“Anyone could have come in from the outside.” Miss Hetta’s voice was frantic.
“Nonsense. The evidence is against it.”
“Why would Ilsa want to kill her own flesh and blood? It is unthinkable!”
“And yet people will think it, rest assured. The whole ugly affair can be whitewashed and pinned to some mysterious assailant who stalked in the night season, but people will think it just the same, Madam.”
She remained silent now, and I could feel Cork’s mind turning from one tactic to another, searching for leverage. He got to his feet and walked over to the portrait.
“So in the face of silence, I must turn the ferret loose in my mind. Take, for example, the question of this necklace.”
“The van der Malin Chain,” she said, looking up at the portrait. “What about it?”
“If the painter was accurate, it seems of great worth, both in pounds sterling and family prestige. It’s very name proclaims it an heirloom.”
“It is. It has been in our family for generations.”
“Do you wear it at times?”
“No, of course not. It is my sister’s property.”
“Your estates are not commingled?”
“Our family holds with primogeniture.”
“I do not. Exclusive rights to a first born make a fetish of nature’s caprice. But that is philosophy, and beyond a ferret. Where is the necklace, Madam?”
“Why, in my sister’s strong box, I assume. This is most confusing, Captain Cork.”
I could have added my vote to that. I have seen Cork search for answers with hopscratch questions, but this display seemed futile.
“It is I who am confused, Madam. I am muddled by many things in this case. Why, for instance, didn’t your sister wear this necklace to the year’s most important social function? She thought enough of it to have it painted in a portrait for posterity.”
“Our minds sometimes work that way, Captain. Perhaps it didn’t suit her costume.”
Cork turned from the picture as if he had had enough of it. “I am told there is a Uncle Kaarl in the household, yet he was not in attendance at the ball tonight. Did he not suit the occasion?”
“You are most rude, sir. Kaarl is an ill man, confined to his bed for several years.” She got to her feet. “I am very tired, gentlemen.”
“I, too, grow weary, Madam. One last question. Your late niece was irritable this evening, I am told. Did something particular happen recently to cause that demeanor?”
“No. What would she have to sulk about? She was the center of attraction. I really must retire now. Good night.”
When the rustle of her skirts had faded down the silent hallway, I said, “Well, Captain, we’ve certainly had a turn around the mulberry bush.”
He gave me that smirk-a-mouth of his. “Some day, Oaks, you will learn to read between the lines where women are concerned. I am sure you thought me a bully for mistreating her, but it was necessary, and it worked.”
“Worked?”
“To a fair degree. I started on her with several assumptions. Some have more weight now, others are discounted. Don’t look so perplexed. I am sure that Hetta’s note to us did not concern Gretchen directly. She did not fear for the girl’s life in this calamity she now chooses to keep secret.”
“How is that?”
“Use your common sense, man. If she had suspected an attempt on her niece’s life, would she stand mute? No, she would screech her accusations to the sky. Her seeking outside aid from us must have been for another problem. Yes, Trask?”
I hadn’t seen the footman in the shadows, nor had I any idea how long he had been there.
“Beg pardon, Captain Cork, but Major Tell has retired to his room and would like to see you when you have a moment.”
“Thank you, Trask. Is your mistress available to us now?”
“Her maid tells me she is abed, sir.”
“A shame. Maybe you can help me, Trask. My friend and I were wondering why the Dame’s picture hangs in this small room. I say it was executed in such a large size to hang in a larger room. Mr. Oaks, however, says it was meant for Miss Hetta’s room as an expression of love between the two sisters.”
“Well, there is an affection between them, sirs, but the fact is that the portrait hung in the Grand Salon until the Dame ordered it destroyed.”
“When was this, Trask?”
“Two days ago. ‘Trask,’ she said to me, ‘take that abomination out and burn it.’ Strange, she did like it originally, then, just like that, she hated it. Of course, Miss Hetta wouldn’t let me burn it, so we spirited it in here, where the Dame never comes.”
“Ha, you see I was right, Oaks. Thanks for settling the argument, Trask. Where is Major Tell’s room?”
“Right next to yours, if you’ll follow me, gentlemen.”
Tell’s chamber was at the back of the house, where we found him sitting in the unlighted room, looking out at the moonlit yard.
“Nothing yet, Major?” Cork asked, walking to the window to join him.
“Not a sign or a shadow. I have men hiding at the front and down there near the garden gate and over to the left by the stable. Do you really expect him to make a move?”
“Conjecture coasts us nothing, although I have more information now.”
Although the room was bathed in moonlight, as usual I was in the dark. “Would either of you gentlemen mind telling me what this is all about? Who is coming?”
“Going would be more like it,” the major said.
“Going-ah, I see! The killer hid himself in the house somewhere and you expect him to make a break for it when everyone is bedded down. But where could he have hidden? Your men searched the den and passageway for secret panels, did they not?”
“Ask your employer,” Tell said. “I am only following his orders-hold on, Cork, look down by the passage door.”
I looked over Cork’s shoulder to catch a glimpse of a cloaked figure in a cockade, moving among the shadows towards the stable.
“Our mounts are ready, Major?” Tell nodded. “Excellent. Let us be off.”
As I followed them downstairs, I remarked on my own puzzlement. “Why are we going to follow this scoundrel? Why not stop him and unmask him?”
“Because I know who our mysterious figure is, Oaks. It is the destination that is the heart of the matter,” Cork said as we hurried into the ballroom and back to the den door.
Once inside, I saw that Tell had placed our greatcoats in readiness, and we bustled into them. Cork walked over to the weapon wall and looked at two empty hooks.
“A brace of pistols are gone. Our shadow is armed, as expected,” he said.
“I’ll take this one,” I said, reaching for a ball-shot handgun.
“No need, Oaks,” Cork said. “We are not the targets. Come, fellows, we want to be mounted and ready.”
The night was cold as we waited behind a small knoll twenty yards down from the stable yard. Suddenly the doors of the stable burst open and a black stallion charged into the moonlight, bearing its rider to the south. “Now, keep a small distance but do not lose sight for a second,” Cork commanded, and spurred his horse forward.
We followed through the drifts for ten minutes and saw our quarry turn into a small alley. When we reached the spot, we found the lathered mount tied to a stairway which went up the side of the building to a door on the second-story landing. With Cork in the lead, we went up the cold stairs and assembled ourselves in front of the door. “Now!” Cork whispered, and we butted our shoulders against the wood paneling and fell into the room.
Our cloaked figure had a terrified man at gunpoint. The victim was a man in his forties, coiled into a corner. I was about to rush the person with the pistols, when the tricornered hat turned to reveal the chiseled face and cold blue eyes of Dame Ilsa van Schooner.
“Drop the pistols, Madam; you are only compounding your problem,” Cork said firmly.