A Beautiful Blue Death

by Charles Finch

  Chapter 33

  Lenox saw, peering down into the darkness of the servants’ stairs, that it was indeed Soames sprawled across them.

  At this moment Barnard stepped away from McConnell and Lenox and said in a loud voice, “Please, everybody, return to the party.”

  Nobody obeyed his instructions, but Barnard walked through the crowd nevertheless, presumably to find further help, perhaps in the shape of Inspector Exeter.

  Lenox acted quickly. He asked a footman for a candle, and when he received it he scanned the area. There was no blood anywhere except on those stairs across which Soames was laid. He looked at the foot of the stairs for anything dropped or tracked but found nothing. Then he shone the candle over the walls and saw only a certain amount of blood, which could be assumed to have come from Soames himself. It appeared that no clue was to be found.

  “Can we move him?” said Lenox, when he was done looking.

  “Yes,” said McConnell, “but it will be wet work.”

  Lenox beckoned to one of the footmen and instructed him to clear the largest table in the kitchen and cover it with a white sheet. The footman walked downstairs quickly to fulfill the request, and Lenox stepped out toward the crowd.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “I fear I have bad news. A friend of ours—Jack Soames—is dead, but we need space, please, to give his body the treatment it needs.”

  Whether this broke the spell or people were galvanized by the news, the crowd broke out into a high buzz, and people began to walk loosely here and there, seeking out special friends, no doubt talking to each other about Soames’s financial downfall and perhaps speculating about suicide, though it was the farthest thing from McConnell’s or Lenox’s minds.

  The doctor, with the help of the footman who had prepared the kitchen table, gingerly lifted the body and asked Lenox to close the door behind them. The three men stepped down the narrow staircase and went to the right. Standing in the kitchen, alone, was Miss Harrison.

  “Not in my kitchen,” she said.

  “Ma’am,” said Lenox, “with all due respect, we must place him here.”

  “Not in my kitchen,” she repeated. “Henry, stop helping them.”

  The footman looked at McConnell in confusion.

  “Henry,” the doctor said, “stay with us, and if you lose your job you can come work for me at ten pounds more a year. Miss Harrison, I am sorry to say this, but we have little time to accommodate your willfulness. Consult your employer, if you truly wish.”

  That said, he and Henry placed the body on the table, while Miss Harrison vanished down the left hallway, her skirts flying behind her.

  “What is it, Thomas?” said Lenox.

  McConnell gingerly unbuttoned the dead man’s shirt, removed the suspenders, and revealed Soames’s chest, which, though stained with blood, still jutted out proudly, as if in elegy of his former athletic greatness.

  “Henry,” said the doctor, “bring me a basin of hot water and take another white sheet and tear it into short strips.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the lad, and ran off to do so.

  “A knife, I think, not a bullet,” said McConnell.

  A little breeze of fear passed through Lenox’s mind as he remembered the knife the two men in the alley had shown him. But he ignored it and said, “Yes. We would have heard a bullet.”

  Henry returned with the basin and the cloths, and McConnell cleaned the area around the wound with expert care until they could see three long, jagged red cuts, all in the region of the heart, now cleansed of the gore that had matted his chest.

  “How long a knife?”

  For lack of a better tool, McConnell had taken his pen to lift back the edges of the wounds. “Fairly long, six inches or more, I should say. Somebody was below him, I think, and thrust upward, through his ribs.”

  “Below him on the stairs; it makes sense,” said Lenox.

  “Exactly.”

  “All three wounds are the same?”

  “No, these two are alike,” said the doctor, pointing to the lower two cuts. “The third wound came after death, or near the end, and was only a glancing blow.”

  “How big a man?”

  “It wouldn’t matter. He had leverage. Even a strong woman could have done it, if she had taken him by surprise.”

  “How long ago?”

  “Ten minutes at the most, I should say.”

  “Who screamed?”

  “A maid found him, and Barnard asked for my help. She was the one who screamed.”

  “Did you see him after we left each other?”

  “No, alas. I couldn’t find Potts or Duff either, for that matter.”

  “I hope Edmund saw something.”

  “Yes.”

  “Could anyone else from the party have seen anything? Anyone who wasn’t purposefully looking?”

  McConnell shook his head. “No. Nobody was even near the hallway. Somebody lured him there, I suppose.”

