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Miss Adair was a tall, robust young woman with a hint of strength in her presence. Her stage persona as a daring adventuress seemed to spill into real life, as she confronted me with a determined air, ready to fend off any perceived attacks.

“When are you going to spill the beans about Bessie? First off, where is she?”

“She’s at Imperial Mansions.”

“What’s she doing there?”

“She’s under the care of the housekeeper, Mrs. Peddar.”

“In care! What do you mean?”

“Miss Moore is not herself.”

“You guys have pulled some stunt on her. If you have, you’ll pay for it!”

I grabbed her arm as she seemed ready to bolt to Imperial Mansions then and there.

“Miss Moore came through my bedroom window early this morning, in a strange state.”

“Your window! This morning! She must have been in a strange state!”

“A man was murdered in the building around the same time she appeared. His chambers are on my floor, connected by the balcony she used. Her cloak was soaked in blood when she entered, and her hands were wet with it.”

Miss Adair recoiled, staring at me wide-eyed.

“Man! Are you for real? You dare to suggest that Bessie, my Bessie Moore, could be involved in murder!”

“I’m just stating the facts. She was in the dead man’s room; that's undeniable. But I don’t believe she had anything to do with his murder. I'm as certain of her innocence as you are. My theory is that she witnessed something horrific and it affected her mind.”

“Is she... crazy?”

“No, but she has no memory of what happened before entering my window. She doesn’t even remember her name. I think if she could remember what she saw, her innocence would be clear.”

“What was the man’s name?”

“Lawrence. Edwin Lawrence.”

“I don’t remember hearing that name before.”

“Did she mention having an appointment with him?”

She hesitated.

“Are you... Bessie’s friend?”

“I hope so, even though we only met last night. I’ll do anything to protect her.”

She eyed me closely.

“I think I trust you, Mr. Ferguson, though I usually regret trusting men. There’s something about you, like a St. Bernard—big, strong, a bit hairy. I don’t mean it in a bad way, your beard suits you. You seem trustworthy, and now you’re blushing.”

Her manner shifted, becoming serious.

“Bessie seemed really troubled last night, not like herself at all. She snapped at me, which is unlike her. She left the theatre without a word, only bumped into her on the street by chance. She said she had an appointment and might not come back. It felt odd; she never kept secrets like that from me.”

“It’s clear you need to come to Imperial Mansions with me. Your presence might help her remember. Either way, we have to get her out of there.”

“You’re quite bossy, Mr. Ferguson, but I’ll go along. Let me grab a hat first.”

She went upstairs. Shortly after, there was a ring at the door. After it was closed, Miss Adair called down the stairs:

“Ellen, who was that?” Miss Adair called out.

The maid’s voice replied, “Someone named Mr. George Withers wished to see Miss Moore.”

“George Withers!” I exclaimed.

Without hesitation, I bolted out of the sitting room, flung open the front door, and sprinted into the street. I must have seemed like a madman to Ellen and Miss Adair, but hearing the caller’s name reminded me that the strange letter I found was addressed to a “George Withers.”

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A young man was walking briskly down the street. I shouted after him, “Hey, Mr. George Withers!”

He stopped and turned, looking unsure of what was happening. I called out again, “I need to talk to you!”

As I moved towards him, intending to explain, he suddenly turned and sprinted away, disappearing around the corner. Determined not to let him escape, I chased after him.

It was quite a chase; I must have looked quite the spectacle, hatless and with my coat tails flying as I raced through the streets. Luckily, he wasn’t as fast as I was, and I caught up to him before he reached the Fulham Road. He was panting heavily, clearly exhausted from his sprint.

Without a word, I took him by the shoulder and marched him back. He didn’t resist, and we soon arrived back at Miss Adair’s door.

“What’s going on? Where were you? And who is this?” Miss Adair asked as we entered.

Her emphatic way of speaking reminded me of her stage presence. I led Mr. Withers into the sitting room and introduced him.

“This is Mr. George Withers. I believe he has some information we need right now.”

Mr. Withers was young, barely more than a boy. Although well-dressed and handsome, his actions had already put me on edge. I handed him the letter from Miss Moore’s pocket.

“I think this letter is for you, Mr. Withers.”

He seemed hesitant to take it, eyeing it suspiciously. After confirming the address, he turned to me with a scowl.

“Who are you? Why did you open my letter? And why are you treating me like this?”

“Read the letter first, Mr. Withers. Then ask your questions.”

He read the letter with growing unease, then turned on me angrily.

“You stole this! I should report you to the authorities; you have no idea what trouble you might have caused.”

