Death Among Rubies by R. J. Koreto

compliment you on having such a distinguished relation. His work has brought honor to your king and your house.”
    “Thank you for your kind words. I take it then that you have had meetings with my brother in his role as a Foreign Office undersecretary?”
    “I have many interests, and move in diplomatic and business circles, so I number many prominent Englishmen, like your brother, among my acquaintances,” he said. That wasn’t odd. Anyone important in the diplomatic community in London would’ve met Charles at one point. “Indeed, although I rent a house in London, I am fortunate enough to have friends with country houses like this. May I take it you are here as a friend to Miss Kestrel, to support her in this difficult time?”
    “Yes, two of us, Miss Thomasina Calvin and I, came down here with her for a visit, but will be staying indefinitely.” She paused. “I know Miss Kestrel finds it upsetting to see so many police officers around, a reminder of how her father died. They seem very busy investigating the death, but so far have not made any arrests. As you have been here some days, perhaps you were able to assist the police in their investigations? Have you seen or heard anything that throws suspicions on anyone here?”
    Mr. Mehmet smiled again. “You are direct and curious, also like your brother. Do you have an official position with the police?”
    “You’re teasing me, Mr. Mehmet. The authorities haven’t seen fit yet to employ female officers in London any more than they do in Istanbul. I act on behalf of my friend, Miss Kestrel. Given that this was a political meeting and that Sir Calleford had a long Foreign Office career, I was wondering if you thought the killing was politically motivated.”
    “A political meeting? You were misinformed. It was merely a meeting of friends, old and new. The discussion did center on foreign affairs—that is Sir Calleford’s great interest. But he does not have an official position in the Foreign Office, I understand.”
    “Really?” said Frances. “That is interesting. Because I was thinking that a murder with a dagger—he was killed with a dagger, if you hadn’t heard—is a very personal sort of murder.”
    That seemed to get Mr. Mehmet’s attention. The slightly amused look on his face disappeared. “I had not heard. But yes, it does sound like a personal murder.”
    “And you may be interested to know the murder weapon was Turkish.”
    “Not the ruby dagger? Sir Calleford showed it to me. He was very proud of it. Aside from his tragic death, the crime is compounded by the . . . desecration of a work of art. I suppose because of Sir Calleford’s importance, and the dramatic manner of the murder, even more English police from London headquarters will swarm all over the house.”
    He now looked positively gloomy. Frances decided to push further. “I imagine you’re right. And it’s not a very, how should I say, English method of murder. I was told that the dagger once belonged to a noble Turkish family. Yours, by any chance, Mr. Mehmet?”
    Mr. Mehmet just stared for a moment—then laughed. “No, my lady. Not at all. You overreached, but that was an excellent theory. You have far more imagination than the local inspector, Mr. Bedlow, who questioned me earlier today. He seems convinced it’s an outside gang—kept asking if I had seen any strangers. I wouldn’t have thought a band of violent robbers would operate in such a peaceful county, but I can’t imagine any other solution. I have confidence the police will discover them soon enough. But others are coming—perhaps we should change the subject.”
    Joining them were a handsome young man dressed in a fashionable suit, a large older man in clothes that didn’t fit perfectly, and a tall young woman whose dress, Frances quickly noticed, was the wrong cut for her figure and wrong color for her complexion.
    The gentlemen bowed and the woman looked at her with a mix of curiosity and