Twenty-six
His name was Virgil Warwick,” Amity said.
“Damnation.” Benedict flattened his palms on Penny’s desk and glared at the names on the sheet of paper in front of him. “He’s not even on the guest list. No wonder we weren’t getting anywhere with our inquiries.”
An icy rage threatened to override his self-control. They had been chasing the wrong quarry. So much time wasted.
“We had to start somewhere,” Amity said gently. “It was logical to begin with the Channing ball connection. After all, the gossip about me started the day after that event. That could not have been a coincidence.”
It was as if she had read his mind, Benedict thought. And not for the first time. He straightened away from the desk.
“I know,” he said. “But when I think of all the time Cornelius and Richard spent interrogating men in their clubs about suspects who have proven to be of no interest—”
“As an engineer, I’m sure you’re accustomed to the necessity of having to perform any number of experiments that fail before one gets it right,” Amity said.
Logan looked amused. “That’s certainly how it works in my profession. We needed a starting point, one that got us into the Polite World. The guest list from the ball provided that. And by the way, do not discount the value of those interviews your brother and your uncle conducted. They helped us discard a number of suspects.”
“You’re correct, of course,” Benedict said.
He went to stand at the window. The sensation that time was running out clawed at him. Part of him was certain that the monster was out there, somewhere, and he was stalking Amity.
“I would also point out that the fact Virgil Warwick’s name is not on the list does not mean he did not hear the rumors about Amity from someone at the ball,” Logan said. “That possibility still holds.”
“I think that is very likely,” Penny said. “But we no longer need to search for the connection between the guest who attended the ball and the killer. We have Virgil Warwick’s name.”
“Thanks to you, Penny—Mrs. Marsden,” Logan said, hastily correcting himself. “And you, Miss Doncaster.”
“It was Penny who recognized the significance of the gown,” Amity said proudly. “It was a brilliant notion.”
“Thank you,” Penny said. She blushed. “I’m glad it worked out well.”
“I don’t care to contemplate what else in the way of evidence was lost or discarded before I was assigned the case,” Logan said grimly.
“We still don’t know for certain that Virgil Warwick is the killer,” Amity said.
“No,” Logan agreed. “But I must tell you, Miss Doncaster, that I have noticed a pattern over the years. Whenever a wife is found dead under mysterious circumstances, it is often the husband who is guilty.” He paused before adding dryly, “And vice versa, although women tend to be more subtle about the crime. Poison is usually the weapon of choice.”
Benedict turned back to face the others. He thought he saw Penny and Amity exchange glances, but they both looked away so quickly he could not be certain.
“I assume the next step is to interview Virgil Warwick?” Amity asked.
Penny put down the guest list and looked at Logan. “Will you do that, Inspector?”
“In a perfect world, yes,” Logan said. “But we all know that it is unlikely that Warwick will see me, even if he happens to be innocent of any crime.”
“He’s not innocent,” Benedict said. “I can feel it.”
“Unfortunately, I cannot arrest a gentleman of his rank without something more in the way of proof,” Logan said.
“He’ll talk to me,” Benedict said.
“Are you acquainted with him?” Logan asked, his tone sharpening.
“Not personally,” Benedict said. “I don’t spend much time in social circles. But I promise you, I can and will get past his front door.”
Logan raised his brows but he did not say anything.
“What good will it do to speak with Warwick if you don’t take me with you?” Amity asked.
