been arguing with her killer.â
âDo you know who was in the room with her?â Witherspoon asked.
Erskine shook his head. âThe door slammed and the shouting suddenly stopped. But I have no idea who she was arguing with. I went into the kitchen and got a drink of water and then I went up to my rooms. I was tired and just wanted to get some rest.â
âWhat was her manner at breakfast yesterday?â
Erskine stroked his mustache. âThe same as always, Inspector.â
âShe didnât seem upset or preoccupied?â
âNot that I could see. But you might want to ask one of the others. We were all there, but I wasnât paying attention to anything but my food and my morning paper.â
Witherspoon glanced at Barnes and they both stood up. âThank you for your time, sir,â the inspector said as they moved to the door.
âSorry I couldnât be more helpful.â Erskine heaved himself out of the chair. âBut as I said, I really didnât know the woman at all.â
When they came out onto the landing, Carrie was standing at the bottom of the staircase. âMr. Redleyâs room is on the second floor.â She pointed up.
âThank you, miss.â Witherspoon smiled at the maid. âBut weâre going to have a look at Mrs. Robinsonâs rooms before we continue with the interviews.â
âShall I tell Mr. Redley youâll see him later? He did mention that he needed to get to work today.â She started up the stairs. âHeâs got a bit of a temper when heâs in a state, sir, and Iâd not like him to be inconvenienced.â
âThen weâll see him this afternoon. Perhaps by then Mr. Morecomb and Mr. Teasdale will also be available,â Witherspoon said as Carrie reached the landing.
âYes, sir, Iâll go up and let him know.â
They crossed the hallway to the opposite door and Barnes grabbed the knob and gave it a twist. âItâs locked, sir. Which isnât surprising considering what we know of Edith Durantâs character.â
Witherspoon moved to the banister and looked up to where Carrieâs footsteps could be heard clomping across the next landing. âDo you have the key to Mrs. Robinsonâs room?â he called.
âNo, sir.â Her face appeared above him. âIâve no idea where she kept it, sir. If youâll give me a minute, Iâll go down and ask Mrs. Fremont.â
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
âI donât want any of you thinkinâ Iâm deliberately not going to do my part in this one.â Mrs. Goodge crossed her arms over her chest. âRuth and Phyllis have both given my conscience a good prod. I can see that I was wrong to think the victim deserved to be murdered. But make no mistake, this is going to be a tough case. The woman was living under an assumed name and sheâs only been in London for two years. None of my sources will be of much help with this kind of a situation.â
âYou donât know that, Mrs. Goodge,â Phyllis said. âYouâre right about the tradespeople that come into the kitchenâHighgate is a long ways off so most of the locals here wonât know anything. But youâre bound to know someone from the old days that works or lives up that way.â
The cook had a network of delivery boys, van drivers, tinkers, rag and bone sellers, gasmen, and even builders who regularly trooped through her kitchen. Freshly baked buns, biscuits, and cakes kept her visitors in their chairs while she poured cups of tea and got them talking about the suspects in the inspectorâs cases. As so many of those investigations had involved the rich and powerful, it was easy to get information. The upper crust were notoriously indiscreet in front of those they considered their inferiors and didnât bother to hold their tongues. But tradespeople, hansom drivers, and servants all had ears with which
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