“So,” Barnaby prompted, “he merely moved around the armchairs?”
Lord Wincombe frowned. “Well, he did cross to that vase. Ruddy great thing on a shelf farther down the room.” He glanced at Morland. “Remember?”
Morland and the other three all nodded.
Morehouse volunteered, “He said it was one of Pamela’s prize possessions, and it wasn’t sitting quite right, and she was very particular about that, so he went and straightened it.”
Barnaby didn’t dare look at Penelope, knowing he’d see triumph in her eyes if not her face. “Thank you.” Wantingto move the men’s minds away from the vase, smoothly, he continued, “Now, if you would, cast your mind back to Tuesday evening. After dinner and tea in the drawing room, we understand that you, as a group, congregated…where?”
“We were all in here.” Morland looked around the room. “More or less as we are now.” He glanced at Barnaby. “With you two and the inspector chappie commandeering the library, we weren’t sure if we should go in there, and with the study out of bounds as well, we all came here.”
The other men nodded.
Penelope managed not to sigh. “This might be a bit tedious, but please, bear with us. We need you to tell us who you remember being here.”
“We need to know,” Barnaby clarified, “who came in when you made your way here and remained here until at least nine-thirty.”
Penelope nodded at Cordingley, who happened to be standing at the end of the billiard table and was closest to Barnaby and Penelope. “If you would, Mr. Cordingley, did you come in with all the others, and who do you remember came in with you and remained until nine-thirty?”
Cordingley glanced around, then said, “I walked in with Carrington and Griffith, and Fentiman, Vincent, and Patterson were ahead of us. We were playing rounds and chatting for most of the time, and I’m fairly certain all of us remained until we went up at some time after ten.” He glanced at Barnaby and Penelope. “Others were here as well, but I didn’t interact with them, so I’m not sure when they left.”
Penelope smiled at him. “Thank you. That’s exactly the information we want to hear.” She shifted her gaze to the next gentleman. “Mr. Patterson?”
Barnaby listened intently as they worked their way around the twelve men in the room. Helpfully, there were no argumentsover who was present or who wasn’t, with most confirming each other’s presence and many mentioning Richard as being there.
“Quite a dab hand with the cue, you know?” Griffith observed of Richard. “Not one you’d want to challenge for any meaningful wager.”
Judging by the earnest nods from the younger men, Richard had left a lasting impression.
When the last man, Wincombe, had given his account, which tallied with everyone else’s recollections, Penelope arched a brow at Barnaby.
Returning a slight nod, he swept his gaze over the faces, then spoke to the room at large. “None of you have mentioned Leith. Do any of you recall him being here?”
Morland frowned. “He arrived with us from the drawing room. I’m sure of that. But later…” He shrugged. “I can’t remember seeing him.”
Others were nodding thoughtfully, clearly reviewing their memories and not finding Leith in the billiards room.
Kilpatrick, who was standing at the far end of the room, shifted. “I don’t remember seeing him in here, but I think he must have been for a time, as I was.” Kilpatrick had stated, and others had verified, that fifteen minutes or so after they’d settled in the room, he’d left the company and the house to walk across the fields to his home. Kilpatrick went on, “When I left to go home, I spotted him on the stairs, heading up. He saw me and said he had letters to finish. I waved good night and went on to the side door. I assume he continued up the stairs to his room.”
Barnaby resisted the urge to look at Penelope. “Just remind us, at what time was that?”
Kilpatrick blew out a breath. “Well, if we got here at a little after eight”—he glanced around, and the others nodded—“then I must have left at the latest by eight-twenty.” He paused, plainly calculating, then stated, “It must have been about then, becauseI reached home at eight-forty-five, and it’s a good twenty-minute walk.”
“Thank you.” Penelope beamed at Kilpatrick, then swept the company with a smile. “That’s all very clear.”
“Indeed.” Barnaby nodded. “You have our thanks.”
With that, he quickly ushered Penelope from the room while pretending not to hear Lord Wincombe ask whether they’d found the murderer yet.
Penelope fought to contain her exclamations until they were safely behind the library’s doors.
But before she could expostulate, Barnaby held up a staying hand. “We should wait to learn what Stokes discovers.”
She frowned at her spouse. “But on several counts, it’s increasingly clear that the murderer isLeith.” She swung away and started pacing. “What I can’t for the life of me imagine is why. What on earth can he have to hide?”
“Let’s see what the maid who tends Leith’s room says about his letter writing.” Barnaby frowned. “Although he does seem to have been writing quite a sheaf of letters, or else they’re proving difficult to pen. But if he was truly writing letters, then perhaps we’ve missed something.”
“We haven’t,” Penelope all but growled. She started pacing along the bookshelves. “But I still can’t make sense of it, and given Leith’s rank, unless we find some real proof as to why he would do such a thing…” She huffed. “Well, it’s not going to be easy to prod the Commissioner into charging Leith with Monty’s murder.”
