Penelope glanced at the clock on the library’s mantelpiece. “It’s getting rather late to call people in.”
Stokes rumbled, “For my money, we need to call a halt and digest what we’ve learned. There are all sorts of pertinent snippets mixed in with otherwise irrelevant details.”
“Such as,” Barnaby said, “Nevin-Smythe giving Griffith an alibi and vice versa.”
“And Cecilia and her friends placing Lady Carville in the conservatory,” Penelope said. “That’s almost enough to strike her ladyship off our suspects list.” She paused, then went on, “It occurs to me that, in this case, with so many people in the house and moving about, given Monty was killed in the orchard, that means whoever killed him couldn’t have been in the house at that time.”
Barnaby nodded. “Theoretically, we should be able to identify the killer or at least get a strong sense of who he is by cross-checking where everyone was.”
Stokes had been consulting his notes. “People saw others here and there. The orchard’s far enough from the house that the killer had to have been outside and out of sight of any of the other guests for a substantial amount of the critical hour between nine and ten.”
Penelope nodded decisively. “Our murderer will be unaccounted for during most of that time. And if he searched the study while everyone was distracted by the body in the orchard, he should also be unsighted by anyone during that interval as well.” She tipped her head, considering that. “No one should remember him at the orchard with the other men or on the front lawn with the women.”
“We have several guests with sound memories and acute observational skills,” Stokes said. “But before we go too far with our thoughts and suppositions, I suggest we retreat to the inn and go over all we’ve heard thus far, then work out what we can be certain of in terms of where people were. Once we have that, we can come back tomorrow and interview the rest and see what confirmations we can get for those we’ve yet to definitively alibi.”
“I agree.” Penelope looked at Barnaby.
He nodded and pushed himself out of his chair. “But before we quit the premises, I suggest we report to Pamela.”
They sent the footman to fetch his mistress and met Pamela in the front hall.
They kept their report brief, merely saying they believed they’d made some progress and would return the following day to interview those they’d yet to speak with and that after that, they hoped to have a clearer view of the events that had led to her husband’s death.
Rather wan, Pamela thanked them and reiterated her support for their efforts.
With bows to her and thanks to Gearing, who had thought to summon their carriage, they quit the house, descended the steps, climbed into the carriage, and set off for the inn.
CHAPTER 8
Richard walked into the drawing room at a few minutes after six-thirty. The company was gathering there to spend the traditional half hour chatting before going in to dine.
He spotted Rosalind and Regina standing along one side of the room, attended by Leith, Cordingley, and Nevin-Smythe, and strolled to join the group.
They turned to him as he neared. He half bowed to Rosalind and Regina, then Nevin-Smythe leapt in to ask, “Have the investigators gone?”
“A few minutes ago,” Richard said. “I saw them in the hall, taking their leave of Pamela. They said they’d return tomorrow to finish their interviews.”
Regina murmured, “I noticed they haven’t yet interviewed the younger guests.”
“It seems they’ve been asking each of us where we were and who else was there and who we saw wandering around,” Cordingley said.
Regina studied the circle of faces, then, concerned, looked at Richard. “Do they think Mr. Underhill was killed by one of the guests?”
A short silence fell, then, her tone even, Rosalind stated, “The family is talking of a passing vagrant having taken it into their heads to wander into the orchard and kill Monty and that, therefore, the killer will be long gone by now.”
Leith arched his brows, then glanced at Richard. “Is that likely?”
“It’s a convenient tale,” Richard replied, “but a highly unlikely one. I seriously doubt you’ll find the inspector and the Adairs coming to such a conclusion.”
“Well, I hope the investigators at least pursue the possibility,” Nevin-Smythe declared. “Wouldn’t do to chase their tails, hunting for clues among the guests while the real killer gets clean away.”
Richard smiled thinly. “I suspect we’ll discover the investigators have all possible avenues covered.”
Rosalind raised her chin a trifle. “While at such a time, one has to feel for the family, I hope they’ll push the investigators to solve the case regardless of who the killer proves to be.”
“Indeed,” Richard said, and the other men murmured agreement.
Gearing appeared in the doorway and announced, “Dinner is served, my lady.”
