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Exiting Tom Moore’s presence felt like a breath of fresh air as Miss Adair and I headed towards Imperial Mansions. She seemed to share my sentiments.

“What a brother he is. A real piece of work,” she remarked.

“But what about the sister! She’s something else,” I replied.

She eyed me suspiciously, as if expecting a sarcastic comment.

“I doubt all women are cut from the same cloth as Bessie,” she said.

“If only they were. Miss Moore embodies the qualities we wish our mothers had,” I replied earnestly.

She glanced at me sidelong, and I could feel her gaze even though I kept my eyes ahead.

“Are you married, Mr. Ferguson?” she asked suddenly, causing a flush to creep up my cheeks.

“No, I’m not that fortunate,” I replied curtly.

“Ah! I wouldn’t be surprised if you get lucky later,” she teased, her tone carrying a hidden meaning that I couldn’t quite grasp. I suspected she was hinting at something I might not appreciate, but I wasn’t sure how to dig deeper. She continued, musing aloud.

“Imagine, just for argument’s sake, if Bessie did kill this man. I wonder what would happen.”

“I refuse to entertain such a notion.”

“But why rule out the possibility? You don’t really know her character or temperament. She’s a stranger to you.”

“I know enough to trust her integrity.”

“How can you be so sure? From what you’ve said, she hasn’t been coherent since you met her. After an hour of nonsensical conversation with someone who’s not in their right mind, how can you vouch for her sanity?”

“Miss Adair, if you’re here as Bessie’s friend, act like one. Otherwise, I’ll have the cab turn around,” I asserted firmly.

She fell silent for a moment, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Thank you, but there’s no need to turn back,” she said with a playful smile. “I believe, Mr. Ferguson, you’re Scottish, aren’t you?”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Scotch blood flowed through my veins, a fact I saw no reason for Miss Adair to find fault with. When I mentioned this, she laughed heartily. While Miss Adair was charming, I must admit I was relieved when we finally arrived at our destination. She seemed to be in a teasing mood, as evidenced by her comment upon exiting the cab.

“Now, let’s meet this ideal image of motherhood,” she quipped.

I chose not to respond, merely following her into the elevator.

“Top floor,” I instructed the lift operator.

As we passed the first floor, Miss Adair suddenly exclaimed from her seat.

“There’s Bessie!”

I turned my head just in time to catch a glimpse of my visitor from the previous night disappearing around the staircase corner. We were still ascending, so I instructed the lift to return. Once we were out on the landing, Miss Adair had already made her way down the corridor toward No. 64.

“Where is she going?” Miss Adair called out. “Bessie!”

Her call went unanswered, and it seemed Bessie didn’t hear. She continued to move quickly as if she had a specific destination in mind. I suspected the murder scene was still intact in Lawrence’s room, left untouched.

“We need to hurry!” I urged. “She doesn’t realize what she’s doing; she’s heading to Lawrence’s room where he was murdered. We have to stop her before she gets there.”

We hurried after her, but before we could catch up, someone grabbed my arm. I had noticed another person in the corridor earlier, but my focus had been on Miss Moore. Now, I saw it was Hume. He held onto my arm firmly, a level of agitation showing on his face that surprised me.

“Ferguson! Miss Adair! What’s Miss Moore doing here?” he exclaimed.

His recognition of her caught me off guard, especially in such a tense moment.

“You know her?”

“I believe I do,” he replied, his tone tinged with bitterness. “But what’s going on? I tried to talk to her, but she didn’t acknowledge me. What’s wrong with her? She looks unwell. Where is she headed?”

“She’s going to Lawrence’s room.”

“Ferguson!” Hume’s grip tightened, revealing more strength than I realized he possessed. “Why is she going there?”

“I’m here to prevent her from going in, not to stand around answering pointless questions,” I snapped at Hume, breaking away from his grip. The brief delay had given Miss Moore enough time to reach No. 64. A police officer stood outside, seemingly guarding the door.

“Is this where Mr. Edwin Lawrence was killed?” I heard Miss Moore’s voice, clear and direct like that of a child asking an innocent question, even from a distance.

The officer looked perplexed. “Yes, miss. But you can’t enter; I’m under strict orders not to allow anyone without authorization. What’s your name and your business here?”

“Let me through!” Miss Moore’s imperious gesture, like that of a sovereign queen, waved him aside as she brushed past him and entered the room in a swift motion. I was right behind her as soon as she disappeared from view.

“Why did you let her in?” I demanded, confronting the officer.

He looked bewildered. “Let her? She didn’t wait for permission. For a lady, she’s quite assertive.”

Realizing my intent to follow, the officer blocked my path. “You can’t go in there! I’ve told you.”

“You fool!” I pushed him aside, perhaps more forcefully than I intended, sending him stumbling down the passage until he collided with the wall. Without wasting a moment, I entered the dead man’s room, with Miss Adair and Hume close behind me.