Chapter Thirty-Five
The interrogation
“Shall we bring Inspector Treadles back in, now that I’ve wasted enough of your time?” asked Charlotte of Chief Inspector Talbot.
But instead of alerting Inspector Treadles his presence was required, she added, “One last question, sir, if you don’t mind. Why did you help Mrs. Farr in London, even though she threatened you with falsehoods at Garwood Hall?”
The old policeman frowned. Charlotte’s deduction of his role in Ephraim Meadows’s incarceration at Ravensmere could be attributed to a stroke of luck, but only he and Mrs. Farr had been privy to the threat from Mrs. Farr. That Charlotte knew this meant that she knew everything.
He considered her another moment and sighed. “At Garwood Hall I would have let Mrs. Farr go even if she had not threatened me. She reminded me of my late sister. Most people did not care for my sister, but we, her younger siblings, depended on her wholeheartedly. She lifted us all to secure, respectable livelihoods but died when she was only thirty-one—of professionally acquired syphilis.”
This detail he likely would not have shared, were Charlotte not a fallen woman herself.
His expression clouded with grief, then turned sharp with alarm. “Why all this interest in Mrs. Farr, Miss Holmes? Was she somehow involved in Lord Bancroft’s death? Have you been trying to gauge whether I would be lenient toward her again?”
At last, outside the street entrance of the hotel suite came the blessed sound Charlotte had been waiting for, a vehicle reining to a hard stop. She rose, went to the window, and looked out.
When she turned around, she smiled. “No, Inspector, Mrs. Farr was not at all involved in Lord Bancroft’s death. And neither am I, of course, as I have been repeatedly trying to tell you.”
“Miss Holmes—”
“Even you, Chief Inspector, will very soon no longer be involved.”
The retired policeman raised a brow. “What do you mean, Miss Holmes?”
Charlotte returned to her seat and fluffed her skirts. “You will see presently, Chief Inspector.”
A light knock came at the street entrance. Inspector Treadles poked in his head. “Do please excuse me, but there is a gentleman who wishes to speak to you, Chief Inspector.”
With another nonplussed glance in Charlotte’s direction, Chief Inspector Talbot excused himself and followed Inspector Treadles out.
When he came back several minutes later, he had the look of a Middle Ages theologian faced with incontrovertible evidence, for the first time, that the universe did not revolve around Earth.
“You are correct, Miss Holmes, on one thing at least. I am no longer involved in anything having to do with Lord Bancroft’s death. My superiors are satisfied that he had been shot by the guards while trying to escape Ravensmere and somehow managed, without outside help and without leaving a trail of blood, to reach a spot six miles away before succumbing to his injury.”
He gazed at Charlotte. “My congratulations to you, Miss Holmes.”
Charlotte inclined her head. “Thank you, but Chief Inspector, truly no congratulations are needed. As I’ve said time and again, I had absolutely nothing to do with Lord Bancroft’s demise.”