“Smell this. I think after she had been drugged, our murderer poured the contents of the champagne that was left out into the garden and some of it splashed on the sill.”
“There are reinforcements arriving,” said Kerridge. “I’ll have all their rooms searched.”
“Tell your men to look for a hypodermic.”
“You should have put gloves on before you touched that window.”
Harry sighed. “If you think this lot are going to let you take their fingerprints without a direct order from the prime minister, then you are very much mistaken.”
♦
“I wish I were a man,” said Rose fiercely to Daisy.
“Why?”
“Captain Cathcart is up there with the police, being informed of everything. We just have to wait until he deigns to tell us something.”
“I wonder why she was killed?” said Daisy. “If she was killed and didn’t choke to death shoving food in her mouth.”
“I’m sure it’s murder. I wonder if she knew who the murderer of Freddy Pomfret was. Just suppose he collected the evidence against her when he shot Freddy and decided to do a bit of blackmailing himself. He goes to her and she tells him she’s had enough and is going to tell the police. What else could he do but murder her?”
“I wish we could get out of here,” mourned Daisy. “I’m frightened to death, I can tell you. Telby Castle seems exciting now, looking back on that murder last year, but at the time I was scared and unhappy, and I’m scared and unhappy now.”
Rose gave her a quick hug and Daisy looked at her in surprise. Rose was normally not given to demonstrations of affection.
“I sent a footman off with a telegram to my parents,” said Rose, “which means that they will shortly arrive to remove me from here as soon as possible and the field will be left to Captain Cathcart.”
“The press will be here soon as well,” said Daisy.
“Perhaps not. I think that Scotland Yard will want to keep this quiet as long as possible.”
“They can’t,” said Daisy. “All the village was there when that maid burst into the church crying murder.”
“Oh, I’ve just thought of something.” Rose bit her lip in vexation. “They’ll be searching all around the countryside just in case it was someone from outside. What if they come across McWhirter’s body in the Thames? Then it will all come out, me being in the asylum.”
♦
Far away, a poacher was making his way through a thick wood. He had no fear of meeting a keeper. The keepers hardly ever patrolled these woods and his pockets were empty of game.
He came across a dead man propped up against a tree. He stood stock-still. Crows and foxes had already begun their destructive work. And then he noticed how the sunlight shafting through the trees glinted on the gold watch on the man’s wrist. He bent down and removed it and tucked it into his rags. Then he searched the pockets and found a wallet in the inside pocket. The money inside was wet. He scratched his head. It hadn’t been raining for days. Still, the notes could be dried out.
He felt the cloth of the man’s motoring coat. Good material. It would fetch a bit at the pawn.
He rolled the body until he got the coat off. A good coat and trousers and silk waistcoat were revealed.
He looked quickly around, but the wood was completely silent. He busily got to work. The river had washed all the blood away and he was disappointed to find a hole in the back of the coat. But, undeterred, he stripped off and dressed himself in the corpse’s clothes and then, heaving and panting, dressed the corpse in his own rags.
Then, gagging slightly at the smell from the already decomposing body, he dragged it farther deep into the wood and covered it with leaves.
♦
“It’s all right,” Harry reassured a still worried Rose later that day. “Becket and I took the body really far away and the water was deep and black.”
Rose said, “The water would be black at night. What if it’s clear during the day?”
“Oh, it’ll be fine,” said Harry, although he suddenly felt uneasy. “Have you been interviewed yet?”
She shook her head. They were standing together outside the house on the front lawn. A tendril of hair floated loose from Rose’s elaborate hair-style. He felt a tug at his heart but quickly reminded himself how infuriating Rose could be with her unfeminine independence.
Harry had told her as much as he knew.
“If only it could have been someone from outside,” said Rose. “Have you seen Daisy?”
“I think she’s talking to Becket.”
“She is not much use as a companion at times. She should be on duty.”
“Not the little radical you try to be,” said Harry. “When the chips are down, you are as class-ridden as anyone in society.”
“That is not true, you hateful man.”
Harry looked ruefully after her as she walked away.
A footman came out of the house and said Lady Glensheil wished to speak to him.
Her ladyship was in the morning-room. Mr Jerry was sitting on a sofa beside her and she was holding his hand.
“Ah, here you are,” she trumpeted. “Not much of a detective, are you?”
“There was no way I could anticipate this murder,” protested Harry. “Mrs Trumpington was a suspect…I’m sorry, Jerry.”
“It’s all right,” he said gloomily. “If she hadn’t been murdered and left me as the prime suspect I would be celebrating, and there’s no use pretending otherwise. She wasn’t always like that, you know. When I married her, she was a pretty little slip of a thing and I thought myself the luckiest man in England. Don’t get married, Harry. They all turn out the same.”
“I beg your pardon,” said Lady Glensheil frostily. “I am married.”
“But Glensheil’s never around, is he?” said Mr Jerry, made tactless in his distress.
“Never mind that. Captain Harry, you must do something about this dreadful business before we are all murdered in our beds.”
“I will do my best. Kerridge is a brilliant policeman.”
“Nonsense, the man’s as thick as two planks.”
“His manner and appearance are deceptive.”
The butler entered. “The police wish to interview you now, my lady. They are in the estate office, as you wished.”
“Very well.” She rose majestically to her feet and adjusted her hat. After having given her lady’s maid a row over the waxed-fruit disaster, Lady Glensheil had changed all her clothes, feeling that a new outfit was called for in such distressing circumstances. Lady Glensheil never went hatless during the day. She was wearing a broad-brimmed felt hat decorated with a stuffed seagull with small ruby eyes.
She turned in the doorway and glared at Harry. “Do something,” she snapped. “You’re a detective, so detect!”
After she had gone, Harry turned to Mr Jerry. “Have you the slightest idea what your wife could have been up to that would make her the target of blackmail?”
“Can’t think.”
“Could she have been having an affair?”
“I don’t know. I was in India last year for a few months. Maybe then. But who would want her?”
“It’s the evidence that Freddy had. Did the murderer find it? Or did Freddy have it hidden somewhere?”
“Blessed if I know. Wait a bit. We put valuables in safe-deposit boxes at the bank.”
“Surely the police thought of that when they were going through his bank accounts.”
“Might have come under a different department at the bank.”
“I’ll use the phone. Blast! There isn’t one, and its Sunday anyway. I’d better see Kerridge.”
♦
Harry nearly collided with Lady Glensheil as she emerged from the estate office.
“Have you done anything yet?” she demanded.
“Give me time,” said Harry patiently.
He went into the office. Kerridge was seated behind a desk, with Inspector Judd, stationed in a corner, holding a large notebook on his knee.