Lost and Gone Forever Read Online Free

room as if to assure himself that they were alone. His nostrils needed to be trimmed, and Hatty noticed a dried yellow nugget clinging for life to the wiry grey hairs. She absently rubbed her own nose. It had been broken a year before and had healed with a slight bump halfway down the bridge. She thought it gave her a worldly appearance and she took perverse pride in this exotic imperfection.
    She waited, her pencil poised over a blank sheet in the notebook, and finally the man cleared his throat and spoke. “If . . . I mean to say, once you find my brother, I would like all notes and records of your inquiries turned over to me so I may burn them.”
    “As you wish,” Hatty said. First, get the man to talk, then worry about keeping promises.
    “Good. Well, then . . . I say, this is awkward.”
    “How so?”
    “I’ve never had occasion to employ your sort before, you know.”
    “Ah. My sort.”
    “It feels a bit . . .” The man left off as if there were too many adjectives to choose from.
    “Your brother’s name?”
    “Yes. Just so. His name.” A deep sigh, and the man straightened his shoulders, ready to take the plunge. “His name was—pardon me, his name
is
Joseph Hargreave.”
    Hatty wrote this down. “And your name?”
    “You need my name as well?”
    “It would help us when it comes time to make out the bill for services.”
    “Of course. My name is Richard Hargreave.
Doctor
Richard Hargreave.”
    “And what’s happened to your brother?”
    “He left the flat—we share an apartment in the city—three mornings ago very early, straight after breakfast, and was headed for the store, but he never arrived. The first day he was gone I became mildly concerned, because he usually tells me if he has an engagement and needs me to allow for his absence. By that evening I was distraught and have remained so ever since.”
    “You say he sometimes has engagements? Business affairs?”
    “He manages the bulk of our parents’ estate, which keeps him just busy enough, I suppose, in addition to his duties at Plumm’s. Occasionally he has to meet with a banker or with our solicitor about one thing or another having to do with our investments. I don’t trouble myself with all that, but he’s quite capable.”
    She had written the word
Plumm’s
in her notebook and underlined it, but she decided to wait a moment before following up. She didn’t want the client to lose his train of thought. “And you think he would have told you if he had a meeting of that sort? With an investor? Is it possible he’s had to leave town for some reason and it slipped his mind that he hadn’t informed you?”
    “No, no, no. His money is also my money, after all. He always keeps me up to the minute about everything. He wouldn’t have . . . Well, he would have told me, that’s all.”
    Hatty looked up from her notebook. “You’re afraid he’s met with foul play?”
    “I certainly hope not. But the thought has occurred to me, and I don’t know what to do about it.”
    “I’d say you’ve done it already. You’ve come to us and put the matter in our hands.” She smiled at him, and he managed some sort of asneer in return. “Now,” Hatty said, “I need details. Tell me everything you can about his habits, his appearance, his acquaintances, everything you can think of that might be helpful.”
    “And you’ll relay this information to Mr Hammersmith straightaway?”
    “Absolutely.”
    “Very well.” Dr Richard Hargreave cleared his throat, adjusted his spectacles on his nose, and began to talk about his brother. The nugget of snot dropped to his lap, and Hatty looked down at the desk and wrote as fast as she could.

4
    A two-wheeler pulled up to the mouth of a narrow alley in Saffron Hill. Two people alighted, a man and a woman, both dressed head to foot in black. Their fashions indicated they were not native to England. The man took a bag from the floor of the cab and tipped the driver, who sped away as