Penelope smoothed out her lists of where people were and when. “Adding the information we gleaned today…”
She busily scanned the sheets, her spectacle-focused gaze tracking from one sheet to the other and back again.
Stokes and Barnaby exchanged a glance and waited, not exactly impatiently, but they knew when to hold their tongues.
Eventually, Penelope straightened. Her gaze on her lists, she stated, “Strictly speaking, those for whom we have only their word for where they were between nine and ten o’clock are Regina, who was in the grounds and out of sight of anyone over the critical time, Rosalind, who was in the gardens, looking for Regina, Leith, who was writing letters in his room, Susan, who was walking in the rose garden that’s on the same side of the house as the orchard, Richard, who was also writing letters in his room, but was on the stairs when Rosalind screamed for help, and Cordingley, who was reading in his room but says he saw Lady Wincombe on the rear lawn when she crossed to the croquet green, which suggests he was in his room at that time… Yet if he was the murderer and returning toward the house, heading toward the side door but still in the wood, he could have spotted Lady Wincombereturningand so would have known that she’d been outside and would almost certainly have crossed the rear lawn earlier, on her way out.” She frowned at her lists. “I think Cordingley needs to remain as a suspect for the moment. And then there’s Lady Carville, who the young ladies saw in the conservatory before nine o’clock, and she says she saw Susan leave for the rose garden via the terrace, but she might have heard that Susan had gone out and added that to her story, and we have no other confirmation Lady Carville remained in the conservatory between nine and ten.”
Penelope scanned her lists one more time, then nodded decisively and looked at Stokes and Barnaby. “Everyone else was either with others or seen by others in the places they say they were.”
Barnaby pointed out, “It wasn’t a woman who stood in the trees and watched Monty take the payment from the vase. The footprints make that indisputable.”
Penelope regarded him. “True.” She turned back to her list. “Eliminating the women leaves us with…Leith, Richard, and Cordingley.”
Barnaby glanced at Stokes. “Richard mentioned dropping the letters he’d written on the hall table as he raced out of the house in response to Rosalind’s scream.”
“I know none of us imagines Richard is the murderer,” Penelope said, “but for completeness’s sake, we should check with Gearing. He’ll know if the letters were, in fact, there.”
Stokes nodded. “The same applies to Leith. He said he was writing letters the entire time, so either he’s given Gearing letters to post, or they’re on the desk in his room.”
Barnaby nodded. “We can check with Gearing—either way, the staff will know.”
Penelope was frowning. “If the gentleman Vincent and Patterson and then, later, Fentiman and Samantha saw in the wood is our murderer, which of our three suspects could that have been?”
“Obviously,” Barnaby said, “any one of the three could have slipped down the rear stairs and out and back via the side door…” He paused, then voice firming, went on, “Except that Richard couldn’t have completed the return journey.”
“No.” Penelope’s face cleared. “Patterson and Samantha both said they saw the mystery gentleman heading toward the side doorafterthey’d heard Rosalind’s scream. At that time, Richard was on the stairs, then racing through the front hall, and many members of the company saw him and followed him outside.”
Barnaby looked at Stokes. “So Richard’s off the list as well. That leaves only Leith and Cordingley.”
Stokes grimaced. “As much as I hate to say it, we have to allow for the possibility that the man sighted in the wood was, in fact, two different men. None of the witnesses saw the man well enough to say much about him on either occasion. So Richardnot being able to have been the second man doesn’t rule him out as the murderer—he could have slipped out, killed Underhill, then returned earlier, in time to be on the stairs and respond to the scream.”
“But Richard couldn’t have searched the study,” Penelope pointed out. “He was outside in full view of most of the company while that search was underway.”
Stokes held up a hand. “I agree Percival is not a good candidate for the role of murderer—on a host of counts—but there’s an outside chance that the search was committed by someone other than the murderer.”
Penelope narrowed her eyes on Stokes. “You’re determined to play devil’s advocate, aren’t you?”
Fleetingly, Stokes grinned. “I’m just more used to the lawyers’ arguments and judges’ questions than you. But if for no other reason than to make our investigation appear utterly thorough and even-handed, can we leave Percival on the list for the moment? At least until we have confirmation that he did, indeed, drop a handful of letters on the hall table for Gearing to post?”
Penelope sighed. “All right.” She studied her list. “So we’re down to three suspects—Leith, Richard, and Cordingley.” She looked at Barnaby and Stokes. “Will the confirmation of the existence of letters by Gearing be enough to alibi Leith and Richard?”
Stokes and Barnaby frowned, then Stokes offered, “It depends on when he wrote the letters and how many there were…” After a moment, Stokes sighed. “I really can’t see Percival as our killer.” He looked at Penelope. “He was seen going upstairs, I believe?”
Penelope consulted her notes. “Yes. By Morehouse and Carrington at about seven-forty.”
“So to be in the trees, watching the library, by nine o’clock,” Stokes said, “he would have had to leave his room and the house at some point, then return very quickly from the orchard to his room—without being seen by anyone—to seize the letters, go to the stairs, and be on the way down when Rosalind screamed.”
“But,” Barnaby said, “Richard couldn’t have known that Rosalind would find the body and scream for help, and it’s simply too convenient to imagine that he had letters written and ready to leave on the hall table to establish what he’d been doing. That smacks of a degree of planning that we’ve agreed didn’t apply in this case.”
Penelope nodded. “This murder was a spontaneous act of rage, not a planned killing.”
“Perhaps,” Stokes said, “we simply leave Percival on the list until we confirm the existence of those letters. We still have the list down to just three, which, in the circumstances, is astonishing.”
“But what about Leith?” Penelope persisted. “If we learn that he wrote several letters on Monday morning, does that eliminate him?”
Barnaby and Stokes both thought, then Stokes asked, “He wasn’t sighted or mentioned by anyone, was he?”
“Carrington said Leith was in the library when he—Carrington—went in there with Morehouse and Elliot at a little after seven-thirty,” Penelope replied, “but that Leith left soon after, saying he had letters to write. After that”—she scanned her lists—“we have no further mention of Leith.”
