a rope.’
‘They are indeed, despite the fact that one essential element of the case still remains a mystery.’
‘And that is?’
‘How the murder was committed.’
Darke laughed. ‘Just a minor irritation. Not worth considering, surely? Pull the lever and let’s have done with the scoundrel.’
Thornton’s sensitive face darkened. There was more truth in Darke’s flippant observations than was comfortable.
‘I presume that Armstrong has not confessed in some fit of madness?’
‘On the contrary, he professes his innocence most strongly.’
Darke beamed, his face alive with excitement. ‘So, young friend, we have come to that precious, that essential moment: give me the facts. Give me the minutiae.’
Thornton nodded. ‘Do you mind if I walk about while I talk? It will help me recall the details more clearly.’
‘The house is yours.’
‘This room will do.’
‘That’s one of the things I like about you, Edward. You are so literal. Pray begin.’
‘The murder occurred three nights ago at the Curzon Street mansion of Laurence Wilberforce. There was a small dinner party with six guests, business associates of Wilberforce, some of whom brought their wives.’
‘Armstrong’s wife was there?’
‘He’s a widower.’
‘Ah. Another avenue closed. Resume.’
‘Therewere Lord and Lady Clarendon; Mr Clive Brownlow, the Member of Parliament for Slough and his wife, Sarah; Jack Stavely, a junior partner in one of Wilberforce’s concerns and apparently very much a blue-eyed boy. And Armstrong.’
‘And Armstrong.’
‘Richard Armstrong who until recently worked for Wilberforce as a designer but left twelve months ago to set up his own business, helped by a generous loan from his old boss. But part of the arrangement was that he had to pay the money back within the year.’
‘How much?’
‘£5,000.’
Darke pursed his lips. ‘A considerable sum.’
‘One which he could not repay.’
‘You know this for certain?’
‘Indeed. He freely admits it. His business is in great financial difficulties. Only the previous week he had written to Wilberforce asking for more time to settle the debt.’
‘And the old boy refused?’
Thornton nodded. ‘Apparently Wilberforce was a harsh, unsentimental man in business.’
‘And that is seen as a motive for murder.’
Thornton nodded.
‘Very well. So what happened?’
‘All the guests had arrived, but Wilberforce had not shown his face. Mrs Wilberforce, Beatrice, was somewhat annoyed at his non-appearance. Apparently, he had retired upstairs to his dressing room over an hour before and had not been seen since. She sent up their butler, a fellow called Boldwood, to inform him that the guests had arrived. The butler returned some minutes later to say that Wilberforce was not in his dressing room, but that the door to his study, a chamber that adjoined the dressing room, was locked and a light could been seen at the bottom of the door. Somewhat concerned, Mrs Wilberforce asked Jack Stavely to go upstairs with her to investigate. It was as the butler had said. The study door was notonly locked, but it was bolted – and bolted from the inside, thus clearly indicating that there was someone within. After knocking on the door for some moments to no avail, it was felt that perhaps Wilberforce had fallen ill and was in no fit state to withdraw the bolt. With Mrs Wilberforce’s permission, Jack Stavely broke the door down. And what a tragic sight met their eyes.’
‘Describe this tragic sight.’
‘Lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood was the master of the house. Near to his body was a long-bladed knife. The man was dead.’
Darke rubbed his hands with glee. ‘Fascinating. One assumes he died as a result of being stabbed.’
‘There was just one knife wound to the stomach.’
‘A pretty puzzle, Edward. How could the murderer leave the room if it was bolted on the inside?’
‘Precisely.’
‘There is no suggestion that this
‘They are indeed, despite the fact that one essential element of the case still remains a mystery.’
‘And that is?’
‘How the murder was committed.’
Darke laughed. ‘Just a minor irritation. Not worth considering, surely? Pull the lever and let’s have done with the scoundrel.’
Thornton’s sensitive face darkened. There was more truth in Darke’s flippant observations than was comfortable.
‘I presume that Armstrong has not confessed in some fit of madness?’
‘On the contrary, he professes his innocence most strongly.’
Darke beamed, his face alive with excitement. ‘So, young friend, we have come to that precious, that essential moment: give me the facts. Give me the minutiae.’
Thornton nodded. ‘Do you mind if I walk about while I talk? It will help me recall the details more clearly.’
‘The house is yours.’
‘This room will do.’
‘That’s one of the things I like about you, Edward. You are so literal. Pray begin.’
‘The murder occurred three nights ago at the Curzon Street mansion of Laurence Wilberforce. There was a small dinner party with six guests, business associates of Wilberforce, some of whom brought their wives.’
‘Armstrong’s wife was there?’
‘He’s a widower.’
‘Ah. Another avenue closed. Resume.’
‘Therewere Lord and Lady Clarendon; Mr Clive Brownlow, the Member of Parliament for Slough and his wife, Sarah; Jack Stavely, a junior partner in one of Wilberforce’s concerns and apparently very much a blue-eyed boy. And Armstrong.’
‘And Armstrong.’
‘Richard Armstrong who until recently worked for Wilberforce as a designer but left twelve months ago to set up his own business, helped by a generous loan from his old boss. But part of the arrangement was that he had to pay the money back within the year.’
‘How much?’
‘£5,000.’
Darke pursed his lips. ‘A considerable sum.’
‘One which he could not repay.’
‘You know this for certain?’
‘Indeed. He freely admits it. His business is in great financial difficulties. Only the previous week he had written to Wilberforce asking for more time to settle the debt.’
‘And the old boy refused?’
Thornton nodded. ‘Apparently Wilberforce was a harsh, unsentimental man in business.’
‘And that is seen as a motive for murder.’
Thornton nodded.
‘Very well. So what happened?’
‘All the guests had arrived, but Wilberforce had not shown his face. Mrs Wilberforce, Beatrice, was somewhat annoyed at his non-appearance. Apparently, he had retired upstairs to his dressing room over an hour before and had not been seen since. She sent up their butler, a fellow called Boldwood, to inform him that the guests had arrived. The butler returned some minutes later to say that Wilberforce was not in his dressing room, but that the door to his study, a chamber that adjoined the dressing room, was locked and a light could been seen at the bottom of the door. Somewhat concerned, Mrs Wilberforce asked Jack Stavely to go upstairs with her to investigate. It was as the butler had said. The study door was notonly locked, but it was bolted – and bolted from the inside, thus clearly indicating that there was someone within. After knocking on the door for some moments to no avail, it was felt that perhaps Wilberforce had fallen ill and was in no fit state to withdraw the bolt. With Mrs Wilberforce’s permission, Jack Stavely broke the door down. And what a tragic sight met their eyes.’
‘Describe this tragic sight.’
‘Lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood was the master of the house. Near to his body was a long-bladed knife. The man was dead.’
Darke rubbed his hands with glee. ‘Fascinating. One assumes he died as a result of being stabbed.’
‘There was just one knife wound to the stomach.’
‘A pretty puzzle, Edward. How could the murderer leave the room if it was bolted on the inside?’
‘Precisely.’
‘There is no suggestion that this
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