A Lesson in Chemistry With Inspector Bruce Read Online Free

the chemist examination . . . Archibald Bruce.”
    “Ah, Mr. Bruce. I was beginning to get concerned.” The man exited his office and handed over a number of items, including several texts, a seating chart, and a lecturer’s baton. “Theophilus Redwood, headmaster.” He stuck out his hand.
    Archie shifted the stack of materials under his arm and shook hands. “Professor Redwood.”
    “Now then, let’s get you into your classroom, shall we?” The headmaster led him through a series of interconnecting rooms. “On behalf of the society, I can’t thank you enough for pitching in on such short notice.” The lanky-framed gentleman peered over at him. “My colleagues tell me you’re making quite a reputation for yourself over at Scotland Yard.”
    “Special Branch.”
    “Ah yes, those chaps that are after the anarchists—dynamiters and the like.”
    “And the like, yes, sir.” His words and the scuff of their footsteps echoed in the empty corridor. “The crime laboratory is soon to become one of the most important tools we have in the identification and conviction of criminals.”
    “I read your paper on the latest advances in fingerprint identification, Mr. Bruce. Exciting work—on the cutting edge, one might say.”
    “Chemists trained in forensics will be very much in demand one day.”
    “Why do I suspect you are out to recruit some of my best students?” Redwood halted abruptly and squinted at a door. He patted his inside coat pocket. “I’ve forgotten my specs. Can you read the letter for me?”
    Archie grinned. He was back in academia again. Quite a change from dealing with detectives all day long. “G-two.”
    “Excellent. This is your classroom, Mr. Bruce.” Redwood turned the knob. “I understand you taught for a term or two at Oxford?”
    “Trinity College, applied chemistry.”
    “If this were a preparatory course for the minor exam, I’d advise you to lower your expectations. But as your pupils are preparing for the major . . .” Redwood leaned in and spoke in a low voice. “Bugger them with both barrels, Mr. Bruce.” The man winked.
    “Yes, sir.” Archie straightened his cravat, adjusted his supplies, and walked through the doorway.
    AM I GOING to be slightly late or terribly late? Fiona pondered as she emerged from the Underground station and wove a path through a throng of British Museum visitors. Clutching her book bag to her chest, she ran the next few blocks to Bloomsbury Square.
    Little more than half an hour ago, she had been happily immersed in pouring her latest batch of carnation soaps. Mother had chased her out of the lab with her usual scold. What with major exams just weeks away, there was no sense in provoking an argument with the titular head of Rose & Company—chemists to the Knightsbridge elite.
    The fact of the matter was, she did take her studies seriously, and she very much loved being a chemist, but for one large and looming doubt: did she wish to spend the rest of her life mixing cough medicines for Mrs. Shirley or suppositories for Colonel Allenby? She didn’t mean to disparage the work of her own dear father. Godfrey Rose, a chemist of reputation, was well known for his cures and well respected by the medical profession.
    And it was most gratifying to be able to ease a bit of rheumatism or cure a person’s dyspepsia. Father’s stroke—dear heart—had left Mother feeling rather vulnerable. Three years ago, she had pressed Fiona to quit the idea of university and go straight for her chemist’s license.
    But—that word again! Fiona moistened her lips, a nervous habit that would surely cause them to redden and become chafed. In all honesty, she just couldn’t picture herself pressing pills and boiling down syrups for the rest of her life. The very thought often brought on a bit of melancholia. But not this afternoon—at this exact moment she was preoccupied with the terrifying thought of missing an important first class. Raising her skirt, she