“Oh, right, sorry, Linnie. He has to do us one at a time—”

  “So he can compare our stories for discrepancies,” Linette said.

  “She’s a smart one,” Garvin said, closing the library door behind him. “You will be questioning her too?”

  “I think she will insist upon it, don’t you?” Vickery asked.

  Garvin grinned. “You need to be careful, she might have this thing solved before you or the police do. She’s already been asking questions. She thinks there is someone you should talk to at the inn in the village: Inspector Debney has gone off to find him.”

  “Her aunt’s mysterious gentleman friend.”

  “You knew already?”

  “It’s my job to know,” Vickery said. He picked up a large magnifying glass from the desk.

  “Do detectives really use those things? It’s a bit Sherlock Holmes isn’t it?”

  “It’s for you,” Vickery said, handing him the magnifying glass.

  “Er, thanks...”

  “On the desk are two typewritten documents. One of them is the most recent poison pen letter sent to Linette’s father. The other is a document belonging to another of the guests,” Vickery said.

  Garvin looked down at the two sheets. “Different paper,” he said.

  “One is a standard bond, smooth, typically used for typed documents. The other is smaller, heavier and with a textured surface, better suited to the nib of a pen,” Vickery said.

  Garvin laughed. “This one’s from Ted Kimball’s skit from last night: I remember this bit about Claudius being a thief and a cad and a shit!”

  “Were they typed on the same typewriter, do you think?”

  “It’s the same typeface, and they were both typed with a red and black ribbon, you can see a smidgeon of red on the descenders, the ‘g’ here and the two ‘y’s’ on this line. And the same here on the other sheet.”

  “The same kind of typewriter then, but from the exact same machine?”

  “Hard to say. They look the same—” Garvin applied the magnifying glass, looking closely at one sheet, then the other. And then he held the sheets out at arm’s length and squinted at them. “It’s like you said before, some of the letters are very slightly out of line. The ‘p’ is rotated very slightly to the right, it is more obvious on the upper case.”

  “And the ‘t’?” Vickery asked.

  “That seems to be consistently higher than the other characters. As does the ‘u,’ while the ‘r’ is lower. The letter is quite short, it would be helpful to have the others so we could make further comparisons. But I’d say there are enough similarities between the two pages to say that they were typed by the same machine.”

  “I agree,” Vickery said.

  Garvin seemed pleased with this, then his brow creased as he began to think through the implications of what they had discovered.

  “Does this mean that Ted Kimball is the writer of the poison pen letters?” He asked.

  “I would say that he has access to the same typewriter as the sender of the letters,” Vickery said.

  “Or the same typist?”

  “That also is possible, but I do not believe that someone would contract a typist to make good copies of a poison pen letter.”

  Garvin nodded. “Do we ask Mr. Kimball where his skit was typed?”

  “That might show our hand a little too soon,” Vickery cautioned, “and alert him to our suspicions. I should like to have more proof before we confront our letter writer.”

  Garvin laid the magnifying glass on the desk and stared down at the two sheets of paper. “I don’t know why, but I assumed the letters would be connected in some way to the murderer,” he said, disappointed.

  “Perhaps they are,” Vickery said.

  “But we know Kimball isn’t the killer, he was standing in front of us all when the murder took place.”

  “That certainly appears to be the case,” Vickery said. “Perhaps the letters were not sent by the murderer, but rather to the murderer.”

  “But they were sent to Linnie’s father.”

  “Who was not standing in front of us all when the murder took place,” Vickery said.

  Garvin paced over to the window and looked out. Vickery watched him as he gently put his fingers to the bruised ear where Fulbright had hit him the previous day.

  “The fact that Leo Fulbright has a violent temper, does not mean we should assume he is capable of murder,” Vickery said. “We shall require more damning proof before we even mention this theory outside this room.”

  Garvin turned and leaned back on the windowsill. “You’re not going to mention this to Linnie?” He asked.

  “I do not intend to mention it to anyone. However, I fear that the accusation will be made by someone else before very much longer.”

  “How will you prove who really killed Eleanor Trenton?”

  “By asking questions,” Vickery said.

  “Is there anything more I can tell you?”

  “Do you remember who was watching Ted Kimball on the stairs at midnight?” Vickery asked. “I have already been given a list, but it would be helpful to have the names confirmed.”

  “Because anyone who wasn’t there is potentially our murderer,” Garvin said. “All right, let me see if I can remember. I was standing next to Linnie, I was leaning against the wall because I was still feeling a little unsteady. Linnie’s mother was watching from the doorway into the drawing room. The old man, Merlin, was hanging onto the newel post on the right as you look up the stairs. Linnie’s Aunt Veronica was sitting on the bottom step to the left. Who does that leave? That driver chap, Malloy, he was standing near the top of the narrow staircase that leads down to the kitchen. The library door was shut, and Sir Geoffrey was leaning against that with a snifter in one hand and a cigar in the other, he was looking quite the country squire. But then, so was Aunt Veronica!”

  “Is that everyone?”

  “I think so. Linnie’s father wasn’t there, he’d been sent off on an errand somewhere so that Kimball could do his little performance.”

