“Approximately eight months,” Logan said. “That time factor is one of the many mysteries involved in this case.” He looked at Amity. “We are in desperate need of information.”
“I will assist you in any way I can,” Amity said.
“Can you describe the man who grabbed you off the street?”
“I did not see his face,” she said. “He wore a mask made of black silk. I can tell you a few more things about him but I fear they may not be terribly helpful.”
“At this point any details would be better than what I have now,” Logan said.
“Very well, then, I will give you my impressions. His speech was that of an upper-class gentleman.”
Logan appeared quite startled. Benedict, however, took the information in stride. Evidently the notion of a well-bred, aristocratic gentleman who was also a vicious killer did not seem at all extraordinary to him.
“Are you certain of his social rank, Miss Doncaster?” Logan asked.
“It’s not the sort of thing that is easy to conceal,” she said. “A good actor could affect the speech and mannerisms, I suppose, but I doubt if he could have afforded the expensive interiors of that carriage or the fine clothes that the killer wore.”
Logan tapped his pencil against the notebook. He looked at Penny with an odd expression and then just as swiftly shifted his attention back to Amity.
“You are correct,” he said. “It is difficult to imitate great wealth. What else, Miss Doncaster?”
She hesitated and then another memory flashed into her head. “He smokes cigarettes scented with some sort of spice. I could smell the stale smoke on him.”
Benedict looked at Amity. “Did you see a family crest or some other indication of his identity?”
“No,” she said. “He wore gloves—very good leather gloves, I might add. Everything I saw and touched in that carriage was expensive and in the most elegant taste. Except for the thick wooden shutters.”
Benedict frowned. “There were shutters on the windows?”
“Heavy wooden ones,” Amity said. “They were closed so that no one on the street could see what was happening.”
“And perhaps designed so that you could not get out if the door was locked from the outside,” Benedict said, very grim now.
Amity shivered. “I think you are correct.”
There was a moment of silence while they all considered the implications.
“A private carriage, then,” Logan said. He made a note and looked up. “But you did not identify it as such from the outside?”
“No. I assure you, the vehicle looked like any other ordinary cab. There was nothing unusual about the driver, either.”
“Yes, of course,” Logan said. “The coachman.” He made another note. “We must look into that aspect.”
Benedict nodded in silent approval.
“Can you tell me anything else about him?” Logan said.
Amity shook her head. “I’m afraid not. The one time he spoke, he sounded exactly as you would expect a cab driver to sound. Working-class. A bit rough around the edges. But he was certainly skilled with the reins. And he made no move to catch me when I escaped.”
Logan wrote something down in his notebook and looked up again. “What did the killer say to you?”
Amity glanced at Benedict and then turned back to Logan. She took a breath. “He informed me that he had chosen me because I had deliberately compromised myself with Mr. Stanbridge. He seemed to believe that I had set a trap for Mr. Stanbridge.”
Logan glanced at Benedict, who gave him a cool smile.
“Evidently the killer was not aware that Miss Doncaster and I are engaged to be married,” Benedict said.
“I see.” Logan made another note and looked at Amity. “I must ask you if the killer made any reference to photography.”
