Edward Kane and The Vinegar Valentine: Chapter 6

“I wager, sir, that we have the best cards of this type in Edinburgh. Here is one of my particular favourites.” He lifted a card from the pile, with an illustration of a large grey seal:

“Your moustache is expansive

I know how you feel, sir

But those bristles remind me

Of a massive grey seal, sir”

Mackintosh simulated a smile in response. But his eyes were fixed on the corner of the picture and the three, tell-tale imperfect dots.

Young Simpson was suddenly concerned: “Is all in order, sir? You look perplexed...”

Mackintosh pointed to the dots: “A small imperfection in your presses, I think? They do not appear to be on your more regular cards.”

The young printer took back the card and studied the picture: “Aye, sir. We make these Vinegar cards on one of the older presses when my father is not here.” He tapped his nose in conspiracy: “The left hand doesn’t know what the right hand is doing, if you take my meaning...”

It was now time to make his move. Mackintosh spoke: “These cards are just the ticket, Mr Simpson. But I was wondering have you ever done something for a lady? A lady with large ears?”

Simpson beamed: “Ha! I happen to have the perfect card for you, sir. And it will be cheaper, because the illustration and verse are done already.” He rummaged. Then: “Here we are!” And he produced the self-same card that had been sent to the lachrymose Fanny Eudora Walker.

Mackintosh studied the card and nodded. Softly, softly now. “And who would order such a thing?”

Simpson tapped his nose again and smiled: “Well, that would be telling now, wouldn’t it, sir!”

Time to come clean: “Mr Simpson. My name is Mackintosh. Mackintosh of the Detective. I am investigating a case of criminal nuisance sir. A case involving a card made by your shop. I am asking you now.” He held up the offending item: “Who ordered this card, sir?”

The young printer studied Mackintosh for a moment. Then he leaned back and folded his arms. The professional sheen of bonhomie evaporated: “If you’re a detective, then you’ll have your papers to prove it, won’t you?’

Mackintosh reached into his jacket pocket. His identification papers had not been required in the previous seven printers that day. They had been innocent. But now, as Mackintosh was reaching further – and further – into his pocket, he realised that he had left the papers in his other jacket.

The young printer saw what was happening. Cocky now: “No papers, then, ‘Mr Detective’ – so you’ll be getting hee-haw off me, sir.” He lifted up the tray again: “I suppose ye’d better get away and get those papers, eh? But I fear, ‘Mister Detective’, that these doors will be shut when you get back.”

Young Simpson came around the counter, walked to the front door of the shop and reversed the sign hanging on the window, so that it now read “Closed” to the public. He opened the door and motioned for Mackintosh to leave: “Good day to you.”

It had already been a long day. Mackintosh did not move, but spoke now with a quiet intensity: “I’ll tell you what, son. I’ll let you into what happens next. What happens next is that I go back to the Police Office and I get my papers. And then I get a warrant off the Sheriff at Edinburgh. And then I come back with seven police officers. And your doors are shut. So we have to kick them in. And then we seize all your printing presses – all of them, because they might be needed as evidence, son. And you might as well board up the shop windows, because you are not getting that machinery back for a good six months – until the trial...”

The young printer considered his position. Then: “All this for a Valentine?”

“No, son. All this for cheek.”

The printer shut over the door. “What is it that you want?”

“Just two names...”

*****

“Maisie? Maisie Cummings?”

Mr Horse stood, mouth wide-open, in the rented rooms of Edward Kane, Advocate as Mackintosh of the Detective disclosed the author of his Vinegar Valentine.

The detective looked up from his notebook: “The name is familiar to you, then?”

Horse nodded: “She’s the girl from the coal-yard. I spoke to her last week and not a dicky-bird out of her…” He stood at the window, his eyebrows knotted, deep in thought now.

Edward Kane was sitting at the table, finishing his cup of tea: “Well, that solves one mystery, Mackintosh.” He motioned over to the list in the detective’s hands: “But did you happen to make any headway with that other card. The one directed towards the diva and the large ears?”

Mackintosh grimaced. Then nodded: “Hers was different, Mr Kane. More complicated. No name was left with the printer in that case, sir. Some evidence, yes, but it’s as if it has all been cut up with a jig-saw and scattered in the air. I am seeing Mr and Mrs Walker tomorrow. Then we shall see what we shall see.”

They looked around to see Mr Horse in the act of putting oh his coat. Kane called over: “You are going out, Mr Horse?”

Horse nodded: “I’m off to the coal-yard, Mr K. For a little chat with our young Maisie, sir.”

Kane pointed over, wagging his finger: “Mr Horse, I know you are angry, but remember – do the right thing. You are dealing with a lady here – and a lady in a very fragile condition.”

Horse said nothing. Mackintosh spoke: “Mr Horse, before you go and speak to that lady, perhaps you would like to look at the receipt for your card sir.”

Horse shook his head, but the detective handed him the receipt anyway. The manservant took the paper somewhat reluctantly, but began to read it, following the text down the page with his finger. Then he looked up with a start: “I don’t understand, Mackintosh...this don’t make no sense at all...”

Don’t miss the grand finale of “Edward Kane and the Vinegar Valentine” in the double-length episode in tomorrow’s Scotland on Sunday!