"Maybe she was waiting for someone," said Fisher. "Bowman, for example."
"Yeah," said Hawk. "That would explain what he was doing out on the landing; Okay, let's take a look around."
"Apart from bloodstained clothing, what are we looking for?"
"Anything, everything. We'll know it when we see it."
"That's a great help, Hawk."
"You're welcome."
They searched the room slowly and methodically. It didn't take long. The wardrobe was empty, and so were most of the drawers in the dressing table. There wasn't anywhere else to hide anything. Hawk looked under the bed, just on general principles, but all he found were a few piles of fluff and an ancient chamber pot with a crack in it. He straightened up and looked vaguely about him, hoping for inspiration. Fisher was leaning over the dressing table.
"Found something, lass?"
"I'm not sure. Maybe. Come and take a look."
Hawk moved over to join her. Fisher had found a small wooden box pushed to the back of one of the dressing table's drawers. The wood had been nicely stained and polished, but there was nothing special about it. Hawk looked at Fisher enquiringly. She grinned, and flipped open the lid. A tangled mess of rings, earrings, and necklaces glistened brightly in the lamplight. There were gold and silver, emeralds and rubies and diamonds, all mixed carelessly together.
Hawk picked out a ring and inspected it closely. "Good quality," he said approvingly. He dropped the ring back into the jewel box, and studied the collection thoughtfully. "That little lot is probably worth more than both our annual salaries put together. And she didn't even bother to lock the case."
"Which means," said Fisher steadily, "that either she's very careless or she's got a lot more like that at home."
"Wouldn't surprise me," said Hawk. "So, what's your point?"
"Think about it, Hawk. Suppose Katherine and Bowman got together and decided to kill Blackstone, for the reasons we've already established. Then Katherine decides that while she still wants the prestige and the money, she doesn't need Bowman anymore. He comes to her room, they argue, there's a fight, and she kills him."
"With what?" said Hawk. "Where's the murder weapon? She was standing right over the body when we got there, so she couldn't have had much time to hide anything. And even though she was fully dressed, there wasn't a spot of blood on her. And anyway, we've got the same problem with her as we had with Visage. How could she possibly have caused wounds like those? Even if she had such a weapon, she's not exactly muscular, is she?"
"You'd be surprised what people can do, when they're angry enough," said Fisher darkly.
"Yeah, maybe. Let's try the next room."
The next room proved to be the bathroom. Hawk and Fisher stared open-mouthed at the gleaming tilework and the huge porcelain tub. It was at least six feet long and almost three feet wide. Beyond the tub was a delicate porcelain washstand with its own mirror, and a wonderfully crafted wooden commode.
"Now that's what I call luxury," said Fisher, bending over the bath and running her fingers lovingly over the smooth finish. "No more copper tub in front of the fire for me, Hawk. I want one of these."
"You have got to be joking," said Hawk. "Do you have any idea how much something like that costs? Besides, from what I've heard, those things aren't really healthy."
"Not healthy? How can a bath be not healthy?"
"Well, think of all the steam and water in such an enclosed space. You could end up with rheumatism."
"Oh, but think of the luxury," said Fisher wistfully. "Feel how smooth this is, Hawk. And imagine being able to stretch out in one of these, up to your chin in hot water, soaking for as long as you wanted;" She looked at him sideways. "There might even be room for both of us;"
"I'll order one tomorrow," said Hawk. "But you can ask for the raise we'll need in order to pay for it."
They chuckled quietly together, and then set about searching the bathroom. It didn't take long; there was nowhere to hide anything.
"I don't know," said Hawk finally. "Could something have been stuffed down the commode, do you think?"
"I wouldn't have thought so," said Fisher. "If it was blocked, it would probably have flooded over by now. Of course, there's only one way to be sure;"
"If you think I'm sticking my hand down that thing, you're crazy," said Hawk. "It was just an idea, anyway; Come on, let's try the next room."
"That's where we left Blackstone."
"We'd better take a quick look, just to be sure."
"What about Bowman?" said Fisher suddenly.
Hawk looked at her. "What about him?"
"Well, we can't just leave him lying out there on the landing, can we? I thought maybe we could put him in with Blackstone. At least he'd be out of the way there."
"Makes sense," said Hawk. "All right, let's move him."
They left the bathroom, and went back to where Bowman lay huddled on the landing. He looked smaller somehow, now that he was dead. Hawk took his shoulders while Fisher took the legs, and between them they got him off the floor. The carpet clung to Bowman's back for a moment, stuck there by the drying blood, and then he came free.
"He's heavier than he looks," said Fisher, panting a little as she backed away towards Blackstone's door.
"You should worry," said Hawk. "You've got the lighter end, if anything. And he's staring at me."
Fisher backed into the closed door and kicked it open. She and Hawk then manoeuvred Bowman's body through the doorway and dropped him unceremoniously on the floor next to Blackstone. They waited a moment while they got their breath back, and then looked about them. Hawk took in the uneven trail of blood Bowman's body had left behind on the landing carpet. He winced slightly. Gaunt wasn't going to be pleased.
<em>Tough</em>, thought Hawk. <em>I've got my own problems</em>.
"Doesn't look like anything's been moved," said Fisher.
"Yeah, but we'd better check anyway," said Hawk. "It shouldn't take long."
They checked the wardrobe and the dressing-table drawers and under the bed, and drew a blank every time. No trace of a murder weapon, or any bloodstained clothing.
"It was worth a try," said Hawk as he and Fisher stepped out onto the landing again.
"Yeah," said Fisher, pulling the door to behind her. "We're not doing very well, though, are we?"
"Not very," said Hawk. "But then, this isn't really our normal line of business. Locked-room murder mysteries are usually reserved for the experts. But;"
"Yeah." said Fisher. "<em>But</em>. We have to cope because we're all there is. Who does the next room belong to?"
"Bowman," said Hawk.
The room was clean and tidy, and the bed hadn't been slept in. Bowman's sword was still in its scabbard, hanging from the bedpost. Hawk drew the sword, checked the blade was clean, and then tried the balance. He nodded slowly. It was a good blade, long and thin and light.
"Dueling sword," said Fisher. "Apparently Bowman had something of a reputation as a duelist."
"Didn't help him at the end," said Hawk. "In fact, come to think of it, why wasn't he wearing his sword? After all, he was trapped in a strange house with a murderer on the loose;"
"Yeah, but you don't wear a sword on a lover's tryst, do you?"
"If that was where he was going."
"Seems likely. Doesn't it?"
Hawk shrugged. "I suppose so." He sheathed Bowman's sword and dropped it onto the bed. He and Fisher moved quickly round the room, checking in all the usual places, and once again ended up with nothing to show for their pains.
"This is a waste of time," said Fisher. "We're never going to find anything."
"Probably not, but we have to check. How would it seem if we missed some important piece of evidence, just because we couldn't be bothered to look for it?"