The Klondike Mysteries 4-Book Bundle. Vicki Delany

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      “My gran says…” Chloe murmured, standing alone as the other women gathered around Ellie to hear the story of Big Gertrude before getting ready for their night’s work. But no one was listening to her.

      The orchestra struggled to their feet and gathered up their instruments. The dancers scurried off behind the stage in a flurry of lace and ribbons, pearl buttons, white cotton and colourful silk.

      I wandered into the gambling room. Graham beckoned to me from his place at a table, where a high-stakes game of poker was underway. Chips were piled in the centre of the table and in front of every man. A cloud of dense, pungent smoke rose from their cigars.

      “Fiona, give me a kiss for good luck.” I tossed a wave towards Graham and carried on around the table. As if I would ever appear to prefer one customer to another. Might as well shut the business down on the spot and put myself out to pasture. Or open Ray’s restaurant: breakfast and light lunches.

      I continued through to the bar, arriving precisely as Inspector McKnight and Constable Sterling walked through the front door, following the orchestra as it returned from its eight o’clock performance on the street.

      We met in the centre of the saloon. The crowd gathered around to eavesdrop.

      “Good evening, gentlemen.”

      “Evening, Mrs. MacGillivray,” McKnight said. “We’re looking for a fellow named Donohue.” He certainly didn’t worry about observing the social graces, our Inspector McKnight.

      I looked at Sterling. He avoided my eyes.

      “Your man at the door says Donohue is in the next room. Is that correct?”

      “Uh, I’m not sure. Why do you want him?”

      “To assist with our investigation, of course. Now, if you could point this Donohue out to me, it would make things much simpler.”

      “Certainly.” There was no point in pretending not to know Graham. Anyone in the Savoy, including Richard Sterling, could identify him. But I was not happy about taking McKnight into the gambling hall. I didn’t know what he wanted with Graham, and I didn’t want to find out. I hesitated.

      “Mrs. MacGillivray? If you’re not feeling well, I’m sure one of your employees can assist us.”

      “This way.” I led the two policemen into the gambling room. The air was so thick with smoke from the men’s cigars that it was difficult to see the far side of the room. The roulette wheel clattered to the end of its spin, and Mouse O’Brien cheered lustily as he gathered up a pile of chips in his big hands. “Place your bets, gentlemen,” the croupier droned. No one looked up from the faro table, and the men at the poker games stared single-mindedly into their cards.

      McKnight looked at Sterling. Sterling gestured with his head to where Graham Donohue was pushing a sizeable stack of chips into the middle of the table. McKnight crossed the room and placed his hand on Graham’s shoulder. “Mr. Donohue, will you come with us, please. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

      Chapter Twenty-Eight

      Graham Donohue instinctively pulled his hands back from his chips and clutched his cards to his chest. “I’m busy at the moment.”

      “Too bad,” Inspector McKnight said. “I intend to talk to you. We can conduct our business here, if you like.”

      The dealer’s eyes opened wide, and he looked at me for instruction.

      I gave him a shrug. I had no better idea than he as to what we should do.

      “We’re having a serious game here,” a poker player growled. It was the Indian fighter I’d noticed before. Probably not the sort of man who had a healthy respect for Her Majesty’s Officers of the Law.

      “Graham,” I said, sensing trouble brewing, “I’m sure it won’t take long to answer Inspector McKnight’s questions. And then your game can continue.”

      “You leave this table, pal, game’s over,” the Indian fighter said. He fingered his belt, looking disappointed not to find a six-shooter, or whatever they called it, resting there. Guns were banned from town. The two other players appeared relieved at having their game interrupted. I surmised that they didn’t have promising hands.

      “If you don’t come willingly, Donohue,” McKnight said in a low voice, “then I will be forced to place you under arrest.”

      Graham tossed his cards at the dealer and gathered up his chips. The Indian fighter growled, deep in his chest.

      “If you interfere in this matter,” Sterling said to him, “you’ll find yourself under arrest. Dealer, portion out the remaining chips. This game is over.”

      Graham got to his feet with a heavy sigh. The Indian fighter threw his cards on the table. “Don’t know what sort of town you’re running here. I’ll be on the next boat out.” He stuffed his chips into various pockets.

      But he didn’t mean “next” in the literal sense: he joined the game at the faro table.

      I hurried out the door in pursuit of Graham and the Mounties. The police stood on either side of my friend. Richard Sterling rested a hand on one of Graham’s elbows. The life of the bar swirled all around us. In the dance hall, Betsy’s voice reached a high note, reminding me that I should be in there, watching. Ray was occupied peeling a man up off the floor.

      “Do you have a place where we can talk to Mr. Donohue?” McKnight asked. “In private.”

      “No,” I said.

      “For heaven’s sake, Fiona,” Graham pleaded, “say yes. I want to get this charade over.”

      “Very well. You can use my office. Follow me.” I led the way up the stairs. All conversation stopped as every man in the room watched us. And not just those who were hoping to get a peek at my ankles.

      I threw the door to the office open, and the three men marched through. I debated leaving, but decided on principle—it was my office—to hang around until they told me to go. I closed the door.

      “Sit,” McKnight told Graham. Graham walked around my desk to sit in my chair, facing into the room. A thin sheen of sweat covered his brow, and his hands shook as he pushed a lock of dark hair out of his eyes. He avoided looking at me.

      McKnight took the visitor’s chair. A match flashed as Sterling lit the lamp on the bookcase before leaning up against the wall.

      “It has come to our attention, Mr. Donohue,” Inspector McKnight began, “that you were in a fight with the late Mr. Ireland the day he arrived in town.”

      “So?”

      “You want to tell me what you had against the fellow?”

      “Am I under arrest?”

      “If you were under arrest, Mr. Donohue, we wouldn’t be having this conversation on the second floor of a dance hall. I can arrest you if you’d prefer.”

      “I met Ireland years ago. I was working at the New СКАЧАТЬ