  “Do you recall where Leo Fulbright had been sent?” Vickery asked.

  “Sorry, no.”

  “Upstairs or outside?”

  “Could have been either. He was looking for something. Linnie might know.”

  “We know that Eleanor Trenton herself was absent. Do you remember when she left the company? And whether she was with anyone?” Vickery asked.

  “I saw Eleanor talking to Aunt Veronica, both of them seemed to get into a bit of a tizzy about something. And then Eleanor asked us if we knew where Linnie’s father was. She looked rather stern when she went out to look for him.”

  “Out?”

  “Out of the drawing room. She went upstairs, I think.”

  “Do you know what time this was?”

  “Haven’t the foggiest, sorry. No reason to look at the time. But it must have been well before midnight, because Linnie and I went out for a stroll round the lake after that, and we got back just before Ted Kimball took to the stage.”

  “You and Linnie went out through the drawing room doors onto the terrace?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Did you see anyone else outside while you were walking?”

  Garvin shook his head. “There was no one on the terrace when we went out, and there wasn’t a soul down by the lake, which was rather the point.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Garvin. I should probably leave you in peace now, so that you can write up your notes.” Vickery, picking up the two sheets of paper from the desk, noted Garvin’s quizzical look. “For the newspaper account you are going to write. Best to get things down while they are still fresh.

  “Yes, yes I will. Thank you. Are you going to speak to Linnie now? Probably best to speak to her straightaway, before she and I have had chance to compare stories and iron out our inconsistencies. And she’ll be sitting out there waiting for you anyway.”

  Vickery moved towards the door. “I shall ensure that Miss Fulbright does not disturb you—for at least the next half-hour.”

  “Brilliant. Thanks ever so much.”

  As her fiancé had predicted, Linette was sitting on a chair in the hall. She stood as soon as Vickery opened the library door.

  “Is everything all right?” She asked, trying to peer over Vickery’s shoulder as he closed the door.

  “Splendid,” Vickery said. “Mr. Garvin has given me permission to escort you to morning tea. He will join us on the terrace shortly.”

  “It’s not his head, is it? He said he woke up with the most terrific headache. I asked that doctor to take a look at him, and he said Ollie was fine, no signs of a concussion or anything. He just needs rest and a bit of peace and quiet—” She caught herself then, smiling in her mild embarrassment.

  “You can talk to me while he rests,” Vickery said.

  “I should be with him. Sitting quietly.”

  “The whole point of my interviewing the two of you separately,” Vickery said, “is that you are not together.”

  “Oh, you need to be able to compare and contrast our accounts, see if we tell you the same thing. I do hope Ollie got his facts straight, he’s not always as precise as he might be. Just little details.”

  “Mr. Garvin has been most thorough, I assure you. Now, let’s ring for some tea, shall we?”

  *

  “You don’t take milk?” Linette asked.

  “When I was abroad, we often had only condensed milk, so I gave it up completely.”

  “Condensed milk? The tea must have been—” She pulled a face.

  “It was, very.” Vickery pulled the same face.

  Linette laughed. “Sometimes you seem terribly old-fashioned, and yet at other times... I’m sorry, Ollie must have told you what I’m like. He says I talk too much.”

  “He said nothing of the sort. I got the impression that he rather fancied you.”

  Linette laughed again. “I should bally well hope so! We’re—”

  “Engaged, yes I know.” Vickery put his finger to his lips and winked.

  “It’s not a secret anymore.” Linette held up her hand to show off the ring, an oval cut sapphire with a round brilliant cut diamond on either side. “Beautiful isn’t it? We could never have afforded a ring like this.”

  “Your grandmother would have approved, I’m sure.”

  “Oh, yes. Ollie is wonderful, everyone loves him.”

  “With the obvious exception,” Vickery said.

  “Daddy hates everyone,” Linette said. “I’m sorry, that’s a terrible thing to say. And I’m sure he wouldn’t have actually killed Ollie yesterday.”

  “But he does have quite a temper,” Vickery said.

  Linette looked down into her teacup. “Everyone’s going to think he killed Eleanor, aren’t they?”

  “Some people will think that. Others may suspect someone else.”

  “That’s the horrible thing, isn’t it? We all end up looking at each other, wondering: Did he do it? Could it have been her?”

  “The horrible thing is that a young woman is lying dead in a cold room,” Vickery said.

  “You are right, I’m sorry. We shouldn’t be feeling sorry for ourselves, should we? It is just a temporary inconvenience to us, but for Eleanor it is—”

  “Her life is over. And all we can do for her now is to try and ensure that her murderer is identified and punished.”

  “Do you think it is right, doing what we do to murderers? Taking another life seems so—”

  “It is very Old Testament.”

  Linette nodded. “You don’t think about these things until, well, until it could be someone you know.”

  “Does it make a difference whether the murderer is a friend or a stranger?”

  “No. Murder is murder. Ask me questions. If I can help you, I will.”

  “At midnight last night you were watching Ted Kimball give a recital in the style of your father,” Vickery said. “Can you remember who else was watching him?”

