Wait Until Midnight

TWENTY-EIGHT

"Good day to you, Mr. Spraggett" Caroline swept into the office ahead of Adam, trying to ignore the strong odor of stale cigar smoke. "I would like you to meet my very good friend, Mr. Hardesty."

"Mrs. Fordyce" Spraggett hastily stubbed out his cigar and surged to his feet. "This is a surprise." He nodded at Adam, peering at him from beneath his eyeshade. "Mr. Hardesty. An, uh, unexpected pleasure, sir."

"Spraggett." Adam closed the glass-paned office door with a solid kerchunk, leaned back against it and folded his arms. "Never had the opportunity to visit the offices of a newspaper publisher. So this is the source of all those sensation pieces one reads in the Flying Intelligencer."

Spraggett glowered through his spectacles. He was a wiry, balding man of middle years who exuded the nervous energy of a terrier. His hands were permanently stained with ink. A number of dirty coffee cups and half-eaten pas-tries and sandwiches littered the place.

"We take our responsibility to keep the public informed very seriously at this paper, sir," Spraggett declared.

"Do you, indeed?" Adam's mouth twisted in cold amusement. "The piece on the murdered mediums in this morning's edition was certainly revealing."

"Especially the part describing how a watch with Mr. Hardesty's name on it was found at the scene of the second crime," Caroline said.

"Facts are facts."

"Indeed." Caroline whipped open the copy of the paper she had brought along and read aloud. " `The noted author claimed that she was secluded together with Mr. Hardesty in a private location at the time of the murder. It was clear to this correspondent that an air of romantic intimacy surrounded the pair, leaving no doubt as to the nature of their association. It would seem that fiction and reality have be-come closely entwined for Mrs. Fordyce:»

"It's unfortunate, Mrs. Fordyce, but you and Mr. Hardesty have become news." Spraggett assumed a virtuous air. "That is what we publish here at the Intelligencer."

"You also publish my novels, sir." Caroline tossed the paper down onto the desk. "At least until the conclusion of my current contract. After that I may decide to look for another publisher"

Spraggett's voice jumped in alarm. "Now, Mrs. Fordyce, you must not take that piece Otford wrote personally."

"I do take it personally." She dumped a pile of newspapers off a chair and sat down, adjusting her skirts with a flourish. "I will not forget that I was made the subject of a great scandal in this very newspaper the next time you wish me to sign a contract for a new novel, Mr. Spraggett."

"What's this? Have you had another offer from Tillotsons's Fiction Bureau? Damned upstart syndicators. I vow, if they try to steal you away from this paper, I'll sue."

"Perhaps Tillotsons would be more inclined to treat my reputation with proper respect."

Spraggett bristled. "What do you expect me to do when every other paper in town is printing the news of your connection to Mr. Hardesty and the murders? I can hardly ignore the situation, given that I am publishing The Mysterious Gentleman."

"You may not have been able to ignore it, but you could have avoided the colorful references to an intimate love bower and the delicate blush that stained my cheeks when I was seen leaving the murder house in the company of Mr. Hardesty."

"Now, Mrs. Fordyce—"

"The least you can do is compensate me in some small way for the manner in which you are using me to sell papers."

Spraggett scowled. "If you are suggesting that I pay you an additional fee for your novel, I would remind you that we have a contract, madam."

"Calm yourself, sir." She adjusted her gloves. "I am not asking for more money. What we want from you is some of your professional expertise and advice."

Spraggett looked wary. "I beg your pardon?"

She reached into the pocket of her gown to retrieve the slip of paper on which she had sketched the printer's mark. "I noticed this little figure of a griffin and the letter B on a stock certificate. Mr. Hardesty and I would like to know if you can identify the printer."

"Huh" Curiosity replaced the caution in Spraggett's face. He took the paper from her, studied it for a few seconds and then frowned. "Saw it on a stock certificate, you say?" "Yes. Do you recognize it?"

"Bassingthorpe used this mark for years. He did beautiful work in the old days, but there were always the rumors."

`Bassingthorpe," Adam said, frowning slightly. "Thought he'd retired."

"I was under the same impression." Spraggett glanced again at the certificate. "But that is most certainly his mark" "What were the rumors?" Caroline asked.

Spraggett shrugged. "It was said that if you happened to need a handsome certificate attesting to a stint in medical school or a degree in law, whether or not you had actually attended the college in question, you could purchase a very satisfactory one from Bassingthorpe."

"I see." Caroline rose. "Thank you, Mr. Spraggett."

"Hold on here." Spraggett jumped to his feet again. "What's this all about? Is Bassingthorpe connected to the murders in some way?"

"We don't know," Adam said, opening the door for Caroline. "But if I were you, I would not bother to send a correspondent out to find him."

"Why not?"

"Unless Bassingthorpe has changed his ways, which is doubtful, you will not get any information out of him. From what I have heard, he did not achieve his reputation by being indiscreet."

Adam ushered Caroline through the opening and closed the door before Spraggett could ask any more questions.

Out in the hallway, Caroline looked at him with great interest. "What, exactly, is the nature of Mr. Bassingthorpe's reputation?"

"It was said that Bassingthorpe not only created the occasional fraudulent medical license, but that he could create reproductions of banknotes that were indistinguishable from the real thing."

"In that case, I can see why he would be a very cautious man." She hesitated. "But if Mr. Bassingthorpe is not given to gossiping about his clients, how do you intend to persuade him to talk to us?"

"Bassingthorpe was still actively working when I was selling secrets on the streets. I did him a couple of favors. If we're fortunate, he will remember them."

"We must go to see him immediately."

Adam shook his head. "One does not show up unannounced on Bassingthorpe's doorstep. There are certain proprieties to be observed. I will send a message to him. With a bit of luck, he will agree to meet with me at a place and time of his choosing"