A Beautiful Blue Death

Chapter 37

Have you glanced over the papers yet?” said Lenox, coming through the double doors of the library.

Sir Edmund was sitting in one of the two armchairs before the fire.

“It’s really terribly cold out,” he said crossly.

“Oh, Edmund, I’m sorry,” said Charles, trying not to smile.

“Well, all right, all right.”

“Those are the demands upon the investigator, you know. Harsh weather, for one.”

Now this seemed to appease Sir Edmund. “Really?” he said. “By Jove, yes, I suppose that’s right. Well, at your service, then.” He mimicked a salute.

“Have you looked at the papers?”

“Oh, yes, the papers. Well, The Times.”

“Not the Post?”

Sir Edmund shuddered. “Gracious, no.”

“Take a look at it,” said Lenox, sitting down in the other chair and gesturing at the papers Graham had left on the small table between them.

His brother studiously looked over the article and went so far—which Lenox had admittedly not thought he would do—as to open the paper and read the entire story.

“Most interesting,” he said, after a moment. He was smoking his pipe while Lenox smoked a cigarette. “Yes, very interesting. Although the popular gossip has been wrong before, Lord knows.”

“Millions of times. But I find this intriguing. What triggered this particular gossip? Was there any event? Any indication?”

“None at all, I think,” said Sir Edmund. “In fact, I remember it only started when he won a bit at the Derby. People said it was a good thing he had.”

“How odd, really! Isn’t it?”

“I don’t see why—”

“Well, leave it, then,” said Lenox. “Would you like anything to eat? Or a cup of tea?”

“Coffee would be lovely. I’m due back at the House this afternoon, and I shall have to stay awake, I suppose.”

Lenox called for Graham and ordered a pot of coffee.

“Now, Edmund, I called you over this morning.”

“I know you did. I had to walk across half of the South Pole to get here. Hyde Park too.”

Lenox laughed. “It’s for a good reason, I think. I’d like to hear an exact account of your evening before they discovered Soames.”

“Poor chap,” said Sir Edmund, ruminatively. “Well, ashes to ashes, I daresay. Now, let’s see, my evening. Yes. Well, I arrived only in time for the dance, as you know. And you told me to follow those two cousins. I was perhaps overzealous at first—don’t laugh, it’s not kind—and followed too close upon them, because Claude kept looking at me and making faces.”

“Faces?”

“Yes, like an animal. So I backed off a bit. I got a glass of wine and sipped it pretty slowly and watched them. Claude danced with any number of girls, whereas Eustace seemed to be lecturing elderly men about something or other, I can’t imagine what.”

“I can,” said Lenox.

“You’ll know, then. Well, that was how it went. They only talked one time—in the doorway between the ballroom and the salon. For ten seconds or so. Then Claude hit Eustace, rather hard. Most uncousinly.”

“Why, I remember you hitting Cousin Ronald on the nose!”

Sir Edmund reddened. “Totally different situation. And it’s ungentlemanly of you to bring it up.”

“Well, it was ungentlemanly and uncousinly to hit Ronald in the nose!”

“Dash it all, if Ronald would insist on commenting on perfectly nice parlor maids all the time, it’s not my lookout what happens to him.”

“Oh, yes, that’s when you loved that parlor maid… what was her name… Mary?”

“I did not love her at all. A fine manly affection, yes. A fondness for the extra dessert she slipped me now and then, certainly.”

Lenox laughed. “I apologize. Will you tell me what happened?”

Sir Edmund tried to master his emotions and deliver the rest of his report. “After that, I tracked only Claude, because Eustace went into the salon, and you had told me Eustace was less important.”

“I did. Now. You’ve done very well, Edmund, but there remains work to do.”

“There does?”

“Yes. I need you to spend whatever time you can in front of Barnard’s house.”

“What?”

“Specifically, in front of Prue Smith’s window. Fourth on the right.”

“The window?”

“Yes. Look through the window, see if anyone enters, see if anyone’s lurking—however you can.”

“But I shall be noticed!”

“No, you shan’t.” Lenox walked to a chest in the corner of the room. “Wear these,” he said, and he held up a houndstooth suit with mud all over it.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, yes. Clean on the inside, my dear brother, and warm as a button. Wear a low hat. Scuff your face—I use tobacco ash. Come back here before you have to go to the House, and then—when you can—go round again.”

Sir Edmund took a great deal of cajoling, but gradually Lenox convinced him that he could imitate a loafer and was earning his stripes as a detective.

At last, after half an hour and several more cups of coffee, his brother went upstairs to change into the clothes. Graham fetched him some ashes from the grate, and when Sir Edmund came back down again he looked fairly convincing.

“I look all right?” he said.

“For the part, perfect,” said Lenox. “Graham, bring a flask of brandy for Sir Edmund, please.”

“Yes, sir.”

Lenox wrote a quick note on a piece of paper. “If any of the constables trouble you, ask them to give this to Exeter. It says you’re there on my behalf.”

“If you’re sure, Charles,” said Edmund.

“Positive. Now, take this flask,” he said, as Graham returned. “Brandy will keep you warm and also give you the proper smell. But don’t get tipsy.”

After a few more minutes of reluctance, Edmund left. Lenox chuckled to himself for a moment. But he was glad that Edmund was going. The murderer was bound to come back for the weapon if he had any wits about him, and Lenox had specifically omitted this fact when he talked to Exeter. A constable by the door of Prue Smith’s room would have scared anybody off almost instantly. It was a long shot, but maybe Edmund would find something. It was a job he would usually have asked Skaggs to do, but he was waiting for Skaggs to complete his work on an equally pressing business: an investigation into the altogether mysterious Roderick Potts.