  “It must have been someone he knew. No witnesses, then?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He turned to the footman, who was standing a little way off. “Henry, explain to me how the servants were stationed tonight. It seems absurdly dangerous for someone to commit a murder here if there were servants coming up and down the stairs all the time.”

  “Actually, sir, with respect, that would have been the best place. The servants’ quarters was going unused, sir.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We were set up in a room just behind the dining room so the food could be served hotter and quicker. And then, it’s a narrow staircase, so there would have been delays, like, Sir.”

  “How did you cook in there?”

  “An extra oven. And we served drinks from there, where they were cooling under ice.”

  “Who came up with that idea?”

  “Mr. Barnard, sir.”

  “Who would have been out in the main hall, closest to that door, among the servants?”

  “One man outside, in case of late arrivals, sir. Several at the entrance of the ballroom, though that’d be facing the dance floor. Nobody was departing yet, sir, and near everybody had come.”

  “Damn. Smart of whoever did it—a deserted place in a crowded house, and an easy escape through the downstairs.”

  “Lenox?”

  “Yes, Thomas?”

  “What motive occurs to you?”

  “I’m not sure. Might it have been to cover up Prue Smith’s murder?”

  “I suppose,” said McConnell, though he sounded unconvinced.

  “Thomas, keep guard over the body, and see if you can find anything else. Henry, ask the servants what they saw, say the police would like to know, and then tell them you think it was self-murder.”

  “Suicide?”

  “Yes. Do you both understand?”

  The two men nodded, and Lenox nodded back.

  “Now let’s look through the pockets,” Lenox said. He and McConnell systematically went through all of Soames’s clothes, finding only the usual things—handkerchief, a pocket watch, and a little money. No key, because he was staying here with Barnard, and no personal objects.

  Lenox sighed. “Still, I think we’re close,” he said. “I have to see my brother.”

  Chapter 34

  Sir Edmund had the same thought. He was standing at the head of the stairs, trying to convince a phalanx of footmen he was in fact one of the men assigned to help in the case, without avail.

  “Charles!” he said, when he saw Lenox open the door. “Tell them!”

  “Will you have a cigarette with me outside, Edmund?”

  “Dash it all, Charles, no. Tell me what happened!”

  “Outside, Edmund.”

  “Oh, all right.”

  The two men walked past the crowd and through the front door to the stoop, where it was lightly snowing. People were leaving, so they stood off to the side.

  “What happened to the two nephews?” asked Lenox.
<
br />   “I lost one of them, Charles. I apologize.”

  “Quite all right. McConnell lost both of his. Did you lose Claude?”

  “Claude? No. The other one, Eustace.”

  “You mean to say you had your eyes on Claude the entire time?”

  “Well, ever since you asked me, at least.”

  “What happened?”

  “The two were talking but just for a second, and then Claude seemed to strike Eustace—I must say, they don’t seem to like each other—and then they diverged, and I could only keep up with Claude, who you said was more important.”

  “Yes,” said Lenox. “You did well.”

  “Thank you. Who did it?”

  “I don’t know. The only people we can account for are Soames and Claude, the two men I thought were most likely to have killed Prue.”

  “Claude might have done the first murder anyway, mightn’t he?”

  “No, I don’t think so. It was the same murderer. The chances that there would be two murderers in a single house—with a giant pile of gold in it—are too remote.”

  “Who does that leave?”

  “Eustace, Duff, Potts. Barnard, I suppose. A servant. Someone I’ve never even considered.”

  Lenox dropped his cigarette, smothered it with his shoe, and gave a sad sigh.

  “I’ve bungled it badly you know, Edmund.”

  “No, you haven’t, Charles. You’ll get it.”

  “I know next to nothing about Potts. And I haven’t worked on Duff nearly enough.”

  “This is the part you’re cleverest at, though, Charles.”

  “Thank you for saying so.”

  “Really, it is.”

  “Yes, perhaps.”

  “Is there anything I can do? As far as Soames? Poor fellow.…”

  “Yes, it’s awful,” said Lenox. “But no. Not unless you care to keep an eye on Duff or Potts—or, better still, sneak up to the fourth floor just to make sure the gold is still there.”

  “I will.”

  “Thank you.”

