hard packed and undisturbed.
He even crouched down and crawled beneath the stairs descending from the kitchen, into a dark cave-like space once used as a root cellar. It held two large boxes of what looked like black, misshapen stones, and he decided were petrified potatoes.
“I’m going to set a guard on the house tonight,” Coffen said, stretching to ease the cramps in his shoulders. “If someone’s getting in here, I mean to catch him. Now where would we find a reliable man?”
“What about Fitz?” Black suggested. “Best not to hire outsiders, especially in a city we don’t know. Fitz is having a free holiday since you usually drive the curricle.”
“I don’t know if I’d call him reliable,” Coffen said uncertainly.
“He follows instructions well enough, other than driving. He won’t have to go anywhere. Reading a map is his downfall.”
“If you think so.”
“I’ll have a word with him,” Black said in the voice that struck fear into the hearts of Coffen’s servants. “We could put on our own nightshirts and do without Raven for a night as well. Leave one of them at each door, armed.”
“Good idea,” Coffen agreed. He usually agreed with sensible Black.
Luten did an equally thorough job in the kitchen. He opened and delved into every cupboard and every container in them. He lifted the lid of the stove and poked around the ashes with a poker, opened the oven door and discovered Bolger’s frying pan, empty. He looked into pots, pans and a teapot. The ceiling, walls and floor were solid. The window was covered by a ragged curtain. The dusty glass offered no place of concealment, but only a view of weeds and one straggly beech tree beyond. The only item of interest he found was the directions to Mrs. Beazely’s house, scribbled on a corner of a journal. She lived just across the street and a few houses down. He made a mental note of it to visit her later.
He returned to the drawing room to discover Prance and Corinne had continued the search abovestairs. He joined them in the fruitless search of closets, dressers, mattresses and any possible hiding place.
When they left the house two hours later, they were tired and dusty, but no wiser than when they had entered. The five of them had searched the house from top to bottom without finding the necklace or any clue as to where it was hidden. They found no priest’s hole, no secret passage, no loose floorboards suggesting a cavity below the floor to hold stolen jewelry or gold.
Before going home, Luten made a quick trip to Mrs. Beazely’s house and learned she had only two rooms there. The landlady told him she was out “doing” for a widow called Mrs. Lean. Highly curious as to why this swell should be inquiring after her tenant, she said, “Who will I tell her was asking for her?”
“She wouldn’t recognize my name. I may be back later. When will she be home?’
“When she gets here,” was the unsatisfactory reply. Then the woman relented and added, “She don’t go out after dark.”
“Thank you,” Luten said, and left.
Black stopped at the hotel to arrange for Fitz and Raven to take up their duties at Nile Street, then washed up and continued on to Marine Parade, where Corinne had invited them all for lunch and to discuss plans.
Chapter Fourteen
The Berkeley Brigade had many matters to discuss over lunch. As the member most deeply involved, Coffen was the first to speak. “What I want to find out is who put Mary’s hat and reticule in my curricle, and who’s breaking into my house and how and why, and stop him. And whoever it is, that’s who killed Mary.”
Prance, moving a few peas around on his plate with his fork said, “We have a fair idea as to the who, do we not? Surely we’ve decided Flora and Henry are the culprits, with Scraggs as an outside bet. As to the why, can there be any question the Czarina’s necklace is what they’re after? The unanswered question is how.”
Luten considered it a
He even crouched down and crawled beneath the stairs descending from the kitchen, into a dark cave-like space once used as a root cellar. It held two large boxes of what looked like black, misshapen stones, and he decided were petrified potatoes.
“I’m going to set a guard on the house tonight,” Coffen said, stretching to ease the cramps in his shoulders. “If someone’s getting in here, I mean to catch him. Now where would we find a reliable man?”
“What about Fitz?” Black suggested. “Best not to hire outsiders, especially in a city we don’t know. Fitz is having a free holiday since you usually drive the curricle.”
“I don’t know if I’d call him reliable,” Coffen said uncertainly.
“He follows instructions well enough, other than driving. He won’t have to go anywhere. Reading a map is his downfall.”
“If you think so.”
“I’ll have a word with him,” Black said in the voice that struck fear into the hearts of Coffen’s servants. “We could put on our own nightshirts and do without Raven for a night as well. Leave one of them at each door, armed.”
“Good idea,” Coffen agreed. He usually agreed with sensible Black.
Luten did an equally thorough job in the kitchen. He opened and delved into every cupboard and every container in them. He lifted the lid of the stove and poked around the ashes with a poker, opened the oven door and discovered Bolger’s frying pan, empty. He looked into pots, pans and a teapot. The ceiling, walls and floor were solid. The window was covered by a ragged curtain. The dusty glass offered no place of concealment, but only a view of weeds and one straggly beech tree beyond. The only item of interest he found was the directions to Mrs. Beazely’s house, scribbled on a corner of a journal. She lived just across the street and a few houses down. He made a mental note of it to visit her later.
He returned to the drawing room to discover Prance and Corinne had continued the search abovestairs. He joined them in the fruitless search of closets, dressers, mattresses and any possible hiding place.
When they left the house two hours later, they were tired and dusty, but no wiser than when they had entered. The five of them had searched the house from top to bottom without finding the necklace or any clue as to where it was hidden. They found no priest’s hole, no secret passage, no loose floorboards suggesting a cavity below the floor to hold stolen jewelry or gold.
Before going home, Luten made a quick trip to Mrs. Beazely’s house and learned she had only two rooms there. The landlady told him she was out “doing” for a widow called Mrs. Lean. Highly curious as to why this swell should be inquiring after her tenant, she said, “Who will I tell her was asking for her?”
“She wouldn’t recognize my name. I may be back later. When will she be home?’
“When she gets here,” was the unsatisfactory reply. Then the woman relented and added, “She don’t go out after dark.”
“Thank you,” Luten said, and left.
Black stopped at the hotel to arrange for Fitz and Raven to take up their duties at Nile Street, then washed up and continued on to Marine Parade, where Corinne had invited them all for lunch and to discuss plans.
Chapter Fourteen
The Berkeley Brigade had many matters to discuss over lunch. As the member most deeply involved, Coffen was the first to speak. “What I want to find out is who put Mary’s hat and reticule in my curricle, and who’s breaking into my house and how and why, and stop him. And whoever it is, that’s who killed Mary.”
Prance, moving a few peas around on his plate with his fork said, “We have a fair idea as to the who, do we not? Surely we’ve decided Flora and Henry are the culprits, with Scraggs as an outside bet. As to the why, can there be any question the Czarina’s necklace is what they’re after? The unanswered question is how.”
Luten considered it a
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