“Yes sir. Smashin’, sir. Boggle the mind, they do, sir.”
“Dubbins?” said Lord Bob.
“Yes sir, your lordship?”
Lord Bob was leaning both his forearms against the top of the chair’s back as he looked over at Dubbins. “What precisely are your orders, Dubbins?”
“Your lordship, accordin’ to my orders, I am to proceed to the scene of the tragic accident and make it secure, like, sir, until I am relieved of my duties. No one is to enter or exit the scene of the accident, sir.”
Lord Bob nodded. “Not very likely, anyone making an exit. In the circumstances.”
“No sir, your lordship.” Dubbins had noticed the Winchester on the table.
“Right,” said Lord Bob. “Partridge-one of the footmen-is up there now. My suggestion, he stays there with you. Two heads better than one, eh?”
“Yes sir, your lordship.” He took a step toward the table and reached for the rifle. “Would this be the weapon in ques-”
" Good lord, man! ” barked Lord Bob, and Dubbins whipped back his hand and snapped to attention. Lord Bob stepped back from the chair and cleared his throat. “Fingerprints, Dubbins. Surely you know about fingerprints?”
“Yes sir, your lordship. Forgot myself for a moment. The tragedy and all, sir.”
“Yes, yes,” said Lord Bob. “And to answer your question, no, that is not the weapon in question. That weapon was used, was perhaps used, I should say-in a vile attack against one of my guests. A different incident entirely. Different swine entirely, eh? We’ll let the Amberly chaps deal with it, shall we?”
“Yes sir, your lordship. Your lordship?”
“Yes?”
“Would it be permitted for me, sir, to pay my last respects to the late Earl?”
Lord Bob frowned. “Pay them how?”
Dubbins shifted slightly on his feet. “Well, you know, your lordship. Run in there, right quickly like, and say a quiet word over ’im, sir. My last goodbyes, sir.”
Lord Bob took a deep breath, blinked, and focused his glance on Dubbins. “No, Dubbins,” he said. “That is not, I think, an altogether splendid idea. Best, I think, that the room remain sealed for now. Eh, Doyle?”
“I think that best, Lord Purleigh.”
Lord Bob turned back to Dubbins, and studied him for a moment. “Perhaps,” he said, “I should come with you. Have a word or two with Partridge.”
“Yes sir, your lordship.”
I said, “Lord Purleigh?”
He frowned at me. “What is it?”
“Mind if I tag along? I’d like to talk to the Earl’s valet.”
“Carson? Whatever for?”
“Maybe it’s a good idea for me to hear his story before somebody else does.” I glanced at Constable Dubbins.
Lord Bob looked from Dubbins to me, back to Dubbins, back to me. He narrowed his eyes and nodded sagely. “Got you. Better the devil you know…” he concentrated for an instant then waved a dismissive hand “… than some other bloody devil. Right. Right. Come along then.” He looked at Doyle and the Great Man, nodded to the Winchester. “You gentlemen will watch over this?”
“Certainly,” said Doyle.
Lord Bon led Dubbins and me through the corridors to the Earl’s suite. Lord Bob weaved a bit but he stumbled only once, on the stairwell. He said nothing to me all the way. As we came down the hallway toward the Earl’s suite, he said to Dubbins, “When will your colleagues be arriving from Amberly?”
“Momentarily, your lordship. Superintendent Honniwell is with ’em, sir.”
“Indeed. We can all rest easy now.”
“Yes sir, your lordship. What I meant, sir, he’ll hurry ’em along, the Super will.”
“Yes, of course. And how is the villainy business these days, Dubbins?”
“Well, your lordship, Florrie Chubb’s oldest, Little Tom, he smashed the window of the chemist’s shop on Monday last. Old Mrs. Hornsby banged Jerry over the head with a teapot again. That was Wednesday, your lordship. And someone nicked Wilbur Dent’s bicycle today.”
“A veritable crime wave. We must nip that in the bud, eh?”
“Yes sir, your lordship.”
“I have every confidence in you, Dubbins.”
“Thank you, sir, your lordship.”
When we arrived at a doorway a few doors away from the Earl’s rooms, Lord Bob stopped, Dubbins and I stopped, and Lord Bob knocked on the door. A thin voice called out for us to come in.
Lord Bob opened the door. The room was small, half the size of the anteroom next door. A curtained window, a dresser, a wardrobe, a small desk that held a lighted electric lamp and the emergency telephone. Still fully dressed but with his tie loosened at his neck, Carson was trying to raise himself off the small single bed. “I do apologize, milord-”
“No, no,” said Lord Bob. “Be a good fellow now, and lie down. Good. You’ve met Mr. Beaumont. He’ll be asking you a few questions about what happened today. He’s a Pinkerton, but we won’t hold that against him, eh? Feel up to it, do you?”
Carson had eased his white head back onto the pillow and put his small frail hands on his chest. The hands still trembled. Maybe they always did. “Yes, milord. I feel quite useless, sir, lying here like this. I should be very happy to be of help, if I could.”
“Splendid. Good man. I’ll have someone look in on you later. Need anything, use the telephone and ask Higgens, eh?”
“Very good, milord. Thank you.”
“Right. Dubbins? Ah, there you are. Right. Come along.” They left, Lord Bob pulling the door shut behind them. “There’s a chair, sir,” said Carson, “over by the desk.”
I eased the chair out from under the desk, turned it around, straddled it. I said, “I’m sorry to bother you with this now, Mr. Carson.”
“No bother, sir. As I told his lordship, I’m happy to help, sir.” His hands were white, spattered with liver spots. They lay on the front of his coat, trembling like a pair of small pale frightened animals.
“Appreciate it,” I said. “How long have you worked here, Mr. Carson?”
“Over sixty years now, sir. Since I was a child.”
“And how long have you been the Earl’s valet?”
“Forty years, sir.”
“You must’ve known him fairly well.”
“I believe so, sir,” he said.
“It’s been a big shock to you, his death.”
He blinked. His hands clenched slightly. “It has, sir, yes.”
“So the Earl hasn’t been acting differently lately?”
He blinked again. “Differently, sir?”
“Worried. Unhappy.”
Blink, blink. “No, sir.”
“You would’ve known if he was worried.”
“I like to think so, sir, yes. But the Earl, he was a man who kept his own council.”
I nodded. Forty years with the Earl. It was a relationship that was longer and maybe more complicated than most marriages. And sixty years here at Maplewhite. Wherever Carson’s loyalties lay, they didn’t lie with me.
“But as far as you know,” I said, “he wasn’t depressed. Wasn’t worried.”
“No, sir.”
“Anything unusual happen today?” I asked him.
Blink. “How do you mean that, sir?”
“Visitors, letters. Anything that didn’t usually happen.”
“No, sir.”
“No visitors?”
“No, sir.”
“Any visitors yesterday?”
“Lord and Lady Purleigh, sir.”
“In the evening.” When Lord Bob and his wife had left the drawing room.
“Yes, sir.”
I nodded. “No one else?”
“No, sir.”
“I noticed there was a fire in the fireplace today.”
“Yes, sir. There’s always a fire.”
“Always?”
“The Earl required it, sir.”
“Required it?”
“For his circulation, sir. Ever since the accident.”
I nodded. “He fell off a horse, I heard.”
“Yes, sir.”
This wasn’t much more difficult than pulling teeth from an eel. “And when was that, Mr. Carson?”
“Three years ago, sir.”
“Wasn’t the Earl a little old to go riding?”
“He was a great sportsman, sir.”
“Right. So the fire stayed lit all the time. Day and night.”