making enquiries.’ No indiscretion in his saying so, for his enquiries had been public enough.
‘Why were you looking for her?’ asked Thérèse curiously.
‘I – I thought I recognised her and wished to speak to her, but I could not find her. She might have been killed yesterday.’
‘No,’ wailed Evelyn, ‘I was in the chest last night. It must have been today.’
‘Then that would be a good place to hide the body,’ observed Gladys. ‘No one would think of searching there after Miss Pembrey had been in it.’ Her eyes were agleam. She was a devotee of the adventures of Lady Molly of Scotland Yard, and was now demonstrating her methods.
‘Since we have mostly come from overseas, I do notsee how we can be suspects,’ said Harbottle nervously.
Sir John Harnet, Bowman and Carruthers looked at each other. ‘Stuff and nonsense,’ they said in unison, as the enormity of this statement sank in.
‘Are the police looking for a jealous lover?’ asked Gladys excitedly. ‘It’s usually them, you know.’
The Marquis stood up. ‘I have diplomatic immunity, Mr Didier. My wife and I will leave immediately.’
‘Oh no, Gaston,’ cried Bella instantly. ‘Think how bad that will look. And think what excitement we will miss.’
The Marquis fastened on to the important words: ‘look bad’. ‘French Colonial Office diplomat hurriedly leaves scene of crime,’ he imagined the English newspapers shouting to the world. He slowly resumed his seat. ‘Very well, we will remain – for a short period only.’
Egbert Rose came in. ‘Mr Didier will have explained to you what has happened. We’re sorry to have to keep you here a while longer, but we need to make a search of your rooms, I’m afraid. Do any of you have any objection?’
There was instant uproar. The words ‘Diplomatic immunity’, ‘private papers,
very
private papers’ could just be discerned in the outrage. When it had died down, Bella’s voice could be heard remarking cheerfully, ‘You are at liberty to search among my chemises and stays, if you wish, Inspector.’
‘Thank you, ma’am,’ Rose replied stolidly, as reluctant permission seemed forthcoming from the assembled guests. ‘Meanwhile,’ his eye caught Auguste’s, ‘luncheon is ready for you below. We need to search this room now. Mr Didier will show you the way.’
Reluctantly, Auguste rose. The moment he had feared. The moment when, as a reluctant Pied Piper, he must herd his band down the cellar steps, out alonga candlelit, cold corridor, past the laundry, scullery and kitchens, and into the basement room normally devoted to the repasts of maids, valets and staff. Even luncheon could not compensate for this indignity to a manager’s self-respect.
‘Been dead some hours at least, the doc says. She was probably killed during the night – the risk would be too great otherwise. We won’t know for sure until the PM.’
‘Was she killed there?’ asked Auguste, then realised his stupidity. Of course she could not have been killed in the chest or even in the drawing room, unless it was a crime on the spur of the moment and that was very unlikely. One did not choose a midnight encounter for casual conversation.
‘No,’ said Rose. ‘And the men have come up with precious little from the search of the bedrooms. No helpful bloodstained clothes. And the top floor is kept locked, you say?’
‘On the eastern side, and I myself have the only key. On the other are lumber rooms and staff bedrooms, although most of the staff are lodged nearby.’
Rose’s face grew long. Any moment now he was going to break the news to Auguste that he wasn’t going to be here to look after this case. Twitch was. He looked up as he heard footsteps. It wasn’t Twitch. It was a proud-looking police constable who was unceremoniously escorting a burly young man in a cap.
‘Found him down in one of those cellars, sir. He’s been sleeping there, I reckon. Here’s our man, sir.’
The young
‘Why were you looking for her?’ asked Thérèse curiously.
‘I – I thought I recognised her and wished to speak to her, but I could not find her. She might have been killed yesterday.’
‘No,’ wailed Evelyn, ‘I was in the chest last night. It must have been today.’
‘Then that would be a good place to hide the body,’ observed Gladys. ‘No one would think of searching there after Miss Pembrey had been in it.’ Her eyes were agleam. She was a devotee of the adventures of Lady Molly of Scotland Yard, and was now demonstrating her methods.
‘Since we have mostly come from overseas, I do notsee how we can be suspects,’ said Harbottle nervously.
Sir John Harnet, Bowman and Carruthers looked at each other. ‘Stuff and nonsense,’ they said in unison, as the enormity of this statement sank in.
‘Are the police looking for a jealous lover?’ asked Gladys excitedly. ‘It’s usually them, you know.’
The Marquis stood up. ‘I have diplomatic immunity, Mr Didier. My wife and I will leave immediately.’
‘Oh no, Gaston,’ cried Bella instantly. ‘Think how bad that will look. And think what excitement we will miss.’
The Marquis fastened on to the important words: ‘look bad’. ‘French Colonial Office diplomat hurriedly leaves scene of crime,’ he imagined the English newspapers shouting to the world. He slowly resumed his seat. ‘Very well, we will remain – for a short period only.’
Egbert Rose came in. ‘Mr Didier will have explained to you what has happened. We’re sorry to have to keep you here a while longer, but we need to make a search of your rooms, I’m afraid. Do any of you have any objection?’
There was instant uproar. The words ‘Diplomatic immunity’, ‘private papers,
very
private papers’ could just be discerned in the outrage. When it had died down, Bella’s voice could be heard remarking cheerfully, ‘You are at liberty to search among my chemises and stays, if you wish, Inspector.’
‘Thank you, ma’am,’ Rose replied stolidly, as reluctant permission seemed forthcoming from the assembled guests. ‘Meanwhile,’ his eye caught Auguste’s, ‘luncheon is ready for you below. We need to search this room now. Mr Didier will show you the way.’
Reluctantly, Auguste rose. The moment he had feared. The moment when, as a reluctant Pied Piper, he must herd his band down the cellar steps, out alonga candlelit, cold corridor, past the laundry, scullery and kitchens, and into the basement room normally devoted to the repasts of maids, valets and staff. Even luncheon could not compensate for this indignity to a manager’s self-respect.
‘Been dead some hours at least, the doc says. She was probably killed during the night – the risk would be too great otherwise. We won’t know for sure until the PM.’
‘Was she killed there?’ asked Auguste, then realised his stupidity. Of course she could not have been killed in the chest or even in the drawing room, unless it was a crime on the spur of the moment and that was very unlikely. One did not choose a midnight encounter for casual conversation.
‘No,’ said Rose. ‘And the men have come up with precious little from the search of the bedrooms. No helpful bloodstained clothes. And the top floor is kept locked, you say?’
‘On the eastern side, and I myself have the only key. On the other are lumber rooms and staff bedrooms, although most of the staff are lodged nearby.’
Rose’s face grew long. Any moment now he was going to break the news to Auguste that he wasn’t going to be here to look after this case. Twitch was. He looked up as he heard footsteps. It wasn’t Twitch. It was a proud-looking police constable who was unceremoniously escorting a burly young man in a cap.
‘Found him down in one of those cellars, sir. He’s been sleeping there, I reckon. Here’s our man, sir.’
The young
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