Conroy Melvyn stared at her, mouth coming adrift. “My God! The same place our chap told Maybrick to meet him!” Then he frowned. “Cleveland Street, though? That’s a bit of a distance to walk, with bloodstains on one’s sleeves. Still, it’s a ruddy good clue. Good job, eh what? Jolly well done, Miss Smith!”
She grinned. “You saw the article, not me.”
“Which I would have failed to notice if you hadn’t been reminding me of what I’d heard that night in the Carlton Club. I say, let’s get back to Spaldergate post haste. I can hardly wait to spring the news on the rest of the team!”
Margo laughed. “Me, either. And wait until Malcolm hears!”
“Mr. Moore,” Conroy Melvyn said, stepping to the kerb and hailing a hansom, “will quite likely insist on attending tonight’s lecture.”
“Hah! You couldn’t keep him away with wild horses. Me, either!”
“Well said. Now, then . . . Battersea, cabbie,” he said, handing Margo up into the cab which had drawn to a halt beside them, “Octavia Street. And no tricks, my good man, I’ve consulted Mogg’s for the fare!”
“ ‘ere, now, guv’nor,” the cabbie protested, “I’m an honest man, so I am!”
Margo settled in with a grin. She’d learned the hard way to consult Mogg’s map of cab fares, to avoid being cheated blind by the cabbies. Then they were rolling down Victoria Embankment at a rush, headed West for Battersea Park and an unexpected break in the Ripper case. She couldn’t take full credit for the discovery, but glowed nonetheless. Just wait until Malcolm heard! And Kit!
Maybe she was cut out for this job, after all!