12- Mrs. Jeffries Reveals Her Art

INSPECTOR WITHERSPOON ALWAYS TRIUMPHS…
HOW DOES HE DO IT?

Even the inspector himself doesn’t know—because his secret weapon is as ladylike as she is clever. She’s Mrs. Jeffries—the determined, delightful detective who stars in this unique Victorian mystery series! Be sure to read them all…

The Inspector and Mrs. Jeffries

A doctor is found dead in his own office—and Mrs. Jeffries must scour the premises to find the prescription for murder!

Mrs. Jeffries Dusts for Clues

One case is solved and another is opened when the inspector finds a missing brooch—pinned to a dead woman’s gown. But Mrs. Jeffries never cleans a room without dusting under the bed—and never gives up on a case before every loose end is tightly tied…

The Ghost and Mrs. Jeffries

Death is unpredictable…but the murder of Mrs. Hodges was foreseen at a spooky seance. The practical-minded housekeeper may not be able to see the future—but she can look into the past and put things in order to solve this haunting crime!

Mrs. Jeffries Takes Stock

A businessman has been murdered—and it could be because he cheated his stockholders. The housekeeper’s interest is piqued…and when it comes to catching killers, the smart money’s on Mrs. Jeffries!

Mrs. Jeffries on the Ball

A festive jubilee celebration turns into a fatal affair—and Mrs. Jeffries must find the guilty party…

Mrs. Jeffries on the Trail

Why was Annie Shields out selling flowers so late on a foggy night? And more importantly, who killed her while she was doing it? It’s up to Mrs. Jeffries to sniff out the clues…

Mrs. Jeffries Plays the Cook

Mrs. Jeffries finds herself doing double duty: cooking for the inspector’s household and trying to cook a killer’s goose…

Mrs. Jeffries and the Missing Alibi

When Inspector Witherspoon becomes the main suspect in a murder, Scotland Yard refuses to let him investigate. But no one said anything about Mrs. Jeffries…

Mrs. Jeffries Stands Corrected

When a local publican is murdered, and Inspector Witherspoon botches the investigation, trouble starts to brew for Mrs. Jeffries…

Mrs. Jeffries Takes the Stage

After a theatre critic is murdered, Mrs. Jeffries uncovers the victim’s secret past: a real-life drama more compelling than any stage play…

Mrs. Jeffries Questions the Answer

Hannah Cameron was not well-liked. But were her friends or family the sort to stab her in the back? Mrs. Jeffries must really tiptoe around this time—or it could be a matter of life and death…

