It was the end of a good day. Even with the gaffer paid, there was enough silver in my pocket to make a right good jingle. I put old Rosie into her stall and gave her some corn and clean hay. I always take Rosie, the gaffer’s good about that, and I treat her like she’s my own. The showers that had drenched the city for most of the day, making it fine weather for cabmen such as myself, had finally pushed off. The late afternoon sun was reflecting from the muddy puddles in the streets and I started home with a spring in my step.

Fulham Road was abustle. I waved to Mr. Lighter who was sitting at his coffee stall, and to the old cove who sold vegetables from a barrow. As I passed by the Bride and Pony, Mr. Nickels was sweeping the stoop.

“Mr. Thatcher,” he said. “Can I interest you in a pint this fine afternoon?” I was half tempted, but I wanted to get home before Louisa put young Tom down for the night. It seemed like every day he grew a bit and learned something new, and I didn’t want to miss it. He wasn’t yet two, but already I had him down at the stables and he had patted Rosie’s nose not scared one bit. As I turned off into Redcliffe Gardens, I was thinking that soon he could come driving with me.

So that’s what I was thinking as I turned into Number 5, but it all went out of my head when I opened the door. Louisa was standing in the hallway wringing her hands, her eyes all puffy, and standing next to her was her young sister Mary in a similar state. I thought it was Tom, and my heart was in my mouth, I’ll tell you, but Louisa saw immediately what I was thinking and said, “No, Tom is fine.”

“I’ve lost me job,” Mary wailed. “They think I’m a thief. They say I could go to jail.” Then she began to cry.

Mary was younger than Louisa by nearly 10 years, and as much a daughter as a sister since their parents had died. Six months previous she had gone into service in Lord Shockley’s household as the under house parlormaid. She often came to visit Louisa on her half day off and seemed to be settling into the job just fine. I put an arm around each of them and we walked into the kitchen.

“Tell me what happened.” I said.

Louisa dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief and pulled some stray strands of hair back into their pins. “I’ll fix the tea, Mary, you tell him.”

Mary, still sniffling a bit, began.

“Last night I went up to the study to lay a fire. It’s on the second floor and it’s a chore carrying the coal scuttle up those stairs. But Robert, he’s the groom, was out and the fire had to be laid because the Master was coming back in the morning. He’d been away for over a week, and no one goes in the study when the Master is away. So I carried that coal scuttle up all those stairs and into the study. And first thing I notice is the big old painting that hangs over the mantle is missing. It’s a dark, dreary thing with no people in it, just some sheep and mountains, but Miss Stevers said it’s worth ever so much money. Although I don’t know why anyone would pay a lot of money for a gloomy old thing like that. I like a bit of color, you know.”

“Mary, just tell the story, please,” Louisa said.

“Well, I’m doing that, ain’t I? I didn’t think nothing of the painting being gone. Everything has to be moved while the painters are working. The Mistress went to Paris and came back with all these modern ideas and now she’s going to redecorate the whole house. New paint and paper, and she even bought new furniture. But when I came down, I told Mr. Hunter he needed to speak to Mr. Wilbraham’s men, what is doing the moving and painting and things, because they left a right old scratch on the wall when they took down the painting.

“Mr. Hunter told me the painting hadn’t been moved yet, and called me a‘flighty young thing’ which I didn’t take to at all because I do my job just like I should, and he has no call to say things like that to me. But he went upstairs and when he came down he was white as a sheet. He told us all to wait in the kitchen while he rings up the police.”

“But why do they think you have anything to do with a stolen painting.” I asked.

“Because the coppers think someone let the robbers in, and I’m the only new one, you see,” Mary replied. “And that Inspector Brokins, he gave me a look like I was the devil hisself. But I didn’t do it Charlie, I didn’t do nothing, really.”

“There, there, Mary,” Louisa put her arm around her little sister. “It’s prejudice, plain and common.” She addressed this remark to me. “The rest of the household has been in service for years and years. And poor Mary, just because she’s young and new, they think she did it. Oh Charlie, what are we going to do?”

