Death Wears a Mask by Ashley Weaver Page B

use,” I said, refusing to acknowledge, even to myself, that my aid might have been more akin to snooping.
    â€œI’m ever so sorry you fell down the stairs,” she said. “It must have been frightfully embarrassing.”
    â€œThank you, Winnelda. Yes, it was very unpleasant all around, though mercifully there weren’t many people to witness it.”
    I thought suddenly of the four young people who had been seated on the stairs. I wondered if any of them had heard the shot that had killed James Harker. If so, one of them might have seen something of use. I wonder if that inspector had spoken to them. I thought back to the humorless expression of Inspector Harris and surmised that he was not an overly imaginative sort of person. Perhaps, if I were to …
    â€œThat reminds me, madam,” Winnelda said, drawing me from my traitorous thoughts. “One of your shoes seems to be missing. I was putting your things away before tea and forgot to mention it.”
    â€œI believe Mr. Ames put it in the pocket of his dinner jacket.”
    â€œI’ll just fetch it so that I can put them together in the closet. Things will be tidier that way, and then you can finish telling me all about it.”
    She disappeared out of the room before I could say that I had told her all there was to tell. She was back a moment later with the offending shoe in her hand. “I found it in Mr. Ames’s pocket, just as you said. How was it that you fell, madam?”
    â€œI don’t know what happened. My foot just slipped out from under me.”
    â€œI suppose he’d had the floors waxed for the ball.” She flipped the shoe over, examining it. “Was something broken, madam?”
    â€œNo, just a sprain.”
    â€œBegging your pardon, I meant something glass?”
    â€œI don’t think so. Why do you ask?”
    â€œThere seems to be a piece of colored glass lodged on the bottom of your shoe. Perhaps that was what made you slip.”
    She picked at something lodged between the sole and the heel.
    I frowned. “A piece of … may I see it?”
    She dropped it in my hand. I opened my palm and looked down at what appeared to be a sapphire glinting softly in the warm, flickering light of the fireplace.

 
    10
    I KNEW THE prudent thing would be to telephone the police at once. This was undoubtedly a valuable piece of evidence and should be brought to their attention. However, I needed time to think. I wasn’t ready to surrender my tiny piece of the puzzle just yet.
    I held the sapphire up, letting the light play through the facets. I was no gemologist, but this looked very like the paste sapphires from Mrs. Barrington’s missing bracelet. I had slipped on it while on the stairs. How exactly had it come to be there? It had been there before the murder, which meant that the jewels had been removed from the bracelet before James Harker had been killed. Had he removed the stones for some reason? Or had someone else done it? I could think of no reason why anyone would have wanted to remove the stones from the setting in the first place. It was all exceedingly bizarre.
    The buzzer rang, and my thoughts were drawn to the present when, a moment later, Winnelda came into the room. “There’s a Mr. Jones here to see you, madam,” she announced formally.
    â€œMr. Jones?” I repeated searchingly, dropping the sapphire into my pocket. “I don’t…”
    The gentleman in question stepped into the doorway beside her.
    â€œDetective Inspector Jones,” I said, rising from my chair, my surprise evident in my voice.
    â€œGood afternoon, Mrs. Ames.”
    For a moment, I was quite unsure what to make of this most unexpected guest. The inspector had been in charge of investigating the murder I had become so unfortunately entangled in at the Brightwell Hotel. When I had left the seaside, I had rather thought I would not be renewing our acquaintance