hands together. ‘I believe the American lady, the one whose uncle was murdered, she is the blackmailer.’
Alkmene’s jaw dropped. ‘What? Evelyn Steinbeck, a blackmailer?’
Oksana Matejevna nodded violently. ‘She came to London and then it all began.’
‘All?’ Dubois queried. ‘You only had one letter, right? Why would it have come from her?’
Oksana Matejevna swallowed. ‘The day after I left the brooch in the curtain we go to the tea room, yes, and while I wait at the ladies’ room, I hear two servants talking. They think I do not understand them so they look around that no one else is there and they talk. One says that morning a letter came for her mistress, but the master opened it and then he screamed at her and she cried. It was terrible, the maid said, and the master left the house saying that when he came back, she had better be gone. He had crinkled the letter and thrown it into the fire, but it had not burned completely and the maid had gotten out a part of it and it said something about proof that she had been unfaithful. It was the same letter my mistress had received. The maid said that there was one odd thing about the writing. That a word used was not English. But American. I do not know what that means. English and American is the same, no?’
Dubois smiled at her. ‘There are differences in spelling. Maybe they meant that?’
Oksana Matejevna nodded. ‘I believed that if the letters were written by someone American, it had to be that Steinbeck woman. I thought so even more when her uncle died. She must have killed him because he had found out what she was doing.’
Oksana Matejevna nervously folded her hands. ‘I was scared after the old man was dead. I thought they might kill other people. I had given them the brooch, yes, but what would they do next? So when I saw her go into the hotel, I thought I should ask the bellboy about her. If he could look out who came to see her. She would not be doing this alone.’
Alkmene nodded. ‘Very smart of you. And did you learn anything?’
Oksana Matejevna looked at her blankly.
Alkmene clarified, ‘Did you go back, and could the bellboy tell you anything about visitors to her room?’
‘Oh. Yes. She had several visitors. Two ladies, all in black, and a man in a great coat.’
Dubois sat up straighter. ‘A man in a coat? Old, young, hunched, straight, what?’
Oksana Matejevna shrugged. ‘The boy said he was…how do you say? Bundled up? I do not know what it means exactly, but he was not to be seen clearly. The boy had no idea who he was.’
Alkmene looked at Dubois. ‘Can it be the same man as the mysterious visitor to her uncle the night he died?’
Dubois grimaced. ‘Could be, but if he manages to conceal his appearance so well, how will we ever find him?’
Oksana Matejevna sighed. ‘I gave the boy more money to look for me.’
‘You mean watch out for new visitors?’
Oksana Matejevna shook her head. She looked down into her lap. ‘To look through Ms Steinbeck’s things.’
‘What?’ Dubois sat up straight. ‘And he agreed to do that?’
Oksana Matejevna shifted her weight in her chair. ‘I paid him a great deal.’
The countess tut-tut-ed. ‘You should not be so free with my money, Oksana.’ But there was a half smile around her lips.
Dubois said, ‘And what did he find?’
‘I was going to ask him later today.’
‘You do that. Then report back to me. I live on Meade Street – 33 upstairs.’ Dubois rose and bowed to the countess. ‘I am sorry if we caused any inconvenience to your household. But we have to discover who is behind this blackmail. It might also help explain the murder of Mr Silas Norwhich.’
The countess nodded. ‘Of course. I can tell you that there can never be any proof of me betraying my husband. I have never done that, nor will I ever do it. I love him.’
‘They probably feed off people’s fears of being exposed, the idea that where there is smoke, there will probably be a real fire.’ Dubois rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘It is strange though that they asked for this particular brooch.’
He walked up to Alkmene, who still held the brooch in her hand. He took it from her and turned the brooch over and over. ‘Is there anything particular about it? Different from other heirlooms you have? Is it worth more?’
The countess gestured at him to come over to her. She accepted the brooch from his hand and studied it with a loving smile. ‘It is precious to me because of the memories attached. My father giving it to my mother when they got engaged. It is worth money, but so is most of what I own. I really have no idea why they did not ask for something else.’
Dubois nodded. ‘Perhaps it was chosen with the express purpose of being fastened on that curtain. You cannot do that with a necklace or ring. Thank you for seeing us. We now better be on our way.’
The countess waved her hand at Oksana Matejevna to see them out. Smiling down on the brooch, she reseated herself in the throne-like chair.
Alkmene was already at the door, when the countess called after her, ‘Pity it was not some news about the two of you. You make such a handsome pair.’
Outside in the street Alkmene hoped that Dubois would pretend like he had not heard that last remark, or did not understand it. The countess obviously had no idea how painful it was to pair off people in their presence. If she had not been a Russian princess, and a dear friend, Alkmene might have said something to the point.
But she wanted to protect the acquaintance, especially now that Oksana Matejevna turned out to have some sleuthing talent of her own.
‘Normally,’ Dubois said in a level tone as he walked beside her, hands folded on his back, ‘my next stop would have been the Hotel Metropolitan to see Ms Steinbeck and hear her thoughts on her uncle’s death. I have heard she has been very sparse with information, even to the police. She might be afraid of a scandal; she might also be involved somehow and worried it will all come out. But since Oksana Matejevna might get something useful out of that bellboy first, we should not show our faces at the hotel right now. I think we had better walk down to the coffee shop on the corner and see if my police contact is there for lunch. He’ll have the latest on the murder.’
‘I thought you said the police were your worst enemies in some cases?’ Alkmene asked with a frown.
Dubois straightened up, put his hands in his pockets and inhaled the fresh air with relish. ‘In some cases. Not in all.’
He seemed to consider how much he could tell her. At last he said, ‘Look, Norwhich’s death was treated as an accident so they just put some young constable on it, who doesn’t feel yet like he is above the rest of the world. He doesn’t see me as a threat, but an opportunity. He thinks it would be great if he could prove it was murder and he could get a promotion out of it.’
‘And you the headline,’ Alkmene added.
Dubois glanced at her. ‘I am just doing my job. It is not something dirty.’
‘Why did you become a reporter anyway?’
He shrugged. ‘I worked in a factory in France and exposed some scheme going on. I earned more with that story than I had in four months of hard labour there. It opened up some doors too, and I suddenly found myself in Paris, investigating a crime ring calling themselves The Accountants, as in those who equalize the balance.’
‘Robin Hood like, steal from the rich and give to the poor?’
Dubois nodded. ‘It was more like: steal from other criminals who can’t go to the police because the