“And was it customary for him to leave his key there on the table, and his watch and purse in plain view?”
“I don’t know about his key, but the other two, yes, sir.”
“Thank you.” Frederick paused, then said, “I am also wondering about something Mr. George said during the inquest about a second maid. Did someone else attend this room yesterday?”
“Yesterday?” Mary frowned up at the ceiling as though thinking back ... or was she avoiding his gaze?
“I ... don’t think so. Not that I recall.”
“Are you sure?”
She shrugged. “Honestly, all the mornings run together. It’s the same job day after day.”
Not thoroughly convinced, yet doubting it could have any bearing on the author’s death, Frederick decided to let it pass for the present.
“Very well. That is all for now.”
Next, he invited in Mr. Edgecombe to look at the room.
“I doubt I can help,” the publisher said. “I came to see him a few times but barely got past the threshold.”
“The chambermaid seems to remember there being more paper in the room. Any idea why that might be?”
Edgecombe shook his head. “He’d finally come up with a new idea and was busy writing, yet I can’t imagine he had time to write more than a few chapters. I had not yet seen them. He sent word that he needed a dictionary and more ink but nothing about paper.”
Frederick said, “I looked in his purse and found only three pound coins and sixpence. Would he have had more money with him?”
“You suspect robbery?” The publisher snorted. “Unlikely. Oliver was broke.”
“A stranger would not have known that.”
Edgecombe shrugged. “Maybe.”
Finally, Mr. George stepped reluctantly into the room.
He said, “I don’t know that I would notice anything missing. I talked to him at the door now and again when he wanted something. Otherwise, I stayed out there. He didn’t exactly invite me in to chat—not when he’d hired me to stand guard outside.”
“I see. The chambermaid thought there had been more paper in the room. That mean anything to you?”
Mr. George looked thoroughly bewildered. “More paper? No, sir. No idea. He did ask me to send a message to Mr. Edgecombe about needing a dictionary and ink but nothing about paper.”
“Very well. Thank you, Mr. George.”
When the three had left, Frederick shut his notebook with a snap. The exercise had availed little, but he was not ready to give up. He still felt that the man’s room, or the man himself, might hold more evidence than Mr. Smith had bothered to seek.
13
Notebook still in hand, Frederick walked down the corridor and knocked on Dr. Fox’s door. Fox and his wife were playing a game of chess, but the physician said he would join him in a few minutes.
As Frederick walked back to room three, Miss Lane came up the main stairs.
“Good evening, Sir Frederick. We missed you at dinner.”
“I attended the inquest.”
“So I guessed.”
She glanced from him to the door he was hovering near. “What are you up to, if I may ask?”
