Chapter 4
They’d aimed to commence their interviews at the acceptable hour of ten o’clock. Now, however…
“Having unearthed a motive as well as several potential suspects among the guests, we need to rethink our approach.” Barnaby met Penelope’s eyes. “We have to move carefully so we don’t impugn anyone’s reputation unjustly.”
“We also don’t want to give this murderer any hint of what we’re thinking,” Stokes added.
Penelope nodded decisively. “We should make a plan tailored to elicit answers to the questions we have now. After finding Monty’s little black book.”
Stokes glanced around. “My first suggestion is that this room isn’t best suited to our purpose. The lighting’s dim, and it’s too cramped to put people at ease. We want people relaxed enough to talk freely.”
“Agreed.” Barnaby met Penelope’s eyes. “The library will be a better venue.”
Penelope nodded. “It will also be seen as more in keeping with our guests’ social standing.”
Barnaby dispatched the footman, who had been waiting in the corridor, to fetch Constable Walsh and Gearing.
After leaving Walsh on guard in the study, they followed Gearing to the library, which lay on the opposite side of the hall from the drawing room at the front of the sprawling house.
They walked into the library, halted, and surveyed the space.
The chamber was as large as the drawing room and offered several groupings of comfortable chairs.
A cluster comprising a leather-covered Chesterfield sofa and four matching armchairs faced the fireplace, which was located in the center of the long inner wall, opposite the windows overlooking the forecourt.
Nearer to hand sat another group of three armchairs, mirrored by a similar setting at the far end of the room.
The long inner wall and both side walls hosted numerous glass-fronted or open-shelved bookcases, all well stocked with leather-bound tomes interspersed with porcelain vases and statuettes, while the wall broken by the windows sported occasional tables in the gaps between the windows.
The tables displayed several busts, a sextant, and an armillary sphere.
Angled before the far inner corner of the room sat a handsome rosewood desk.
Although the desk bore a crystal pen-and-ink set, its pristine leather-edged blotter suggested the placement was more for ornamentation than use.
The beautiful inlays and rich patina of the desk’s panels underscored that conclusion.
With a smile, Penelope turned to Gearing. “This will do admirably.”
“Very good, ma’am. Please inform me if you have any further requirements.” Gearing added, “Lady Pamela made it clear that the staff are to do everything we can to assist the investigation.”
“That was helpful of her.” With a nod, Penelope dismissed Gearing.
He retreated, and as the door shut behind him, she turned to Barnaby and Stokes.
“I suggest we appropriate some armchairs”—she waved to the grouping farther down the room—“and conduct our interviews in a more conversational setting.”
Barnaby nodded and, with Stokes, went to shift the chairs. “That should help put our interviewees at ease.”
They settled on having three armchairs arranged in an arc facing a fourth chair in which their subject would sit.
Penelope had just claimed the central chair of the three when a tap on the door heralded O’Donnell.
The experienced sergeant looked in and spotted them.
He entered and closed the door, then crossed the room to halt before the chairs, politely bob his head, and report, “I’ve spoken with all the indoor staff—all those who were here yesterday morning—and by all accounts, they were too busy to have noticed anything. ”
Penelope nodded. “That’s entirely believable. With twenty-six guests in the house plus the family, the staff will be at full stretch.”
Stokes drew out his notebook. “What was their view of the master of the house?”
“One and all, they liked him,” O’Donnell said.
“Not often one hears that, but all used words like ‘kind’ and ‘easygoing.’ Apparently, he was never one to get riled or on his high horse, and everyone below stairs are rather shocked that someone up and killed him.” O’Donnell paused, then added, “Like her ladyship, they tend to the notion of the villain being some passing madman.”
Stokes grunted. “It seems their master, however kind-hearted and genial, led a much more complicated life than they imagine.”
“One with a darker side,” Penelope stated.
“We’ve discovered evidence,” Stokes said, “that Underhill had a sideline in blackmail.”
O’Donnell’s eyes flew wide. “That’ll cause a huge shock, I’d say.”
“And not just among the staff,” Barnaby added.
“Indeed,” Penelope concurred.
“We’re still feeling our way over how best to follow the leads Underhill’s blackmail offers,” Stokes said, “so keep that news to yourself.”
“Yes, guv.”
Stokes tapped his pencil on the cover of his notebook.
