Usually we visited Commissioner Munro at the police headquarters, but not this time. Matt wanted to speak to Detective Inspector Brockwell, a plodding yet thorough policeman whom Matt admired. I couldn't decide what to make of him, however. While I appreciated his dogged determination to get to the truth, I worried that he saw Matt as an outlaw and would arrest him one day. The police had arrested him before, almost costing him his life when he couldn't access his watch in the prison cell. I didn't trust them not to do it again. With Sheriff Payne whispering in the commissioner's ear about Matt's misdeeds in America, my concerns were justified. So far, the commissioner had chosen to believe us when we told him that Payne couldn't be trusted, but for how long? How many times would he overlook our tendency to attract trouble, particularly when we couldn't explain it thanks to the secrecy surrounding Matt's magic watch?
"What can I do for you?" asked Detective Inspector Brockwell. We sat in his small, windowless office at the back of the building. It was nothing like Commissioner Munro's office on the top floor overlooking the river. Aside from the lack of view and space, it also lacked orderliness. Like Brockwell himself, his office was untidy. Papers were scattered across the desk and chair and spilled onto the floor. A lopsided portrait of the queen hung on the wall with a map of London pinned beneath it. The bookshelf was largely empty, yet books piled up in the corner of the room.
Matt plucked the papers off one of the chairs and offered me the seat. I took it and he placed the stack near my feet since there was nowhere else for them to go. He remained standing at my side.
"India and I are investigating a case of a missing nun from the Convent of the Sacred Heart in Chelsea," Matt began.
Every word saw the inspector's eyebrows rise higher until they almost met his hairline at the mention of the convent. "You're investigating a crime? Why?"
"One of the nuns asked us to look into it. It's been bothering her, and she'd like a resolution after all these years."
"How many years?"
"Twenty-seven."
"Twenty-seven," Brockwell repeated flatly. "That number again."
"Pardon?" I asked.
"It seems to come up frequently, of late. Dr. Millroy's death occurred twenty-seven years ago, after he was involved in a suspicious death, also at that time." He scratched his bushy sideburns with deliberate strokes that I was convinced he slowed on purpose to annoy me.
It did not seem to annoy Matt. "I doubt the good nuns from the Order of the Sacred Heart had anything to do with those crimes," he said.
I pressed my lips together to suppress my smile.
Brockwell stopped scratching. "I don't believe in coincidences."
While Brockwell knew the specifics surrounding Dr. Millroy's death, he did not know the wider story of the doctor's magical abilities or how his illegitimate son may have inherited those abilities and might be the only person alive that could save Matt. Brockwell had made it very clear he did not believe in magic. A non-believer wouldn't understand our desperate need to find Phineas Millroy. He might even get in the way of us finding him if he thought Matt guilty of the crimes Sheriff Payne accused him of. It was best if Brockwell was kept in the dark as much as possible.
"Then you're a fool," Matt said.
I closed my eyes. Calling the inspector a fool when we required his help wasn't a good idea.
"How so?" the inspector asked.
"Coincidence can be understood by the study of probability theory. Mathematically speaking, it's not unlikely that two disparate events will occur in the same years when taking into account the ages of the nun, Millroy, and anyone else involved in both cases."
Brockwell put up his hands in surrender. "Get to your point, Glass. What do you want from me?"
"I want you to check the police archives for any reports of the mother superior's disappearance from the convent twenty-seven years ago. According to Sister Clare, it was out of character and she did not tell anyone where she was going. She has not been seen or heard from since."
"And this Sister Clare came to you and asked you to investigate?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I was there to make a donation and happened to mention that I'm a private inquiry agent," Matt said without hesitation. "Perhaps it was the first opportunity she's had to discuss it with an investigator in all this time."
Brockwell scratched his sideburns again. "Or perhaps something triggered her memory while you happened to be at the convent offering a donation. Sizable, was it?"
"I don't like your tone," Matt said darkly.
"Will you help us, Inspector?" I asked before he could get even closer to the truth. "There's no need for you to trouble yourself beyond a quick check of the archives. It's unlikely to be a police matter."
"You think the mother superior left of her own accord?"
"It seems the most likely scenario."
"You will inform me if you suspect something illegal." When Matt didn't respond, Brockwell added, "Miss Steele?"
"Of course," I said. "Are your archives kept in this building?"
"Some, but this might be a case for the local Chelsea branch."
When he didn't rise, Matt said, "We can wait while you check."
"I'll send word when I've found a record of the investigation, if there is one."
"By the end of today?"
Brockwell checked his pocket watch. "It's almost five, Mr. Glass. Hopefully I'll have something by tomorrow."
"Midday."
Brockwell gave a non-committal grunt then walked with us out of his office. "Jack Sweet's trial will be soon," he said. "If he pleads not guilty, you will both be called to testify. I am sorry for the trouble and anxiety, Miss Steele."
"I'm happy to testify if it helps," I said. "I'm not worried about being called to speak in front of a jury."
"You are very brave." He suddenly grasped my hand and patted it. The intimate gesture took me by surprise, as did his smile. This serious man hardly ever smiled. "I've never met a woman with such steely nerves as you, pardon the pun."
I smiled back. "Thank you, Inspector. It must seem odd that we attract more trouble than most, but it's a relief to know that you don't think us guilty of anything untoward. Sheriff Payne would have you believe otherwise, but he cannot be trusted."
"As you say."
"Good day, Inspector," Matt said briskly. He put out his arm for me to take then led me back through the building and outside. "What a nerve!"
I frowned at him. "Brockwell?"
"I don't like the way he smiled at you."
"It was just a smile," I said, stepping into the carriage.
"He patted your hand. That makes it more than just a smile."
"It's called flirting, Matt. You should know all about it, considering you're quite the expert."
He settled on the seat opposite. "I am not."
"You are and you know it."
He tugged on his cuffs and stared out the rear window. I thought the matter ended, but as we neared Mayfair, he said, "Next time we visit Scotland Yard, you're staying home."
* * *
Duke and Cyclops arrived home just before dinner and reported on their success in the sitting room where Matt and I sat with Miss Glass. She had insisted we tell her about our day as she was tired of looking through magazines.
"We fixed the roof," Duke said, rubbing his shoulder. "There were a few broken tiles. We found some spares in the outbuildings. It weren't too much trouble and Sister Bernadette was real grateful. She didn't want to climb up there herself."
"I'm surprised she doesn't think God will stop her from falling," Miss Glass said with a sniff.