“How do you do?” Cordell said, as though bestowing an honor.
“There has had to be an inquest, you know, because he did not die at home,” Mrs. St. John said with a nervous flutter. “So unnecessarily brutal. Mr. Cordell attended on our behalf, which was so kind… Do sit down, Mr. Grey.”
“What did the inquest establish?” Solomon asked, as the servants brought tea and dainty cakes and sandwiches.
“It was adjourned for further investigation,” Cordell said smoothly. “Which is hardly what his family needs.”
“Nor the poor people whose doorstep he was apparently sitting on when he died,” Mrs. St. John said with unexpected sympathy. “Nothing was ever straightforward with Terrence, but he can’t have meant to bring such trouble to them.”
Solomon accepted a cup of tea from his hostess and helped himself from the proffered plate of sandwiches. Relieved if somewhat surprised by the widow’s attitude to Constance’s establishment, he risked saying, “Perhaps he had friends in the house he meant to call upon.”
“No, he did not,” Cordell said at once.
“At any rate,” Solomon said, “it must be of some comfort to you that his last act was one of kindness.”
They all regarded him with obvious bafflement.
“To the poor vagrant,” Solomon said mildly, “whom he must have stopped to help.”
“Oh, no,” Bella said. “You have that quite wrong. The beast attacked my father and robbed him.” Fresh tears made her eyesswim. Her mother’s cup rattled on the saucer as though her hands shook.
“I beg your pardon,” Solomon said. “I did not mean to upset you further.”
“You haven’t,” the boy, Anthony, said quickly. “It is just an upsetting time, and policemen asking interminable questions don’t make things easier for my mother and sister.”
“Of course not,” Solomon said. There was considerable strain in the boy’s face, and in the nerves of his womenfolk, as if they had no time to grieve because of everything else that was going on around them. In the circumstance, asking more questions seemed both cruel and likely to lead to his dismissal should he wish to call again.
So while he drank his tea, he made sympathetic noises and begged them to let him know if he could be of any assistance at all.
It was Cordell who rose first. “I must go. But I shall call again tomorrow morning. And, of course, you must send for me if you need me before then.” He kissed his betrothed’s hand and her pale cheek. She clung to him a little, but he detached himself with gentle firmness before bowing more formally to Mrs. St. John.
“I shall take my leave also,” Solomon said. “My most sincere sympathies to you all.”
In truth, he was glad to leave the strange, nerve-jangling atmosphere of the grieving family, but he also hoped to speak more openly to Cordell. The footman handed them their hats and they left together in silence.
“I’m afraid I have been clumsy and said the wrong thing,” Solomon said, adeptly choosing the same direction as his companion. “Did the inquest really decide that that the vagrant attacked and robbed Mr. St. John?”
“Well, not exactly. A policeman asked for it to be adjourned, but in lining up the evidence they did have, it came out that Mr. St. John’s notecase was found in the vagrant’s pocket, and that the vagrant’s knife was in Mr. John’s back. I don’t think it takes a great deal of intelligence to deduce what happened.”
“The vagrant’s knife?” Solomon repeated, startled. This was news to him.
“So it was said. Another vagrant claimed to have seen it in his possession many times. But talking of saying the wrong thing…” Cordell met Solomon’s gaze. “This is difficult enough for the family. They know St. John was found on a neighbor’s back doorstep, but we have carefully kept from themwhichneighbor. I expect you are aware.”
“I am.”
“Then you will understand the need not to inflict further hurt on the poor ladies.”
“Oh, quite. But—forgive me—your attitude implies that you believe St. John was a client there. I understand this was not the case.”
Cordell’s eyebrows flew up. “How can you possibly know that?” Too late, he realized the likeliest means, and blushed. His nostrils flared. “You are a frequent visitor yourself, sir? I suppose we are both men of the world.”
“Not in the way you mean. You might say the house is mine, through my marriage to Mrs. Silver.”
Various expressions chased each other across Cordell’s face—outrage, consternation, indecision.
Solomon smiled slightly. “Before you denounce me and forbid me the society of your betrothed and her family, allow me to say that both my wife and her establishment are rather more than you may imagine.”
Cordell closed his mouth, then shrugged impatiently. “I’ve heard Rawleigh and others say such things recently. I do not setmyself up as a judge, but I still don’t want my wife-to-be or her mother to know that’s where St. John spent his last moments. It would add insult to injury, don’t you think?”
