Penelope made a disgusted sound. “Sadly, you’re correct. However”—she held up a finger—“we do know that the murderer was among the last gentlemen to exit the billiard room. After all our floundering—and given time is running out—it’s something definite at last. Surely we can use that to winnow our suspects.” Her expression turned grimly determined, and behind her spectacles, her eyes glinted. “We need to learn which of our four candidates was walking at the rear of that gentlemanly pack.”
* * *
The company of guests had, at last, quit the croquet lawn and retreated to the morning room. Alaric had to smile and exercise his considerable charm and the social skills learned through a decade and more of consorting with society’s raciest elements to cut Monty from the horde; his cousin was a gregarious soul and tended to be in the thick of animated gatherings—very often featuring as the center of attention—which was part of what made him so useful.
Finally, Alaric had Monty by the elbow, gripping hard enough for his cousin to understand his attention was required and that resistance was futile. Relentlessly, with nods and aloof smiles to others who might have waylaid them, Alaric steered Monty out of the morning room and across a hall into the rarely used—and currently helpfully deserted—library.
Once inside with the door shut, Alaric released Monty. Rubbing his abused elbow, his cousin turned to him, his face a mask of puzzlement. “What is it?”
Alaric waved to a setting of two armchairs. Ever obliging, Monty sank into one while Alaric rather more elegantly claimed the other. “I need you to cooperate and pick through your memories.”
It was something of a family secret that Monty had well-nigh perfect recall; if society ever learned of his unexpected talent, he’d be shunned.
Monty heaved a put-upon sigh. “Very well. What do you want to know?”
“We need to know which gentlemen went or could have gone upstairs, alone and separate from the other guests, during the day. Start from the period immediately after breakfast ended and before the guests were gathered together in the drawing room at Inspector Stokes’s direction. Did any of the gentlemen leave the general group of guests—on any pretext, for any reason—and possibly go upstairs?”
Monty frowned, his attention going inward. After a moment, he said, “I’m assuming other than you and Percy?”
“Yes.”
“Guy Walker slipped upstairs immediately after breakfast to change his cravat—bit of egg, don’t you know?”
When Monty fell silent, Alaric prompted, “Anyone else?”
Monty shook his head. “Not before we were all cooped up in the drawing room.”
“Go on to after, once we’d been released.”
Monty’s gaze grew distant. “Wynne went up to fetch a book he said he would loan Prue Collard—they’d been discussing it while we were waiting for our interviews with the inspector. Then came luncheon, and just after we’d risen from the table, before we headed out to the croquet lawn, Fletcher went up. No idea why, but he was back down within a few minutes. Then, just as we were about to head out of the house, Edward excused himself and went upstairs to change his coat. He was wearing a morning coat, and it did look a trifle too tight across the shoulders for wielding a croquet mallet—and you know Edward. He always takes any competition seriously, and we’d already settled on a round-robin tournament.”
“And did he rejoin you in a less-restricting coat?”
Monty nodded. “He was back soon enough in a herringbone jacket. Quite nice.”
“Anyone else?”
Monty sighed again and closed his eyes.
Alaric waited with what patience he could muster; he knew better than to try to rush Monty’s mind.
Finally, his eyes still closed, Monty said, “Those four, I’m sure of.” He opened his eyes and looked with some asperity at Alaric. “But as to whether there might have been others…you’ll have to remember that you hadn’t asked me to keep track, so I wasn’t counting heads. Someone could have slipped away, and I didn’t notice. F’r instance, the colonel and Captain Collins ambled off during the tournament. That was to enjoy a cheroot, I’m certain, but they didn’t return for quite a while. For all I know, they might have gone upstairs, either together or separately.”
Alaric released a frustrated breath; he’d hoped Monty’s memory would help shorten the list of suspects. Lips thin, he slumped back in the chair and eyed Monty. “So we have Walker, Wynne, Fletcher, and Edward who definitely went upstairs.”
Monty nodded and earnestly added, “There might have been others.” He shrugged. “I simply can’t say.”
Alaric swallowed a growl, pushed up from the armchair, and nodded to Monty. “Thank you.”
Monty huffed. “I won’t say it was my pleasure.”
Alaric uttered a short laugh. He dropped a hand on Monty’s shoulder as he moved past, then strode to the French windows, opened them, stepped out onto the terrace, and headed for the south lawn.
* * *
Alaric walked around the rear corner of the house and made for their meeting place. Situated partially behind the walled kitchen garden and backed by the wood, the south lawn was rarely used by guests, and as Alaric strode onto the sward, heading for the old oak, he confirmed that today was no exception.
Instead, he spied Barnaby, Stokes, and Percy ahead of him and jogged to catch up with them.
