Read Online Move Your Blooming Corpse by D. E. Ireland - Free Book Online Page B

his trilby hat.
    â€œThank you for inviting us, Professor,” Sybil said.
    â€œOh, I didn’t invite you. Eliza did. Mrs. Pearce, will you tell the rude girl that her guests are here?”
    â€œShe’s upstairs, sir. I’m certain she will be down any minute.”
    The Colonel pulled out a chair for Sybil and then sat on the sofa’s far end. Jack took the armchair closest to his fiancée.
    â€œI’m sorry we didn’t see you at Ascot, Miss Chase.” Higgins didn’t care at all whether she’d been to the racing event. He only wanted to hear more of her speech patterns to ascertain where she was born.
    â€œI didn’t feel it was proper to attend the race so soon after Miss Davison’s funeral,” she said. “But Jack told me what happened during the Gold Cup. And of course, the newspapers speak of little else but Mr. Hewitt and poor Diana Price. My friends in the suffrage movement were quite shocked someone ran onto the racetrack again.”
    â€œThe police feared there might be a copycat,” Jack said. “But we expected it to be a woman, not a man. We haven’t even determined if Harold Hewitt is a member of any suffrage group.”
    â€œNo one in the Women’s Freedom League ever heard of him,” Sybil said, “but I’ve yet to ask anyone in the WSPU.”
    From that brief exchange, Higgins deduced Sybil had been raised in Kingston-upon-Thames in southwest London. She might have attended some college, due to her precise enunciation, but resided now in South Kensington. Queen’s Gate, perhaps near the new petrol station built for the incoming flux of motorcars. And he noticed that she wore her badge of loyalty to the suffrage movement with a green sash tied around her waist and lilac flowers adorning her straw hat.
    Eliza entered the laboratory at that moment and rushed to greet their visitors. Higgins thought the two young women could be sisters. Both boasted dark, upswept hair, impertinent profiles, and an obvious fondness for white lace dresses.
    â€œI’m so happy to meet you, Sybil. Jack brags about you all the time,” Eliza gushed. “Shall we go in to brunch? Mrs. Pearce said she’s ready to serve.”
    â€œAllow me, Miss Chase.” Pickering held out his arm to Sybil. She accepted with a delighted smile.
    Jack escorted Eliza, leaving Higgins to trail after them like a spare tire in the boot. He frowned. Maybe he’d pinpointed the wrong end of Queen’s Gate. Perhaps Miss Chase hailed from a flat south of Cromwell Road.
    Once they were seated around the table, Eliza poured tea while the maids brought in full platters of bacon, eggs, and kippers.
    Clearly not shy, Sybil began the conversation by regaling them with the tale of how she and Jack met at the police station when she was twenty-three. “There I was, dripping wet with a group of other Women’s Freedom League members. It rained that hot August day. And the police took pleasure in dragging us through every puddle on the way to Scotland Yard. Our hems were a muddy mess. But all we did was block Prime Minister Asquith from getting into 10 Downing Street. If I’d known he was going to have us arrested, I would have hit him over the head with my picket sign.” She shrugged. “In for a penny, in for a pound.”
    Jack laughed with the others. “That would have gotten you in worse trouble. The police figured you’d chain yourselves together if they didn’t get you away from there.”
    â€œOh, what a good idea. I’ll have to suggest a chain of protesters to Mrs. Garrud. Writing articles is getting deadly dull for us both.”
    â€œDo you write for the newspaper of the Women’s Social and Political Union?” Eliza asked. “I’ve read several articles about the cause. They’re not dull in the least.”
    Sybil smiled. “Thank you. The Vote is put out by the WFL, and they’re