Pamela’s unrestrained candor was a blessing, her fabled lack of tact distinctly helpful in this case. Her comments proved that, despite any other shortcomings, her knowledge and understanding of her guests was sound.
Once Penelope was sure she had all the details she would need, she glanced at Stokes and faintly arched her brows.
He caught Pamela’s eye. “We’ll need to glance over your husband’s papers to ensure, for instance, that he’s received no threats. Where does he keep his correspondence?”
Pamela looked blankly at her children. “His study? Or in the library?”
“The study,” Cecelia stated, quite categorically.
Penelope noticed that Vincent frowned at his sister, but he said nothing.
“Thank you.” Stokes rose, and Penelope and Barnaby got to their feet. Stokes bowed to Pamela. “We appreciate your assistance and your support. We will do our level best to complete this investigation in as short a time as possible.”
Regally, Pamela inclined her head. “Thank you, Inspector. I have instructed the staff to assist your endeavors in whatever way you require.”
Penelope and Barnaby made their farewells, then trailed Stokes to the door.
Vincent rose, followed them, and slipped through the door behind them.
With Barnaby and Stokes, Penelope turned toward the stairs, aware that, after closing the parlor door, Vincent had gone the other way.
They walked into the gallery, and Stokes halted at the head of the stairs. He turned to Barnaby and Penelope. “Should we start interviewing the guests or the staff, or should we check the study first?”
After noting the time—past four o’clock—and briefly debating their options, they accepted that it was too late to commence any interviews, especially as they’d yet to decide on their questions, and opted to examine the study instead.
“Who knows what we might find?” Penelope said as she started down the stairs.
Gearing was waiting in the front hall. As they stepped onto the tiles, he asked, “If I may inquire, Inspector, sir, ma’am, will you be staying at the Grange?”
Barnaby smiled understandingly. “No. We prefer to put up at a nearby inn.”
Penelope asked, “Is there one you can recommend?”
Greatly relieved, Gearing was happy to point them toward the Red Lion in the village of Hackbridge. “It’s not far at all from the entrance to the main drive. Just head a short distance north on the London Road, and you’ll see the sign.”
“Thank you.” Penelope smiled at Gearing. “That sounds perfect.”
“We plan to start interviewing the guests tomorrow morning,” Stokes told Gearing. “And at some point in the next few hours, the police coach will return from London. Please redirect them to the Red Lion.”
“Of course, Inspector.”
“Now,” Barnaby said, “we need to examine Mr. Underhill’s study.” He looked at Gearing. “Which way?”
Relieved of his earlier apprehension over having to accommodate them all, Gearing readily led them down a corridor and into another wing of the house.
CHAPTER 3
They followed Gearing to a door at the end of the wing.
“Here we are.” Gearing opened the door and stood back.
Penelope walked in and immediately halted.
Following at her heels, Barnaby came to a screeching stop. Over Penelope’s head, he stared at Vincent Underhill, who was standing in the middle of the room and looking faintly chagrined. And guilty, too.
Having left his mother’s parlor behind them, Vincent had to have come directly there, presumably for some purpose.
Barnaby stepped aside as Stokes came in and, on seeing Vincent, firmly shut the door.