Berkley Prime Crime titles by Emily Brightwell

THE INSPECTOR AND MRS. JEFFRIES

MRS. JEFFRIES DUSTS FOR CLUES

THE GHOST AND MRS. JEFFRIES

MRS. JEFFRIES TAKES STOCK

MRS. JEFFRIES ON THE BALL

MRS. JEFFRIES ON THE TRAIL

MRS. JEFFRIES PLAYS THE COOK

MRS. JEFFRIES AND THE MISSING ALIBI

MRS. JEFFRIES STANDS CORRECTED

MRS. JEFFRIES TAKES THE STAGE

MRS. JEFFRIES QUESTIONS THE ANSWER

MRS. JEFFRIES REVEALS HER ART

MRS. JEFFRIES TAKES THE CAKE

MRS. JEFFRIES ROCKS THE BOAT

MRS. JEFFRIES WEEDS THE PLOT

MRS. JEFFRIES PINCHES THE POST

MRS. JEFFRIES PLEADS HER CASE

MRS. JEFFRIES SWEEPS THE CHIMNEY

MRS. JEFFRIES STALKS THE HUNTER

MRS. JEFFRIES AND THE SILENT KNIGHT

MRS. JEFFRIES APPEALS THE VERDICT

MRS. JEFFRIES AND THE BEST LAID PLANS

MRS. JEFFRIES AND THE FEAST OF ST. STEPHEN

MRS. JEFFRIES HOLDS THE TRUMP

MRS. JEFFRIES IN THE NICK OF TIME

MRS. JEFFRIES AND THE YULETIDE WEDDINGS

MRS. JEFFRIES SPEAKS HER MIND

MRS. JEFFRIES FORGES AHEAD

MRS. JEFFRIES AND THE MISTLETOE MIX-UP

MRS. JEFFRIES DEFENDS HER OWN

Anthologies

MRS. JEFFRIES LEARNS THE TRADE

MRS. JEFFRIES TAKES A SECOND LOOK

MRS. JEFFRIES

REVEALS HER ART

E
MILY
B
RIGHTWELL

BERKLEY PRIME CRIME, NEW YORK

Version_1

MRS. JEFFRIES

REVEALS HER ART

How Does He Do It?

Berkley Prime Crime titles by Emily Brightwell

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

“I don’t care what kind of a report you’ve had,” Neville Grant snapped impatiently. “No one here knows that person. Now kindly take yourself away and don’t bother me or my household again.”

“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir,” said Constable Theodore Martin—Teddy to his friends—swallowing nervously. Just his rotten luck that the master of the house himself would answer the door and not the ruddy butler. “But we must make inquiries. It’s our duty. Are you sure none of your servants have seen this woman?”

Grant glared at the pale-faced lad who dared to continue questioning him. The fact that the man was a policeman didn’t intimidate him in the least. “Are you deaf, young man? I’ve already told you. Some incompetent has made a mistake or, more likely, is playing the police for fools, which, by the look of you, isn’t difficult to do. This household is hardly likely to be issuing invitations to women like that.”

“We’ve still got to inquire, sir,” the constable said
quickly. “Someone’s filed a report. She’s gone missing. This house is the last known place where she was, sir. That’s why we’ve got to make sure no one here’s seen her.”

“You’ve the wrong address.” Grant stamped his cane against the parquet floor for emphasis. “She wasn’t here. Now go away.”

Martin hesitated indecisively. He didn’t like to make a fuss, but if he went back to the station without even setting foot in the house, his sergeant would have his guts for garters. Ever since the ruddy Whitechapel killings, the police had to be extra careful—even if it was some flitty artist’s model that had gone missing. More likely this old tartar was right—the woman probably hadn’t come here at all. But if the missing girl turned up with her throat slashed or her guts torn out and the newspapers found out that the police hadn’t even bothered to make inquiries when she’d been reported missing—Constable Martin didn’t even want to think about that! “It is the right address, sir,” he insisted.

Grant’s wrinkled face reddened in rage. “How dare you contradict me,” he yelped, stamping his cane again and coming within a hair’s breath of smashing the constable’s toe. “I don’t care what address you’ve got.” Grant started to close the door. “And I don’t care if the girl has been kidnapped by white slavers. Someone’s made a mistake. No one here knows anything about a missing woman.”

“If I could just speak to the rest of the household, sir,” Martin persisted desperately. It wasn’t just his superiors he worried about facing if he went back without any information. It was that French woman. She’d raised such a ruckus down at the station this morning that even his hardened old sergeant had stepped back a wary pace or two
when she was ranting and raving like a she-demon.

“Don’t be ridiculous. We have guests this afternoon,” Grant snapped. “I’m not having you bother my wife or anyone else with this silly matter.”

“Then if I could have a word with your servants,” the constable asked. “Maybe one of them invited her.”

“My servants are hardly in the habit of inviting their friends for social calls.”

“But one of them might know something.”

“They’ve already been spoken to, you fool,” Grant shouted, his complexion deepening to crimson. “The butler made inquiries amongst the staff yesterday after that other constable came round bothering us with this ridiculous tale. None of them know what the blazes you’re on about either. You’ve bothered us twice now and we’ve been very patient. But enough is enough. Now get off with you and leave us in peace.” With that, he slammed the door in Martin’s face.

The constable sighed and trudged down the three steps to the paved walkway. As he went out the ebony wroughtiron gate that surrounded the property, he glanced back over his shoulder. Blooming toffs, he thought as he glared at the handsome three-story brick house, just because they’re rich they think they don’t have to answer to the law. Well, they’d find out soon enough that they did. Constable Martin knew in his bones that this wasn’t the end of things.