Eustace went. Through the garden door, and up the service stairs two at a time, straight along the narrow passageway, then erupting into the great hall. Michael followed three paces behind. On the half-landing, Eustace hesitated, moved to theright, stopped, moved back to the left, and then to the urn. He pulled out the axe, waving it triumphantly at the assembled watchers.
Then he set off up the left-hand stairs.
“Other stairs, sir,” Michael murmured behind him.
Down, across the landing, up the right-hand stairs to the very top, out onto the landing that ran round all four sides of the castle, and through the door directly opposite. There was the bolster in the bed, a mop head representing Nicholson’s hair. For a moment, he hesitated, axe held loosely in his hand.
“This is definitely a bolster, yes?”
“Definitely.”
Then, as Michael watched, Eustace set to with a will, releasing clouds of feathers into the air. For a moment he paused, then dropped the axe beside the bed where it fell with a thud, before brushing away the feathers that clung all about him.
He turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind him, and took two brisk steps towards the top of the stairs. Almost at once the bell clanged loudly behind him. That was quick!
Eustace swore with realistic fervour, and ran for the stairs. He had not taken more than two steps down when there was the distant sound of a door opening. Someone tripped over something, cursing, and passed by on the landing, as Eustace pressed himself against the wall and froze. Walter Atherton, first on the scene because he had not stopped to light a candle. Then more doors opened further round the upper level. The wavering light of a candle appeared. Eustace stood, paralysed.
Michael said nothing, leaving him to work out what to do. Down below them, the great hall was in darkness, the fire extinguished and no candles lit. Only a dim gloom from the glass roof far above cast enough light to see the stairs.
The candlelight disappeared, hidden behind a pillar. Abruptly, Eustace made a decision, and ran on down the stairs to the great hall. There he would have stopped, but Michael urged him onwards, along the narrow passage, down the service stairs and out of the garden door. Then and only then did Michael check his pocket watch.
“Seven minutes,” he said with satisfaction. “Thank you, sir. A very proficient performance.”
“Did it give you any new ideas?”
“New ideas? No, but it was interesting all the same.” And he grinned wolfishly. “Shall we go back inside?”
By the time they reached the great hall, arriving more slowly this time, there was a great deal of excited chatter amongst the watchers. Michael left them to it, and went upstairs to Mr Nicholson’s bedroom. The earl, Kent, Walter and Mrs Walter, together with several footmen, were milling about, while Neate and Sandy were making notes of who arrived when.
“Ladies all sent away,” Sandy said. “Everyone’s here who was here on the night.”
“Excellent,” Michael said. “Mr Kent, sir? Did you see the murderer running down the stairs?”
“I did, Captain, although… not so far down the stairs as the real murderer. I was looking for him, this time, so it was not just a glimpse in the corner of my eye. Alexander saw him, too.”
“Aye, I did. He was lucky to get away with it — the real murderer, that is. Mrs Walter came through as soon as she heard a noise, and because she raised the alarm so swiftly, we saw Mr Eustace running away. But Mr Kent saw the real murderer running away, so Lady Alice must have raised the alarm almost as swiftly.”
“That is true,” Michael said. “She must have been awake already. No doubt the murderer did not expect that. Mr Eustace responded well when he found the alarm raised so quickly.Hmm… not so far down the stairs. Well, we cannot expect everything to be precisely the same. Did anyone remember anything new?”
Neate and Sandy both shook their heads.
“What about you, Captain?” the earl said. “Did you gain any new insights from this exercise?”
“No, my lord. It has confirmed one or two matters which were uncertain before, but no more than that, I regret to say.”
“You have done your best,” the earl said. “No one could have done more.”
“But it was not enough,” Michael said sadly. “Now he will get away with it, and justice will never be done.” He sighed heavily. “You have been wonderfully patient, my lord, but we will importune you no longer. Tomorrow we will be gone.”
“What do you want to do with this?” Sandy said, proffering the axe.
“I suppose it can go back to Mr Eustace now,” Michael said disconsolately.
Downstairs, the candles and fires were lit, and the servants were busily handing round drinks and platters of pastries and cakes.
While the rest of those assembled in the great hall seemed to be in celebratory mood, Michael’s spirits could not be lifted. He stood glumly at the bottom of the stairs, gazing up at the two Chinese urns and the armoury display between them.
Luce tucked her arm into his. “Stop thinking about it.”
