“Did he happen to mention what caused him to leave so unexpectedly?” Penelope asked. “Did he drop a hint of where he was going or why or what he planned to do?”
Again, the four shook their heads.
“Not one to share his business with the staff,” the footman said, “if you know what I mean.”
Penelope inclined her head. She and Jordan exchanged a glance, then Penelope turned to the staff. “Thank you. You’ve been quite a help.” She looked at the footman. “I believe it’s time Mr. Draper and I joined the discussion in the study.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The footman half bowed, turned, and led her and Jordan from the kitchen.
On reaching the study, the footman opened the door, announced Penelope and Jordan, and stood back to allow them to enter.
She and Jordan walked into the study, and it was plain from the look on Keeble’s face that their arrival had caused him to startle and stumble and break off whatever he’d been saying.
Then the three gentlemen got to their feet, Keeble almost springing upright.
The footman, perhaps wisely, had slipped out of the room and drawn the door closed.
Penelope went forward, a calm smile on her face. “Good afternoon, Mr. Keeble. We meet again. Mr. Draper and I have just been securing corroboration of your whereabouts from your staff.”
Jordan set a chair for her beside the one Barnaby had occupied, and she sat, allowing the gentlemen to resume their seats. Once they had, she turned to Barnaby and Stokes and inquired, “So, have you gentlemen established where Mr. Keeble was on Tuesday morning?”
Evenly, Stokes replied, “Mr. Keeble has assured us that, as usual, he remained at home for the entire morning.”
Penelope widened her eyes in exaggerated surprise and turned her gaze on Keeble. “That’s strange…”
Keeble all but squirmed, then he cleared his throat and focused on Stokes. “Actually, Inspector, now I think of it, I believe Tuesday morning might have been the morning on which I felt rather queasy, and I went out for a brief walk to clear my head.”
“Is that so?” Stokes responded. “So you weren’t here between seven-thirty and eight-thirty?”
“Not in the house, no.” Keeble hurried to assure them, “But I was nearby.”
“Oh?” Barnaby said. “Where did your walk take you?”
Now he’d made his confession, Keeble seemed to calm. “Not far at all—just around the square. I sat on one of the benches on the other side of the church, on the south side of the square, and when, eventually, I felt rather better, I came home.”
Stokes had been taking notes. “I see.” He looked at Keeble. “Is there anyone—a neighbor or acquaintance—with whom you spoke while you were out?”
Keeble frowned, then grimaced and shook his head. “No. I’m sorry. I’m afraid I wasn’t paying much attention to anything beyond my stomach.”
Stokes glanced at Barnaby and Penelope, then looked at Jordan. When all three looked back and said nothing, Stokes returned his gaze to Keeble and nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Keeble.” Stokes stood and tucked his notebook away as the others got to their feet. “At the moment, I think that’s all we need to know.”
Keeble fussily assured them that he was only too happy to help, then ushered them out of his study and to and through the front door.
As the door shut behind them and they strolled up the short path to the pavement, Barnaby murmured, “He was so very happy that we were leaving.”
Penelope glanced at the house. “He was very relieved to see the back of us.”
“Indeed.” Stokes halted on the pavement and looked at Penelope and Jordan. “So what did the staff have to say?”
“They seemed entirely straightforward in answering our questions,” Penelope stated. “And they were very surprised that, on Tuesday last, Keeble left the breakfast table at close to seven-thirty, called for his hat and coat, and quit the house. He doesn’t normally walk in the mornings, not like Sir Ulysses, so they were taken aback when he unexpectedly up and left.”
“Note,” Jordan said, “the mention of hat and coat. He was definitely wearing both when he left. No saying if they’re the right sort, but we at least know that much.”
Barnaby grimaced and glanced around their circle. “We need to be careful about leaping to conclusions.”
Stokes nodded. “At this point, based on the facts as we know them, either Sir Ulysses or Keeble could be our man. Neither has an alibi for the time of Cardwell’s murder, so logically, both must remain on our list.”
Jordan glanced at the other three. “But only Keeble tried to hide his lack of an alibi. Sir Ulysses was reluctant to tell us, but he didn’t try to pretend he wasn’t out of the house, ambling, at the critical time.” He looked from Penelope to Stokes. “Sir Ulysses was honest about where he went, while Keeble tried to dissemble.”
