Dash it.“Yes. Miss Lane heard the scream as well and followed me upstairs.”
Smith made a note in his diary.
“But you were first on the scene?”
“Yes. I went in before anyone else and saw Ambrose Oliver lying on the chaise, eyes and mouth open. I felt for breath and a pulse, and finding none, realized he was dead.”
“What did you assume was the cause of death?”
“I did not study the body nor the wound until Dr. Fox came in.”
“But now, do you concur that the head wound was what killed him?”
Frederick hesitated. “He definitely had what appears to be a fatal head wound. But as Dr. Fox mentioned, I wonder if there might have been a secondary cause. He might have been drugged or poisoned first to allow the culprit entry and to prevent Mr. Oliver from defending himself. I do hope you will consider requesting an autopsy before it is too late.”
The coroner’s brow rose. “Even considering the fees involved?”
“Yes. I also wonder if it would not be prudent to question all the guests as well. It is likely that in a hotel like this with many people on the same floor, someone may have seen or heard something that might shed light on the crime.”
“And are you offering to interview them yourself? Or are you suggesting we imposition every wealthy, respectable guest by demanding they appear at our inquest? Mr. Mayhew would not like that and neither would they. Gritty business, these depositions.Nor do I see that I would be justified in doing so. Unless you have reason to believe one of the guests was involved?”
“No, sir. Not yet. But yes, I would like to ask them all a few questions. And you are right—my doing so would be less objectionable, I believe, to everyone. I would endeavor to be discreet.”
“And you will inform me of any relevant information?”
“I shall indeed, without delay.” Frederick’s conscience smote him, for he could not be sure the visits to Miss Lane’s room by Ambrose Oliver and an unknown man were not relevant.
Smith nodded. “Very well. I shall request the autopsy, and we shall adjourn until the results are reported. In the meantime, you may begin interviewing the guests. Mr. Brixton will help you, of course.”
Frederick forced a smile. “Oh. Of ... course.”
That afternoon, Frederick knocked on his brother’s door. Thomas opened it, well and fully dressed, complete with gloves and beaver hat in hand.
“May I speak with you a moment?” Frederick asked.
“Now? But I am meeting Miss Newport for another game of bowls.”
“This won’t take long.”
Thomas huffed. “Are you asking as my brother or as magistrate?”
“Both. I plan to interview all the guests. Someone must have seen or heard something.”
His brother’s fair brows rose. “And what has Mr. Smith to say to this plan of yours?”
“He no doubt thinks it a waste of time but seems content to leave it to me and Brixton, assuming we continue to pay hisexpenses. I don’t want to show partiality, so thought I ought to start with my own brother.”
“Ah. And will you question Miss Lane as well?”
Frederick blinked before meeting Thomas’s gaze. “Why do you ask?”
“Just making sure no one shows any partiality.” Thomas gave a sly grin, then asked, “And who shall question you?”
“I have already been deposed by Mr. Smith.”
“And I don’t imagine you told him that Ambrose Oliver maligned you and your wife in his novel,” Thomas replied. “That gives you a motive, ol’ boy.”
“You said I imagined the similarity in names.” Frederick narrowed his eyes. “Do you actually think I had anything to do with the man’s death?”
