“The jewels, you mean?” Walker said.
“And anything else that might give us some insight into his character.”
They marched up the steps of the constabulary and up to the front desk where Constable McGuire sat.
“Why, hullo, Mr. Constantine, Miss Blayse! And you are?”
“Walker Blayse. Chaperone and brother.”
“Of course. Can I help you all with something?”
“Yes, I believe you might,” Byron said. “I’ve—”
“Anything I can do to help, I’d be happy to do so. It reallyis a pleasure sir, if you don’t mind me saying. I’ve read so much about your work and your cases.”
Byron blinked. “Well, at the moment, I just need to speak with Inspector Rutledge.”
“Is it to do with the burglary case?” McGuire’s eyes twinkled. “I knew there was something more to it.”
“Is the inspector in?”
“You’re in luck. He’s just in his office. End of the hall, there.”
“Thank you very much.”
A short walk, a quick knock, and a soft ‘come in’ brought them into Rutledge’s office.
“Why, Mr. Constantine. To what do we owe the pleasure?”
Byron pulled the handkerchief-wrapped bundle from his coat. “Found something on a walk at Wynmar Park and thought you might want to see it.”
“Oh?” Rutledge took the package and opened it up, frowning. “Where did you find this?”
“Around where Treadway fell. I marked the location with some sticks, in case you wanted to take a look at it.”
Rutledge picked up the dagger, turning it over. “This couldn’t be Treadway’s blood. But...” He reluctantly continued. “It would be quite the coincidence if it was unrelated to his death.”
“That was my thought, sir,” Byron said. “I wanted to take a look at Mr. Treadway’s personal effects, if you didn’t mind.”
“Certainly. We have them in a box in the back, waiting to be collected by his next of kin.” He stepped into the hall.
“He’s taking it well,” Walker said. “We may have just broken open the entire investigation.”
“Possibly,” Byron said.
Inspector Rutledge returned. “I’ve sent McGuire to fetch the box.” He tipped his head to the side looking over the dagger again, a glint of confidence coming to his eye. “Come to think ofit, this could very well have belonged to the deceased. I wouldn’t be surprised if it dropped from his pocket when he fell.”
“And the blood?” Byron asked.
“He often hunted with Mr. Risewell,” Rutledge said, straightening. “He might have not wiped it thoroughly the last time he caught a rabbit or something.”
“Or something,” Mira said, annoyed. The inspector was grasping at straws to maintain his clean “death by misadventure.”
McGuire came in with a box and began laying everything out on the table. “There’s everything we found.”
Mira scanned the items. Pencil. Handkerchief. Pocket watch. Leather gloves. Cigarette case. Matchbook. A few foreign coins. And then the stolen jewels.
Byron pulled out his journal and a pen. “Let’s see... there’s the emerald bracelet. The diamond ring. The gold work necklace. The diamond brooch.” He made a tick mark as he checked each one off. “I do believe that’s all of it.”