“Don’t you worry old girl.” I reassured her. “I’ll just pop over and have a word with Mr. Hunter. We’ll see what he has to say about all of this.”

And after I finished my tea, I did just that.

It took me over half an hour to walk to Lord Shockley’s and for the entire time I hardly noticed a thing I was so absorbed in this new difficulty. It was a worrisome problem we had. A thing like this if it didn’t get put right could keep Mary from getting a decent job anywhere.

No one was about at Cadogan Square and my steps sounded loud and echoed a bit. Gaslights shone from all the tall brick houses. At one, where the maid had not yet pulled the curtains, I could see a butler with a tea tray. Lord Shockley’s house was at the end of the square and I went down to the kitchen door and knocked. I had spoken to Mr. Hunter several times when I collected Mary for her half-day off, and he didn’t seem surprised to see me. He was a short man who held himself very straight, like a sergeant major on parade. But he wasn’t at all stuffy and always had a friendly word for me.

“This is Inspector Brokins,” he said. The man sitting at the table had a long face and widely spaced eyes that reminded me a little of Rosie.

“Inspector, this is Charles Thatcher. He’s Mary’s brother-in-law.”

“How do you do,” the Inspector said formally. He stood and we shook hands.

As we sat down, Mr. Hunter poured us each a tot of rather good whiskey.

“You fired Mary?” I began.

“No, no, ‘course not. Not fired. Did she tell you that? Well she was very upset, poor thing. More like a leave of absence really. Until this all gets sorted out. Can’t run a household with this sort of suspicion running wild. Won’t do, just won’t do.” He spoke in clipped sentences left over, I suspected, from long service in the military.

“You think she’s involved?”

“It looks like someone in the household was involved.” the Inspector said. “There’s no sign that anyone forced the lock. But the painting must have been taken out the front door. It’s a big thing, with a heavy gilt frame, Mr. Hunter tells me. It would have been a job to get it down the stairs, taken two blokes at least, and it wouldn’t have been quick.”

“And nothing else was stolen?” I asked.

“No,” said Brokins “These clever criminal types specialize, you know. One just does jewelry, another just paintings. They know where they can sell the loot quickly and it’s just a matter of planning.

“But Mary is the one that discovered it. Why would she do that if she were involved?” I protested.

“It’s been my experience that your criminal mind can be quite astute in matters such as this. Not that I think the young lady is a criminal mastermind. Some love interest, that’s been my experience. Fell in with a bad crowd. Some young man turned her head and told her what to do.

“I questioned her close, as she probably told you.” Brokins went on. “She said she knew nothing about it, and maybe she’s telling the truth. Maybe they tricked her – told her to leave the door open for some other reason and now she’s afraid to say. Or maybe she got the keys somehow and loaned them to someone. She’s a young thing, and scared to boot. Maybe if you spoke to her.”

I sat silently for a moment. “But there must be other possibilities. Tradesmen, other people who came in and out of the house. After all, it might have been stolen anytime while Lord Shockley was away.”

“Right you are.” Hunter replied. “We close up the study when the Master is away. It might have been taken anytime. And the household has been in a fair tizzy for weeks with all this redecorating. Mr. Llewellyn with wallpaper samples, and Mr. Newberry with paint chips, and Miss Cartier, I’m not sure what she does but she was all over the house sighing a lot and taking measurements. And then Mr. Wilbraham, of course, the painting and papering man. He had a good look around too. Then the new furniture arrived, weeks before it is supposed to. No wonder the Mistress fell ill. Dr. McCarty came right away, of course, on Monday that was. Gave her a tonic and told her to stay off her feet. Then he came back Tuesday bright and early to check on her. Of course she was fine, but Dr. McCarty he’s such a kind young man, and such a worrier, insisted he examine her just to make sure."

“But none of them came downstairs carrying a ruddy great painting,” Brokins interjected. “No, I’m sorry but I just can’t see how it could have been done any other way.”