“You are obstructing me!” Napier said furiously, trying to swat Solomon aside.
Jeremy swung around, his face grim, ready to step in.
Constance said quickly, “It’s fine, Jeremy. Mr. Grey is here with me. You carry on.”
Jeremy glared hard from Napier to Solomon, to the worried-looking sergeant, then back to Constance. He nodded once and left, closing the door behind him.
“Let me explain, constable,” Constance said quickly, before Napier exploded. “Jeremy does not do well indoors. He was ill treated, kept in chains in conditions you would not leave a dog, and forced to fight for sport. It’s not good to remind him. He’s not an aggressive man, but he is protective of those who got him out of that place.”
“You?” Napier said in disbelief.
Solomon stepped back. “Most of the people here have been rescued from one form of abuse or another.”
Napier, however, was nothing if not single-minded. “Then he’s dangerous?”
Another pitfall. “Not if you don’t shout at me,” Constance said, “and even then he would do no more than necessary to throw you out. He is gentle by nature.”
For the first time that she had ever seen, Napier looked confounded, but he continued to stare at her, as though daring her to admit something else. Until the door opened quietly and Inspector Harris walked in.
At this point, Constance regarded him as an old friend and smiled at him. He paused, blinking.
“Ah, Napier. Inspector Omand was looking for you.” He inclined his head to the rest of the room. “Mrs. Silver. Mr. Grey. Sergeant, my thanks for holding the fort, as it were. I believe we needn’t keep you any longer. You can finally get off to your bed.”
“Thank you, sir,” Bilston said with considerable relief. He rose and effaced himself, muttering, “Ma’am, sir,” in the general direction of Constance and Solomon.
“Well,” Inspector Harris said, “corpses a little closer to home, this time. Why did I have to be landed with you? I’m not going to find the Tizsas in the drawing room, am I?”
The Tizsas were a pair of well-born amateur sleuths—an English duke’s daughter and a Hungarian revolutionary refugee of noble birth—who had first introduced Constance and Solomon.
“Not today,” Constance said. “How are you, inspector?”
“I was well until I got to the office.”
“And Sergeant Flynn?”
“You may ask him yourself. He has gone to the house of this Terrence St. John to see if he is indeed our corpse.”
Napier appeared deflated that Harris already seemed to be au fait with the case. “Do I have to go back to Scotland Yard, sir?”
Harris regarded him. “Well, you are commended for the initiative of being here so quickly. And Mr. Omand is up to his neck in reports. He is willing to lend you to me as long as I need you. Considering this case would appear to involve several important people, I’ll need all the help I can get to solve this quickly and discreetly.” He smiled a little wolfishly. “But be warned—I’m not as tolerant as Mr. Omand. Neither is Sergeant Flynn. Now, then, where are we with witnesses?”
A short rap at the door heralded Janey, marching in with purpose. “If you please, ma’am,” she said, glaring around the room, “if I’m wanted, can I be questioned now? I need to get to work.”
“Work?” Napier said with loathing.
Janey looked down her nose at him. “I’m Mr. and Mrs. Grey’s assistant at Silver and Grey Inquiries.”
“Are you, indeed?” Harris said with interest. “Then by all means, let’s have you in…”
*
By the timeSergeant Flynn appeared, grinning amiably at Constance and Solomon, most of the domestic staff had been interviewed and revealed nothing, and the other girls, wakened by all the fuss, had begun to trickle downstairs looking for their second breakfast.
“Well?” Harris demanded of Flynn, having released Max from his questioning.
“Looks like St. John is our gentleman,” Flynn said. “He’s not at home, though they searched the house for him and sent servants flying to all likely places in search of him. Mrs. St. John has agreed to come down to the mortuary to identify him. I said afternoon would do.”
Harris sighed. “When was he last seen?”