“Meanwhile, I want you to go around the tenant farms and into the surrounding areas—the estates, houses, farms, and villages—and see if there’s been any sightings of anyone lurking.
The usual suspects—itinerants, vagabonds, gypsies, vagrants, and so on.
It would help if we could strike that possibility entirely from our list.”
“Aye, sir.” O’Donnell saluted, nodded to Penelope and Barnaby, and departed.
As the door clicked shut, Penelope, who had been consulting her list of guests, observed, “We have two blackmail victims who were due to make payments yesterday. Miss Regina Hemmings—she’s only twenty years old, which seems rather heartless of Monty, but the Hemmingses are rather well-off, so presumably, he thought his demands were reasonable.
She was scheduled to hand over a string of pearls, but as was his habit, Monty hasn’t noted exactly when or where. ”
Penelope ran her finger down her list and stopped at another name.
“And then we have Lady Wincombe. She—or I suppose, officially, her husband, Lord Wincombe—is the guardian of her ladyship’s orphaned niece, Harriet Cranton, who is also among the guests.
” Penelope tipped her head. “What indiscretion Monty was holding over her ladyship and what leverage it gave him—why it’s important to her to keep said indiscretion concealed—is difficult to guess.
However, while I can’t immediately see what, exactly, Monty was threatening Lady Wincombe with, judging by her continued payments, his threat of exposure was effective. ”
“Who are the others on the victims list?” Stokes asked. “Presumably, they have the strongest motive to do away with Underhill.”
“They and their nearest and dearest,” Barnaby put in.
“In addition to Lady Wincombe and Miss Hemmings,” Penelope said, “we have Lady Carville, Lord Morland, and Mr. Nevin-Smythe.”
Stokes grimaced. “With a company of this size, I would normally favor concentrating on those five, but in this case…” He slanted a questioning look at Barnaby.
“Given that the murderer’s name might no longer feature in Monty’s book,” Barnaby said, “we should avoid alerting the company to us having any reason to focus on anyone in particular.”
“No need,” Penelope said, “to start unnecessary speculation and rumors about people who are no more guilty than most but whom Monty nevertheless made into his victims. As matters stand, we have no reason to believe any of them is his killer.”
Somewhat glumly, Stokes nodded. “Obviously, we’ll tip our hand to the five victims when we speak with each of them, but I think we can be certain they won’t spread the news they were being blackmailed by Underhill.” He looked at Penelope. “So in light of recent findings, what do we need to know?”
Penelope arched her brows. “Let’s think through that logically.”
Stokes and Barnaby exchanged faintly amused glances, then each claimed one of the chairs flanking the one in which Penelope was sitting.
The ormolu clock on the mantelpiece ticked on while they debated and discussed not just what they needed to know and how best to ask those questions but also in what order those questions should be posed to elicit the most informative responses.
“We need to give them the opportunity to be as expansive as they wish.” Penelope faintly grimaced. “In some cases, that might result in far more verbiage than we might like, but jewels are often found amidst dross.”
“Sadly true.” Stokes had written their proposed questions in his notebook.
“Right. These are the questions we’ll put to each interviewee.
” He held up the book and read, “One, when did they arrive at the house party and why are they here? Two, when did they come downstairs on Monday morning and where did they go? Three, where were they between nine and ten o’clock?
Four, do they know if anyone else left the house during that period?
Five, what was their view of Underhill? And sixth and last, do they know of any reason why anyone would want to kill him? ”
Penelope observed, “That should give us enough to start with, and when we speak with those who were Monty’s victims, we can probe further and see what they say.”
Barnaby stated, “We should hold the information in Monty’s black book close to our collective chest until and unless we feel we can learn more by revealing what we know.”
“Indeed. The murderer is the one we want to leave guessing,” Penelope said.
“So,” Stokes asked, “in what order should we have people in?”
“Hmm.” Penelope frowned. “I suspect the company—both the innocent and the guilty—will be agog to see how we proceed. If we don’t want them trying to read anything into our order of interviews, let’s use an order that’s based on some obvious criteria.” She looked at Stokes. “Like social rank.”
“That makes sense,” Stokes allowed. “It’s also what some might expect.”
“Right, then.” Penelope waggled her fingers at him. “Give me your pencil and let’s see what that translates to.”
“Leith first?” Barnaby suggested.