Free Mrs. Jeffries in the Nick of Time by Emily Brightwell

highest authority. Apparently, the home secretary thinks it’s a good idea for some of our other young officers to have the benefit of working with you and learning your methods.”
    “But . . . but . . . my methods aren’t in the least extraordinary, I can easily write them down—”
    “It’s all right, sir,” Barnes interrupted. He knew when it was time to quit. There was nothing that any of the three men in this room could do except accept the situation. “We’re police officers and we do what we’re told.”
    Witherspoon’s shoulders sagged. “Yes, of course. Who is going to work with me?”
    Barrows cleared his throat. “A young constable from Fulham.” He glanced at Barnes. “You’ll be taking his place while he trains with Witherspoon.”
    “I’ll report there straightaway, sir,” the constable replied. The moment he’d heard where he was going, he’d known who was behind this change of duty. “Is the constable who I’m to replace by any chance Constable Lionel Gates?”
    “How’d you guess?” Barrows’ eyes narrowed. “Apparently, young Constable Gates isn’t above using his family connections to get what he wants and what he wants is to work with the inspector on this murder.” He glanced at Barnes and smiled briefly. “But I assure you, I’ll not forget this, and one of these days this particular home secretary will not be around to help him.”
    Barnes grinned broadly but said nothing.
    Witherspoon had some connections of his own and though he wasn’t very good at the sort of machinations that were second nature to people like Gates, he’d do his best. The very idea of working a murder without Barnes was unthinkable, but he knew further arguments at this point would be futile, so he said, “When is Constable Gates to report to me?”
    “Immediately. He went down to turn the transfer documents into the duty officer just a few moments before you two arrived. I expect he’ll nab you before you make it out of the building, but if he doesn’t he can make his own blooming way to Acton. You’re not his nursemaid. Go on now.” Barrows pointed to the door. “You’re under no obligation to wait for the little sod.”
    As soon as they’d stepped into the hallway and closed Barrows’ office door, Witherspoon said, “Constable, I’m going to do everything in my power to get you back on the case. Constable Gates isn’t the only person with connections.”
    Barnes winced. There wasn’t a polite way to point out that Witherspoon was such an innocent that any attempt he made to pull political strings was likely to result in a major disaster for both of them. “Of course not, sir, but—”
    Witherspoon interrupted. “I rely on you too much to let this happen, I don’t care what the home secretary says. I know I can do something. I’ll have a word with—”
    Now it was Barnes’ turn to interrupt. “Don’t have a word with anyone, sir. You don’t want to be distracted when you’re working on a case this complicated.”
    “But I don’t think I can do it without you.”
    “You won’t have to, sir,” the constable said quickly. “Fulham is a quiet division, so I can easily stop in to see you in the mornings before I report in for my shift.” He was thinking as he spoke, trying to come up with an idea that would keep Witherspoon’s confidence up and more importantly, keep him from taking any actions that might ruin both their careers. “It’ll be all right, sir. You’ll see, I’ll pop around in the evenings to see what’s what and pass on any information I might have stumbled across about the Humphreys case . . .” He broke off as Inspector Nigel Nivens suddenly appeared at the top of the staircase. His face was red and was breathing hard, as though he’d been running.
    “Thank goodness you’re still here.” Nivens slumped against the banister and tried to catch his breath. “I was afraid I’d missed you. I want you both to know,” he panted, “that I had