Murder on Charing Cross Road by Joan Smith Page B

lose him.”
    When Corinne learned that Luten had skipped lunch, she asked Evans to arrange something in the morning parlour for him. They did not use the grand dining room that seated two dozen when they were alone. They were still at the table in the cosier morning parlour when Prance and Coffen darted over. When Evans announced that they were waiting in the rose salon, Luten told him to invite them to the morning parlour and bring two more cups.
    “Sorry to disturb you,”Prance said. “We were afraid you’d go dashing back to the House if we waited too long.”
    “We saw Black take off in your hunting carriage and wondered what was afoot,”Coffen added, scanning the sideboard for food, though he had enjoyed his lunch with Black. The hot dishes had been removed but a fruit compote and ginger cake were still on the sideboard.
    No spoken words were necessary. Corinne nodded to the footman and Coffen was served dessert. Prance, who resented that eating was necessary at all, declined the offer with a shake of his head. As soon as Coffen had eaten and they had all had their coffee, they retired to the privacy of Luten’s study to be brought up to date.
    “Studying a map of Spain, you say!”Coffen exclaimed. “That pretty well clinches it.”
    “Rather indiscreet of him, doing it in his drawing room, where any caller could see,”Prance said.
    “That’s easily explained though,”Luten said. “Everyone is interested in our progress in Spain. Taking a keen interest almost lends him the air of a patriot.”
    “Did you learn anything about him at the House?”Prance asked.
    “No unsavoury rumours are floating about. No debts worth speaking of, no suspicious friends. The family is influential, of course. In these cases one often hears nothing until the final catastrophe. I’ll keep an ear to the ground.”
    It was decided that Prance and Coffen would visit Arthur’s as planned that afternoon and report back after dinner, or before if they learned anything of importance. They took Coffen’s carriage as Prance’s coachman had taken his to Newman’s Stable to be sold “as is”, with the lining torn apart. Fitz could not be trusted to drive, so they borrowed Corinne’s groom.
    For an hour they sat in a smoke-filled room, drinking ale. As they wanted to be free to join Morgrave’s table if he came, Prance sat with a group who were chatting before the grate. Coffen picked up a journal and stationed himself in a chair with a view of the doorway where he could see the gentlemen as they entered the parlour.
    At three on the dot Morgrave stepped in. Coffen watched him scanning the room to see if he was looking for anyone in particular. This could be a good clue as to who he had come to meet. He hadn’t removed his coat, which suggested he might plan to leave right away. Morgrave didn’t seem interested in anyone in particular, however.
    When he turned around and strolled out, Coffen followed him, but he just went to the coat rack and hung up his coat. Coffen made a note of which coat was Morgrave’s, third from the right hand side. Morgrave proceeded into the card parlour but he didn’t play cards. He joined a group who were just looking out the window, drinking wine and chatting.
    Prance used his acquaintance with one of the men as an excuse to join them. Morgrave’s friends didn’t seem the least bit suspicious. A retired judge, a minor aristocrat and James Freewell, the younger fellow Prance was acquainted with. Freewell was a writer, like himself. Well, not quite like himself, a journalist actually. The first conversation dealt with Prance’s eye patch and cane, which gave him an opportunity to practice the recounting of his vicious attack at Long Acre. The gentlemen all expressed outrage at this.
    Freewell soon asked him the old familiar question, “What are you working on now, Prance? Another gothic to turn our hair gray?”
    “Something entirely different, actually,”Prance said.
    “Ah, another poem,