Barnaby nodded and, with Stokes, went to shift the chairs. “That should help put our interviewees at ease.”
They settled on having three armchairs arranged in an arc facing a fourth chair in which their subject would sit.
Penelope had just claimed the central chair of the three when a tap on the door heralded O’Donnell.
The experienced sergeant looked in and spotted them. He entered and closed the door, then crossed the room to halt before the chairs, politely bob his head, and report, “I’ve spoken with all the indoor staff—all those who were here yesterday morning—and by all accounts, they were too busy to have noticed anything.”
Penelope nodded. “That’s entirely believable. With twenty-six guests in the house plus the family, the staff will be at full stretch.”
Stokes drew out his notebook. “What was their view of the master of the house?”
“One and all, they liked him,” O’Donnell said. “Not often one hears that, but all used words like ‘kind’ and ‘easygoing.’ Apparently, he was never one to get riled or on his high horse, and everyone below stairs are rather shocked that someone up and killed him.” O’Donnell paused, then added, “Like her ladyship, they tend to the notion of the villain being some passing madman.”
Stokes grunted. “It seems their master, however kind-hearted and genial, led a much more complicated life than they imagine.”
“One with a darker side,” Penelope stated.
“We’ve discovered evidence,” Stokes said, “that Underhill had a sideline in blackmail.”
O’Donnell’s eyes flew wide. “That’ll cause a huge shock, I’d say.”
“And not just among the staff,” Barnaby added.
“Indeed,” Penelope concurred.
“We’re still feeling our way over how best to follow the leads Underhill’s blackmail offers,” Stokes said, “so keep that news to yourself.”
“Yes, guv.”
Stokes tapped his pencil on the cover of his notebook. “Meanwhile, I want you to go around the tenant farms and into the surrounding areas—the estates, houses, farms, and villages—and see if there’s been any sightings of anyone lurking. The usual suspects—itinerants, vagabonds, gypsies, vagrants, and so on. It would help if we could strike that possibility entirely from our list.”
“Aye, sir.” O’Donnell saluted, nodded to Penelope and Barnaby, and departed.
As the door clicked shut, Penelope, who had been consulting her list of guests, observed, “We have two blackmail victims who were due to make payments yesterday. Miss Regina Hemmings—she’s only twenty years old, which seems rather heartless of Monty, but the Hemmingses are rather well-off, so presumably, he thought his demands were reasonable. She was scheduled to hand over a string of pearls, but as was his habit, Monty hasn’t noted exactly when or where.”
Penelope ran her finger down her list and stopped at another name. “And then we have Lady Wincombe. She—or I suppose, officially, her husband, Lord Wincombe—is the guardian of her ladyship’s orphaned niece, Harriet Cranton, who is also among the guests.” Penelope tipped her head. “What indiscretion Monty was holding over her ladyship and what leverage it gave him—why it’s important to her to keep said indiscretion concealed—is difficult to guess. However, while I can’t immediately see what, exactly, Monty was threatening Lady Wincombe with, judging by her continued payments, his threat of exposure was effective.”
“Who are the others on the victims list?” Stokes asked. “Presumably, they have the strongest motive to do away with Underhill.”
“They and their nearest and dearest,” Barnaby put in.
“In addition to Lady Wincombe and Miss Hemmings,” Penelope said, “we have Lady Carville, Lord Morland, and Mr. Nevin-Smythe.”
Stokes grimaced. “With a company of this size, I would normally favor concentrating on those five, but in this case…” He slanted a questioning look at Barnaby.
“Given that the murderer’s name might no longer feature in Monty’s book,” Barnaby said, “we should avoid alerting the company to us having any reason to focus on anyone in particular.”
“No need,” Penelope said, “to start unnecessary speculation and rumors about people who are no more guilty than most but whom Monty nevertheless made into his victims. As matters stand, we have no reason to believe any of them is his killer.”
Somewhat glumly, Stokes nodded. “Obviously, we’ll tip our hand to the five victims when we speak with each of them, but I think we can be certain they won’t spread the news they were being blackmailed by Underhill.” He looked at Penelope. “So in light of recent findings, what do we need to know?”
Penelope arched her brows. “Let’s think through that logically.”
Stokes and Barnaby exchanged faintly amused glances, then each claimed one of the chairs flanking the one in which Penelope was sitting.
The ormolu clock on the mantelpiece ticked on while they debated and discussed not just what they needed to know and how best to ask those questions but also in what order those questions should be posed to elicit the most informative responses.
“We need to give them the opportunity to be as expansive as they wish.” Penelope faintly grimaced. “In some cases, that might result in far more verbiage than we might like, but jewels are often found amidst dross.”
