“We can’t go any slower, either,” Stokes said. “We can’t intersperse the interviews with other investigations because we’re not going to be able to keep the entire company at the Grange for much longer. I give them until the day after tomorrow before they start agitating to leave.”
“Us not having a clue as to who the killer is,” Barnaby said, “will mean their imaginations run riot, and they’ll grow increasingly fearful over with whom they’re sharing a roof.”
Sitting straighter, Penelope bracingly declared, “Well, we’ll just have to forge on and find our murderer!”
Barnaby threw her a fondly amused glance. “I vote we start by reviewing what we’ve gleaned of how Monty managed his blackmailing scheme.”
“Very cannily, by all accounts,” Stokes returned. “He knew his marks well and knew how to twist his stories into moreeffective swords to hold over people’s heads. Importantly, he was wise enough never to ask for too much—more than the mark could relatively easily part with.”
“Yes,” Penelope said. “That’s been very clear. His knowledge of those he preyed on was central to his scheme’s success, and I have to say that he demonstrated considerable inventiveness both in the way he transformed relatively innocuous secrets into potential scandals and in his selection of places to leave his payments. Not many would have thought of using a railway carriage!”
Barnaby was nodding. “He was bold but also careful and crafty.”
Stokes grimaced. “And that resulted in his victims—all of them—not having a clue who their blackmailer was.”
“Except”—Penelope tilted her head—“if we’re correct in thinking it was Monty’s blackmailing that got him killed, then plainly, whoever murdered him had learnedhissecret.” Reflected firelight danced on the lenses of her spectacles as she looked at Barnaby, then Stokes. “How?”
Stokes raised his black brows. “Underhill slipped up somewhere, and one of his victims noticed enough to put two and two together.”
“And,” Barnaby added, “if our theory of rage fueling the deed is correct, then presumably, it was the realization of the blackmailer’s identity that ignited a blaze of murderous fury in our killer.”
Stokes frowned, then ventured, “Acting on such an eruption of rage, which I agree is the most likely scenario with this murder, implies that the moment of ignition—of realization—had to have only just occurred.” He looked at Penelope. “Within a matter of minutes before the deed.”
Penelope, too, was frowning, no doubt reviewing the timeline of the murder in her mind. Her expression clearing, she focusedon Barnaby’s face, then glanced at Stokes. “That suggests that something happened at about nine o’clock on Monday morning that revealed to the killer that Monty was the blackmailer.” She paused, then went on, “I did wonder if it could have been Monty looking for Regina’s payment in the hollow tree, and the killer had somehow guessed and had been watching that place, saw him, and realized…” She grimaced. “But that won’t wash, because Regina hadn’t placed her payment into the hollow, so there was nothing to say that the hollow wasn’t just a hollow or a bird’s nest—nothing revealing at all.”
Stokes had hauled out his notebook, flicked through the pages, and was studying his scrawl. “Multiple people have placed Underhill in the library at around nine o’clock. Prior to that, he was in the dining room at the breakfast table—nothing revealing about that, I would have thought. And after he chatted with the gentlemen in the library, he went outside, and shortly after that, his killer found him in the orchard at the hollow tree and struck.”
“I agree,” Barnaby said, “that something that exposed Monty as the blackmailer to one of his until-then-ignorant victims had to have happened around that time, most likely in the library. But what?”
Stokes flipped through several pages, stopped, read, then said, “There were five gentlemen in the library at the time—Elliot, Morehouse, Carrington, Morland, and Wincombe. All were there before Underhill walked in, and all remained until after the Hemmings girl screamed. All five have told us that Underhill came in, chatted and inquired if all was well, then he said he was going outside to check on some estate matter and left. Subsequently, the two old ladies—Lady Campbell-Carstairs and Lady Kelly—saw Underhill go out of the front door, and Nevin-Smythe did as well.”
Penelope stated, “We need to ask the five gentlemen exactly what Monty said…” She grimaced. “But all five remained in the library, so the critical revelation didn’t lie in Monty’s words.”
“Nevertheless”—Stokes jotted a note—“we should confirm that all five remained in the library throughout, and one didn’t go out for a few minutes, then return, and the others haven’t thought to mention it.”
A rap on the door had the three of them twisting to look that way, and Barnaby called, “Come.”
The door opened, and Morgan stuck his head around the panel. He saw them, grinned, stepped inside, and shut the door, then he crossed to halt beside Stokes’s chair and snap off a salute. “Just came to report, guv.” He nodded to Penelope and Barnaby. “Sir. Ma’am.”
Morgan returned his gaze to Stokes. “I’d spelled Walsh in the study, and he relieved me just now. But earlier, I spoke with the gardeners about that stake, and they all agree it’s one of theirs and that the number means something, but none of those around today knew what. However, they said the head gardener will know, but he was off at some market today. He’ll be back tomorrow, and apparently, he’ll be able to tell us what that thirty-five painted on the stake means. The other gardeners all felt sure it’ll tell us where in the grounds the stake came from.”
“That’s something at least.” Stokes added another note in his book, then looked up at Morgan. “Follow up with the head gardener tomorrow. Report as soon as you learn anything useful.” Morgan nodded, and Stokes went on, “So Walsh is back in the study?”
“Aye, guv. I’ll go over in the small hours and relieve him, like I did this morning.”
“Good. In that case, you’d best be off to have some dinner and get some sleep.”
Morgan saluted, nodded to Penelope and Barnaby, and left.
As the door closed behind him, Penelope remarked, “I must admit that learning that Monty was an established blackmailer is a fact I’m still struggling to fully assimilate. I’m sure there’ll be consequences I’ve yet to see.”
Barnaby felt much the same. “One point—all his victims are members of the ton. No staff or people of lesser social standing. That might be an outcome of him using people’s visits to Wyndham Castle to glean their secrets?—”
“Andthatsuggests,” Penelope concluded, “that the killer will most likely be someone who has stayed at the castle at some point.”
Stokes scrawled a note. “That might be a way of winnowing our suspects list.” He glanced at Penelope. “Once we finish the interviews and have it complete, we should ask Lady Pamela and Lady Susan which of those on the list have visited the castle. It seems likely they will know.”
Frowning lightly, Penelope nodded. After a moment, she said, “Regarding who was where at the time of the murder, the guests seem to have had certain gathering places, which is helpful for us. After leaving the breakfast table—and everyone had by the time of the murder, even Nevin-Smythe—most guests went to the library, the billiards room, the morning room, the conservatory, or the music room. Only a handful went off on their own—three upstairs to their rooms, where they say they remained throughout the hour, Lady Susan, who went to the rose garden, and Lady Wincombe, who went upstairs and then to the croquet green, and her niece Harriet, who trailed after her.” Her frown deepened. “We have several guests yet to interview, but thus far, there are not many who might have been Monty’s killer.”
