“Including the garden door having a broken bolt, and most likely being unlocked? Including the platform inside the urn so the axe did not drop all the way to the bottom? Including the hatch above the cheese store, so handy for shooting at people?”
She looked up from the stockings she was unrolling. “That assumes the same person killed Nicholson and shot at Bertram Atherton.”
“You think it was someone different?”
“I cannot see the connection. I think the shooting was a prank—”
“A prank!”
“A friend making a silly point — better dead than married. You know what young men are like. No doubt the shot was intended to miss, but it ended up nearly killing him. No friend would admit to that.”
“And Miss Peach?”
“Someone saw her walking and offered her a lift, then tried to rob her. When she resisted, he strangled her.”
“And left her purse untouched?”
“I dare say he panicked. Besides, ladies so commonly carry reticules these days that he may have forgotten to check for old-fashioned pockets. I can see you are not convinced.”
“I understand why you would like it to be this way,” he said slowly. “Strangers… outsiders… so much better than a member of the earl’s own family. And yet… this feels personal, somehow.”
“Must it be a member of the family?” she said forlornly.
“There are so many points that only the family could know… or someone long associated with the castle, perhaps. A servant of many years’ standing… it could be, I suppose. But someone intimately familiar with the place, yes.”
“Then it must be Kent Atherton,” she said sadly.
“Who was in Branton when Miss Peach’s lodging room was broken into and her books stolen, on the chance that one of them would be the key to decoding her notebook.”
“So he says.”
Michael jumped up. “Yes! We only have his word for it that he was in Branton all that time. We only have his word that he saw someone running down the stairs after the murder. But wait — how did he know to steal the books at all? He was not at the dinner where the notebook was mentioned.”
“What precisely was said that night?” Luce said. “It was after the ladies had withdrawn, so only the gentlemen were present, but were any of the servants there?”
“The butler was still setting out the port glasses, I think. The under-butler may have been there, too.”
“I am not sure it was wise to mention it at all,” Luce said, standing up and sliding her feet into her evening slippers. “You are normally so secretive.”
“I wanted to watch their faces,” Michael said. “First, I told them only that we had found Miss Peach’s notebook, and then paused. Then, I mentioned that it was in code, with another pause. And finally, that I had no doubt that we would be able to decode it easily.”
“If the murderer had been present, he should have looked worried, then relieved, then worried again. And did anyone?”
“No. It was very disappointing. But there was no mention of books or the means of decoding. And I have just realised… oh, I am a fool, sometimes!”
Luce pulled him to his feet, and began buttoning up his waistcoat. “You are anything but a fool, but this is an extraordinarily convoluted crime. What have you just realised?”
“That whoever took the books is not necessarily the murderer. He may merely be concerned to keep us from finding the identity of the murderer.”
“Protecting someone?”
Michael nodded.
“A friend… or a brother?”
“Which leads us neatly back to Kent Atherton. If Eustace, say, thought Kent was the murderer, but knew he was away in Branton and not able to prevent us from decoding the notebook, he may well have intervened himself. Well!” He sighed, and shrugged himself into his coat. “I must think about this. But there is one thing I must do, that I should have done long since.”
“What is that?” she said, smiling affectionately at him.
