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be a fine kettle of fish,” DeWitt muttered. “Is her cousin relevant to any of this?”
    “No way to tell at this point, sir.” Thacker took a deep breath, licked his thumb, and turned to the second page of his notes. “Miss Haversham moved to London to live with her aunt, a Mrs. Violet Summer-street, four years ago when the aunt’s husband died. Mr. Maxwell Summer-street left his wife badly off. Nice big house in Mayfair, but no money. She’s turned it into a lodging house to make ends meet. Respectable people she’s got living there. Miss Haversham moved here to assist her aunt with running the place. But there was also some talk about the young lady having been engaged to marry the Earl of Kenleigh, Charles Treaves. The wedding didn’t come off. He jilted her at the altar, so they say. A few weeks later, she came to London.”
    “The aunt runs a lodging house,” Mick said thoughtfully. “That has possibilities.”
    DeWitt gave him a sharp look. “You think it might be one of her lodgers who shot at you?”
    “We can’t speculate on that until we know whether or not they have alibis for half past nine last night.”
    “And if they do?” the chief inspector asked.
    “Then I’ll start studying her friends and acquaintances. The best way to do that, of course, would be to move in to that lodging house myself if I could.”
    “That’s a dangerous game,” DeWitt said. “I don’t like it.”
    “If everyone in Miss Haversham’s household can account for themselves at half past nine last night, the danger to me is no greater living there than in my own flat. Especially since whoever shot at me was willing to do so in a public place. Miss Haversham is connected to this, and the best way for me to find out how is to go right into the lion’s den.”
    “I still don’t like it,” DeWitt grumbled. “The girl sounds off her chump to me.”
    “The aunt’s a mad one, too,” Thacker put in. “She’s involved in that spiritualism business.” He consulted his notes. “The London Society for Psychical Research, or something like that. Séances, planchettes, table turning, and the like. She thinks she’s the reincarnation of Cleopatra.”
    Mick was not surprised. “Eccentricity runs in that family.”
    “Spiritualism is quite a fashion these days,” DeWitt said, “and with people who ought to have more sense. My own wife—” He broke off and gave the sigh of along-suffering husband. “That doesn’t mean the aunt’s mad.”
    Mick grinned. “With all due respect, sir, I doubt your wife thinks she’s Cleopatra back from the dead.”
    “Thank God for that,” DeWitt muttered with heartfelt relief. “But what about the girl? Is she crazy?”
    “It’s so easy to say she did it because she’s crazy,” Mick replied. “Too easy. I think we’ve got to go deeper than that.”
    DeWitt nodded. “Did you find any witnesses around the Embankment who might have seen something? Or heard something?”
    “No, sir,” Mick replied. “But it would surprise me if the bobbies who patrol that area heard anything. The gun was low caliber, and it didn’t make much noise. Also, the assassin wore a long, dark cloak and wouldn’t be easily spied at night.”
    DeWitt looked over at Thacker. “Anything else, Sergeant?”
    “Not yet, sir. I’ll keep digging.” Thacker departed, closing the door behind him.
    DeWitt leaned back. “Well, Mick, what do you want to do?”
    Mick didn’t hesitate. “I want to find out the truth. I don’t much care for getting shot at. And I doubt that whoever did it will leave off just because the first attempt failed.”
    “What’s your next step?”
    “The girl is the key. If she did it, I need to know why. If she didn’t do it, I need to find out how she learned this was going to happen and why she came towarn me. I’m going to see her now, and I’m going to find out what everyone in that household was up to at half past nine last night. If they all have valid alibis,