The Apothecary's Poison (Glass and Steele #3)(15)

"Precisely." He picked up a copy of the latest edition from the desk and flipped through the pages.

I sighed.

He looked up from the paper. "Is something wrong?"

"I don't read the newspapers much, but I've always considered them factual, to the best of the reporter's ability. It's a little disconcerting to think they're not. I'll never believe another thing I read in the papers again. Mr. Barratt has gone down considerably in my estimation."

The door behind the desk burst open and a man strode through. His cheeks were slightly flushed and his breathing uneven. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting," he said. "I raced to get here from the back room." He thrust out his hand to Matt. "Oscar Barratt, at your service."

Mr. Barratt spoke with the accent of an educated London gentleman but without the rounded vowels of Miss Glass's peers. He was about my age, or a little older, which surprised me. I'd expected a man of middle age with a lot of experience under his belt. He was handsome too, with dark brown hair, smooth skin, and a short goatee beard. Deep brown eyes missed nothing as he gave Matt the once over and then turned his attention to me. He smiled and shook my hand firmly, as if I were his equal. It was refreshing.

"My name is Matthew Glass," Matt said, "and this is Miss Steele.

"Glass and Steele! I know those names. You were involved in discovering the body of the mapmaker's apprentice. And Miss Steele, you were influential in the capture of the Dark Rider several weeks ago."

"You've heard of us," I said, rather stupidly. Who would have thought that I'd become a well-known figure?

"I read about you in the newspapers but did not report on the incidents myself. I'm delighted to meet you—and a little in awe. You are quite remarkable, Miss Steele. Quite remarkable."

My face flamed, and I wished he wouldn't look at me with such bright eyes and a curious smile. "Oh," I murmured. "Thank you, but my role wasn't important."

"Nonsense," Matt spat out. "It was very important on both occasions. Now, to the matter at hand. We want to ask you about your article in the latest edition of the Gazette." He pointed to the page open on the desk. "You do know that Dr. Hale has been murdered?"

Barratt nodded. "I heard."

"How did you hear?"

The front door opened and a man pushing a trolley laden with large packages wrapped in brown paper entered. The opening of the door triggered a little bell above it. The spotty lad emerged from the back room.

"Come with me to my office," Barratt said to us. "It's quieter there when the press isn't running."

"You print the Gazette here?" Matt asked as we passed through the door into a large chamber piled with more bundles. Some were open, revealing stacks of blank paper.

"In the cellar." Barratt waved at a door behind a man who did not look up from his desk. "You can't talk in here when the press is running. It operates mostly at night, though, ready for the morning's delivery, and only once a week. I was just down there talking to my editor and the paper's head compositor." He led us through another door, along a short corridor, and into a small office. A large map of London directly opposite the desk provided an interesting change to the stack of newspapers, piles of books, and torn articles pinned to a cork board. "You're lucky you caught me," Barratt said. "I was about to head out and see what I can learn about Hale's death. I just heard of it myself."

"How?" Matt asked again.

Barratt hesitated, as if surprised by Matt's intensity. "Through one of my informants at the hospital."

"You have informants at the hospital?"

Barratt gave him a curious little smile. "Of course."

"But you're a reporter, not a policeman," I said.

Barratt's smile widened. "We reporters also want to find the truth, Miss Steele."

"Is that so?" I studiously kept my gaze on him so as not to glance at Matt. "That's very noble of you."

Barratt gave a little bow. "Thank you. You're the first person to ever call a journalist noble in my hearing. Please tell me you believe that and aren't merely saying it because you want something from me."

"Oh, I, er…"

He winked and didn't look at all disheartened. "It's all right, Miss Steele. I have a thick skin. So tell me, do you have information regarding Dr. Hale's death?"

"If we had information about the murder we'd go to the police," Matt said. "We want to discuss another matter which may or may not be tied to Hale's death."

Barratt indicated the chairs. "Then you'd better sit."

Matt held out the chair for me. "We were going to speak with you before Dr. Hale's death," I told Barratt. "You see, yesterday we read your article about Hale's medical miracle and decided to find out for ourselves whether it was true or not."

"Why wouldn't it be true?" Barratt asked, spreading out his hands.

"Journalists have been known to sensationalize reports to sell more papers."

"I don't."

Matt grunted. "Don't play the innocent with us, Mr. Barratt. You're no different."

Why was Matt being so cross with him? We needed Barratt to answer our questions.