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“Let us sit.” He gestured toward the chairs.

Electra approached a chair while still taking in the art, noting the vivid peacock-blue wallpaper behind the art and the repeated themes of night scenes with stars. It was the kind of room Electra would want to stay in a while to study the art on the walls and browse through the books. And it was clearly the room where Archibald Kerrigan spent most of his time. A leather wingback by the fire was well worn and surrounded by piles of books.

Kerrigan lifted a volume from the worn chair, then waited until Electra was seated to sit down himself.

“I understand you’re from Scotland Yard,” he murmured, fingers tracing across the cover of the book he’d placed on a small table next to his chair. When he fixed his gaze on Electra, his brows inched up. “Are you from Scotland Yard too, miss?”

“Miss Poole is assisting me with this investigation,” Gideon said smoothly. “And I am Detective Inspector Pierce.”

“Mmm” was all Kerrigan offered in response. Then he added the book to a pile near his foot and lifted a small crystal glass of what looked to be wine. “May I offer you some refreshment?”

Another table nearby sat cluttered with bone china teacups and a silver teapot.

“No, we are, I fear, short on time, Mr. Kerrigan, and are here to collect your insights with some urgency.”

The man’s brows winged high at that, and he set his glass aside. “Of course. Do tell me how I can be of use to you.”

“We would like to ask you about your knowledge of Miss Iris Delacourt and Miss Calliope Collier.”

Kerrigan cast his eyes down a moment and nodded. “I pray you will find Miss Delacourt. Please. Ask what you will.”

Electra looked around again as Gideon extracted his notebook, her gaze caught once more on the lady in the portrait. A table to her left was piled with documents. Some looked like maps. Others had beautiful, colorful bits of art on them. A marble statue sat at the table’s edge, depicting a woman with a shield and helmet.

“Minerva,” Kerrigan said. “I placed her there and hope she blesses me with her wisdom.”

Gideon flicked a gaze toward the statue and then flipped open his notebook.

“Where do you think Iris Delacourt has gone?”

Electra glanced at Gideon, surprised by the bluntness of the question.

“Heavens, I wish I knew.” Kerrigan’s shock transformed his face, making him look younger than what Electra estimated to be his fifty-some years. “I fear I’ve no idea, Inspector. If I did, I would have told Roger. Her disappearance has been a terrible shock and they’re desperate to find her.”

“You have known her many years, I take it,” Gideon asked.

“I have known Roger Delacourt for many years. My interaction with the twins was never great. They were with their mother when they were younger, and I often met with Roger at our club in London. Later, the poor dears were occupied caring for Delia for the duration of her illness.”

Kerrigan pressed his lips together and fell silent a moment.

“And when did you ask Iris to assist you at the museum?”

“Several months ago, I was visiting their home and saw her art. She has talent and a very precise eye.”

“Can you describe your interactions with her during the last few months, while she was employed in your office?”

Kerrigan pressed his lips together and glanced away as if pondering the question. “Cordial. Iris listened carefully, followed instructions well, and arrived precisely when she said she would.” He winced. “Until she did not.”

“So she was expected to arrive at the museum on Monday morning?” Gideon asked.

“Well, that is an interesting question.”

“How so?” Electra put in, perhaps not giving the man enough time to answer. The question of where Iris had been heading that morning was one both she and Gideon had pondered.

“I had advised Iris by letter not to return to work this week. I told her to take some time. I suspected she would wish to attend the inquest and knew she was quite distraught about the news of Miss Collier’s death.” Kerrigan sighed. “She sent me a reply saying she felt work would help her and to expect her at her usual time on Monday.”

Kerrigan looked toward the wall, his eyes staring, almost glazed. Then he winced and shook his head, as if pushing away a memory. “She never arrived at the appointed time⁠—”

“Why did you not inform her family immediately?” Electra pressed.