The September Society

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

O n the train once more that evening (the trips were becoming tedious) he thought about what he would do in London. First, perhaps, he would find out whatever he could about John Lysander and James Payson. Or better still, he would have Dallington handle Lysander, because he and Lenox had already met.

Oxford an hour behind him, he almost missed it-the quiet implacable towers that stood on against time, the low murmur of people on the sidewalks, the perennially festive pubs that were always greeting a new wave of students just past some looming obstacle, an exam, an essay… and above all the companionable feeling of a university town, of a place that centuries of students have come to frightened and left feeling that they would always belong. The fields on either side of the train, golden in the late light, felt like the border between that simple life of his undergraduate days and these more complicated ones; for, as always, his thoughts had revolved again to Jane.

Pure sentimentality, thought Lenox-but smiled as he did.

He forced himself back to the case and for the rest of the train ride sat low in his seat, eyes hooded, trying to untangle the skein of connections between Red Kelly, John Lysander, Professor Hatch, Bill Dabney, and the dead father and son.

From Victoria he took a two-wheeled hansom cab, thinking first that he would go straight to Hampden Lane, but after a moment he decided to drop in on Toto and Thomas.

He found them again sitting quietly in the small anteroom by the door. It was a happy scene upon which he stumbled. The remnants of an informal supper were just being taken away, and Toto was writing letters at a small correspondence desk, while just by her McConnell was sitting on the sofa reading. Lenox saw this from the outside, the firelight dancing in the dim windows, and almost turned away, but rang at the door instead. Shreve showed him in.

“Charles, how good to see you back. Any progress?” This from McConnell.

“Some. A great deal, in fact, if only it will lead us to the murderer-and to Dabney, of course.” Toto had stood up to kiss him on the cheek. “You’re still in good health, I hope?”

“Oh, yes, the doctor’s quite proud of me-apparently I’ve unconsciously done everything right. I think that’s an absolute sign that I’m meant to be a mother, don’t you? Although it’s a bore to skip my favorite foods. I don’t like that bit. Still, think, in seven months you’ll be a godfather!”

“What present ought a godfather to give his godson, do you think?”

All three of them were sitting now, Toto with her feet up on the couch by McConell, Lenox in a chair opposite. Very definitely, she said, “Oh, you must give her a silver porringer! We’re expecting a christening bowl from Vix, you see.”

Lenox took this to refer to the Queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, Empress of the Isles, Victoria.

“That’s jolly, then,” he said.

“If she’ll do it. I expect she shall, Father will speak to somebody. But I would find it auspicious.” McConnell rolled his eyes in a way calculated to irritate his wife, and she smacked his hand softly. “Thomas, if you want to raise little Malory a heathen-”

“Malory, is it? Have I agreed to Malory McConnell? Well, she’ll grow up to be a washerwoman, but I’ll love her anyway,” said the doctor, though happiness was etched into his face.

“Take it back!”

Laughing, Lenox said, “Perhaps the Queen’s washerwoman, at any rate. That will be a consolation.”

“But listen to us,” said Toto. “Charles, where do you think you’re going to travel next?”

“Morocco!” he said and expounded on the merits of that country for a little while longer.

“Morocco! Oh, no, Malory’s godfather can’t go to Morocco.”

“But it’s awfully beautiful, Toto, I promise.”

“Promise all you like!”

They rattled on in this way for a few minutes more. Presently, McConnell said, “By the way, Charles, did you get that report on Peter Wilson that I sent you?”

“Yes, thanks. It was helpful.”

“I wish I could have been more conclusive.”

“Well, in any event it showed that there are some grounds for suspicion.”

“Quite slim ones, perhaps.”

“By the way-does either of you remember George Payson’s father?”

Both of them shook their heads. Toto said, “I wasn’t born, I don’t think-or only one or two.”

“And I’d have been in Scotland still, or at school.”

Lenox sighed. “No matter; I only mentioned it because I’m going to track down the report of his death, and if it wouldn’t be too much trouble you might have a look at that, too.”

“Yes, of course,” said McConnell. “Foul play?”

“There’s always been some doubt about it, actually. I always heard he was shot over cards, but that may be a myth.”

“Oh, Charles,” said Toto, suddenly perking up, “won’t you have a bit of supper? We’ve just had ours, but we haven’t had coffee yet-or rather, Thomas hasn’t, I’m not meant to at all any longer.”

“Thanks, no,” he said. “I must get home. I only wanted to say hello-and to check that you were in good health.”

“Oh, I don’t think I could be healthier or happier in a million years!”

The truth of this in the face of both his friends gave Lenox a moment’s happiness, even as his brain prowled around the edges of the case.