  “I will tell you who wasn’t there, that’s what you really want to know, isn’t it? If they weren’t watching Teddy, they obviously had the opportunity to commit the murder.”

  “I thought it might be easier to recall who you did see.”

  “My father wasn’t there, you already know that. Teddy wouldn’t have dared do that if daddy had actually been there. Artie Delancey wasn’t there. And my mother left after a few minutes, I suppose she thought watching it would be some sort of betrayal of my father. Those are your three suspects: my father, my mother, and Artie. Apart from that, there’s only Sir Geoffrey’s butler, Crawley, but the butler only ever does it in stage plays. Oh, and there’s that ghastly boy, Timothy.”

  “He was watching from the top of the stairs, I am told.”

  “By whom?”

  “Sir Geoffrey.”

  “He’d say whatever he had to, to protect the boy.”

  “There is also your aunt’s mysterious gentleman friend,” Vickery said.

  “Is there? I suppose she has been acting rather oddly of late, but then, well, you’ve met her. Lovely woman, but a few penn’orth short of the full shilling, as my father says. I think she went out yesterday afternoon to meet someone at the inn in the village, but as to whether she has found herself another man, well, I very much doubt it, don’t you?”

  “Did anyone else leave before the end of Mr. Kimball’s performance last night?” Vickery asked.

  “No, just my mother.”

  “Do you know where she went?”

  “Back into the drawing room, so she might have gone through the French doors out onto the terrace.”

  “And do you know where your father went?”

  “No, sorry. If I knew, I’d tell you.”

  “When you were walking round the lake, did you see anyone else?” Vickery asked.

  “Is that what Ollie said we did? Went for a romantic moonlit stroll, arm-in-arm around the lake? He’s such a darling.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “We didn’t get much further than the orchard. He became dizzy and we had to turn back. We sat on that bench under the tree, he had his head between his knees because he felt queasy again. Très romantique,” she said, grinning.

  “You sat there until going back in to watch Mr. Kimball perform?”

  “Yes,” Linette said. “When he was feeling a little restored, Ollie sat up and rested his head on my shoulder. It was rather nice. It doesn’t always need to be ‘hearts and flowers,’ does it?”

  “Most of the time, it isn’t,” Vickery said. “The quieter moments are the ones you miss most, looking back.”

  “Do you think my parents ever have quieter moments?” Linette asked. She laughed at her own question. “They’re always on stage when there’s someone else around. I don’t suppose it’s any different when they only have each other for an audience.”

  “Your parents are both people with strong emotions,” Vickery said. “That does not mean that the feelings they express are not genuine.”

  “But you can never know what another person is really thinking or feeling, can you?” Linette asked.

  “You can only observe the outward signs, and put yourself in their position and imagine what you would think and feel in such a situation,” Vickery said.

  “And you can ask them questions,” Linette said, “and see if what they say is in accord with what they do?”

  “That is so. You, for example, wish to give the impression that you are very different from your father, and would never lose your temper, even if provoked. And yet—”

  “And yet?” Linette was suspicious now.

  “And yet, late yesterday afternoon, you quarrelled with Eleanor Trenton. Quite loudly, I understand.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Sound travels, Miss Fulbright. You were heard by more than one person to call her a ‘dreadful woman’ and an ‘interfering cow.’”

  Linette blushed. “I’m sorry about that now, of course, given the circumstances. But at the time—”

  “It was she that revealed to your father the secret of your engagement?” Vickery asked.

  “Yes,” Linette said. “She had no right. What was it to do with her? She only said it to try and hurt my father.”

  “But your fiancé was the one who was hurt.”

  “Poor Ollie, he didn’t deserve... Not that Eleanor deserved what happened to her. You have to believe me when I say that I didn’t want her to be harmed. You do, don’t you?”

  “You are more like your father than you might wish to believe,” Vickery said. “And you have also inherited certain traits from your mother. That is a formidable combination, I would say.”

  “Is that a bad thing?” Linette asked: she felt that she was somehow being judged.

  “The relationship between your parents has endured partly because they provide a balancing influence for one another. I would like to think that those characteristics you have gained from each will do the same.”

  “I’m not sure that was an entirely glowing endorsement.”

  “It was not intended to be so. Your tea is cold: shall I ring for more?”

  “No. Thank you.”

   

  Chapter 18

  Malloy was standing at the side of the pond leaning on a long-handled hoe he had taken from the gardener’s shed. He had removed his shoes and socks and was staring at the water with the expression of a man contemplating having a tooth drilled.

  “That’s where they found her body!”

  Malloy turned, startled by the voice. It was Sir Geoffrey’s nephew, Timothy.

  “Yes, it is,” Malloy said.

  “Are you really going to get in there and swim around in it?”

  “I have to see if I can find the—find Excalibur.”

  “You mean the murder weapon!”

  “You don’t fancy a paddle, do you? Save me having to get wet?”

  “I’m not getting in there, that water has got my sister’s blood in it!”

  Malloy looked back at the pond with even greater reluctance.

  “What you need is a great big magnet on a piece of string,” Timothy suggested.

 

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