“Is the ‘scoundrel’ mentioned in the letter Mr. Edwin Lawrence of Imperial Mansions?”

“What business is it of yours? Are you meddling in my affairs?”

“Because if it is, Mr. Edwin Lawrence is dead.”

“Dead!”

“He was murdered last night.”

“Murdered!” His expression changed to shock. “Then she—she killed him.”

He stumbled back and sat on the edge of a chair, looking shaken. Neither Miss Adair nor I said anything. After a moment, he began to speak almost frantically.

“I knew this would happen—I told her it was dangerous to get involved with him. But she never listened!”

“What is your connection with Miss Moore?” I asked firmly.

He looked around nervously. “Is she in custody? Are you a cop?”

“No, I’m not a cop. What’s your connection with Miss Moore?”

“That’s none of your business. She got herself into this mess; I have nothing to do with it. I have an appointment; let me go.”

I stood my ground. “Listen, Mr. Withers. You seem like a decent young man. But if you don’t answer honestly, there will be consequences. So tell me, what’s your relationship with Miss Moore?”

“Ah, ‘yours’ is it? That’s rich. I don’t see why there should be a difference in our ‘classes’ when she’s my sister,” Tom Moore retorted.

Miss Adair stepped in with fire in her words. “Your sister? Bessie’s your sister? You’re Tom Moore, the scoundrel who’s swindled her out of loads of money. I thought your face looked familiar, like a twisted version of Bessie’s with all her kindness stripped away and your own deceit added in. You ungrateful rascal, speaking of her like that when she’s done everything for you, and you’ve been nothing but trouble to her.”

Tom faced the frank-spoken lady with a smirk of impudence. It was clear he was more suited to confrontation with women than men.

“I know who you are, ‘Miss Adair.’ ‘Adair!’ Is that really your name? I know more about you than you think. And for Bessie to confide in you about me just shows what kind of person she is, spinning lies about her only family.”

“Her only family! It’s her misfortune to have you.”

“Is that so? Well, from now on, she won’t have me. Tell her that, with my regards. I’m done with her; I disown her. I’ll never claim her name again. It’s not like it’s a name I’m proud of, and now I have even less reason to be proud, from what I’ve heard. Good day, Miss Adair!”

He started to leave the room, but I had to intervene to keep him there. He flinched under my touch, like a dog expecting punishment.

“What were you and your sister up to, Mr. Moore, that took her to Edwin Lawrence’s place last night?”

“That’s my business, not yours.”

“Answer the question.”

He started to whimper. It was becoming clear that I might have to be more forceful with him.

“Don’t! That hurts! It was about some bills.”

“Bills of yours that Lawrence asked her to fake?”

“No, not then. Don’t! It was about some bills he wanted me to fake.”

“I see. And did these bills have Philip Lawrence’s name on them?”

“Who told you? How do you know?”

“Doesn’t matter who told me. Answer!”

“It was all his fault! I wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t pushed me. I—I owed him money, and he said if I faked some bills with his brother’s name, he’d let it slide.”

“And then he planned to cash in on the forgeries with you?”

“No way, I swear! I never got a penny. I thought it was a prank on his brother.”

“Quite the sense of humor you’ve got.”

“That’s where he tricked me; he must’ve cashed them right away. Then his brother found out, and he threatened to expose me.”

“And then you ran to your sister, probably begging for help.”

“I didn’t beg. I’m not that type. But I did mention it to her—she’s my sister, after all.”

“And being your sister, she probably offered to bail you out.”

“That was her mistake. She talked about giving him money, like that would fix it. I suggested she give it to me instead, so I could start fresh abroad. But she never listens to me, never!”

“So let me get this straight,” I began, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Your sister, a young, vulnerable girl, at your insistence, went alone to this man late at night, risking a lot of things. And to save you from the consequences of your cowardice, she offered him her hard-earned money and probably promised him her future earnings. Then, when he turns up dead the next morning, your immediate assumption is that she did it. Mr. Moore, your sense of gratitude is truly unique. In a logical world, you’d be dealt with like any other pest, eliminated without hesitation. Sadly for you, logic isn’t ruling the day.”

I gave him a gentle shake, far less than he deserved considering his sister’s plight. Yet, by his reaction, you’d think I’d roughed him up thoroughly. He looked at me like I’d just sentenced him to death.

“That felt good,” Miss Adair remarked. “I needed that.”

I couldn’t help but agree. It did feel good to lay some truth on Tom Moore, even if he couldn’t appreciate it.