tight for him, and he might not have been able to remove it even had he wished to.’