Shit, shit, shit—“The first time, as I’ve told you, I needed money and suitable attire. The second time—let me see, on my first visit I had noticed a hat that was not then out of hock. I went back to see if it was available, and also to redeem my earrings and necklace. On the third occasion—well, he’d shown me some of the antiquarian books various of his customers pawned when they fell upon hard times. I confess I was quite partial to a couple of them.” She forced a smile. “Is that a crime?”

“No.” Inspector Smith stood, unfolding smoothly to a good six feet. He was a huge, imposing man, overweight but built like a rugby player, and now she noticed that his nose had been broken, although it had set well. “But you should be careful who you associate with, Mrs. Fletcher. Some people question Mr. Burgeson’s patriotism and devotion to the Crown, you know. He keeps strange company, and you would not want to be taken for one among them.”

“Strange company?” She looked up at Smith.

“Strangers.” He wore a peculiar tight, smug expression. “Frenchies, some of ’em. And papists. Uppity women suffragists, too.” Miriam glanced past his shoulder then looked away hastily. Roger was leaning in the laboratory doorway, one hand behind his back. I don’t need this, she thought to herself.

“He hasn’t done anything to hang himself yet,” Smith continued, “but there’s always a first time.” He nodded to himself. “I see my job as ensuring there isn’t a second, if you catch my drift. And that the first ’appens as soon as possible.”

Miriam looked past him. “Roger, go back to your workbench,” she called sharply.

Roger turned and shuffled away, bashfully. Inspector Smith shook himself, the spell broken, and glanced over his shoulder.

“Huh. Another bad ’un, I shouldn’t be surprised.” Smith smirked at Miriam. “Wouldn’t want anything to ’appen to him, would you? I really don’t know what the world’s coming to, a single woman running a business full of strapping young men. Huh. So, let’s see. The question is, are you a good citizen?”

“Of course I’m a good citizen,” Miriam said tightly, crossing her arms.

“I really don’t see what your point is.”

“If you’re a good citizen, and you were to learn something about the personal habits of a certain pawnbroker—” The inspector paused, brow wrinkled as if he’d just caught himself in an internal contradiction: “casting no aspersions on your reputation, if you follow me, ma’am.” Another pause.

“But if you happened to know anything that would be of interest, I’m sure you’d share it with the police…”

“I’ve got a business to run, inspector,” Miriam pointed out coldly.