  They both went inside, Lenox in a downcast frame of mind, searching for the clue he had missed, the step he glided over, the mistake he made that had perhaps cost Jack Soames his life.

  Just as he was about to go back downstairs, Lady Jane tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Yes, are you?”

  “Awfully sad, of course. But listen, I know what a rush you must be in. I followed George around—Barnard, I mean.”

  Lenox sighed. “I suppose I can’t stop you. Remember the Charterhouse case, when you kept helping?”

  “Of course,” she said.

  “What happened tonight?”

  “I saw you go upstairs, you know, and started to worry a little bit, so I tried to watch him from near the stairs. Well, almost right after you walked upstairs he brushed right by without seeing me. I couldn’t tell if he was following you or going on his own. So I followed him, you know, and then when I was on the first floor and he was headed toward the second I called after him.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I just called his name. He looked reluctant, but he came back. Then I said I had been getting away from the madding crowd for a minute, but would he dance with me? I had to throw over William Carstairs, but that didn’t matter. At any rate I dragged him back down. We didn’t dance, but he said he’d be right back. Then, within about thirty seconds, the maid screamed.”

  “Were you watching him?”

  “No, I headed back to the stairs to catch you up, I’m sorry to say.”

  Lenox paused. “Let’s talk it over later.” He turned away, but then stopped and said, “You know, I can’t think of any other woman I know who would have done that. You’re awfully brave.”

  “Oh, nonsense,” she said. But in her face a look of happiness rose briefly and then disappeared.

  Lenox ducked through the footmen, who grudgingly allowed him passage, and back downstairs to the servants’ quarters. He saw the light burning in the kitchen and caught a glimpse of Mc-Connell, who was still examining the body. But instead of walking toward him, Lenox turned left and went back to Prue’s room.

  What had he missed? What, in this room, revealed the murderer? He opened the door, candle in hand, and saw again the narrow bed, the plain desk, and the drawing on the wall.

  He also saw that the window was open—still open since he had examined the room? Probably not. It seemed unlike Miss Harrison to allow a draft in.

  And then all at once Lenox realized what must have happened. The murderer must have lured Soames near the service stairwell, killed him there, and then, instead of going back up through the party, gone down—down through the servants’ quarters. He would have been bloody—wet work, McConnell had said—and his escape would have been this way.

  But through this room, or through the kitchen? It might have been any of them, unless the murderer happened to know about the window in Prue Smith’s room and knew it was still unoccupied. This fact increased the odds that the murderer was someone living in the house, someone who had been in Prue’s room before. Claude? Whoever it was, he would have had to gamble that the servants were upstairs or else stayed in the kitchen as he got away.

  It was the open window—he was by no means certain, but he had a hunch that it had been the means of exit, too. Eagerly, he lit the candle on the desk—the new candle—and set it next to his so that the room was bright. He looked carefully over the floor for a footprint, a drop of blood, anything. But he found nothing, and again his heart sank.

  Just to be thorough, he looked in the drawers of the bureau and examined with particular care the entire area around the window. Still nothing.

  Out in the hall, he heard Exeter’s booming voice, asking Mc-Connell who he thought he was. There was nothing else Lenox could do that evening. Exeter would be in command of the situation. Terrified, of course, that a Member of Parliament had been murdered, but in command.

  Lenox sat on the edge of the bed, cursing to himself. He had mangled the entire case. Motive, he thought—he should have begun with motive. Why would anyone kill Prue Smith, if not for love or money? To keep her quiet. Suddenly the wine and the food caught up with him, and he felt heavy and tired.

  The bed creaked as he got up, and its noise gave him one last thought. Sinking to his knees, he took the candle and held it underneath the bed. Last time it had been bare; this time, he saw with a start, it was not. He reached into the far corner to see what had been hurled back there—a dark indistinct object—and pulled it out to find his fingers bloody and a long wet knife in his hand.

  Chapter 35

  At that moment Exeter walked in the door. Lenox looked up at him and held out the knife, as if he were presenting him with something as innocuous as a glass of wine.

  “I’ve found the weapon.”

  If Lenox was expecting applause for his discovery, he was sorely mistaken in his estimation of Exeter.

  The man seemed to get even larger. He didn’t speak straightaway but stepped into the room and paced back and forth on a tight line.

  “This looks very black against you, Lenox,” he said, dropping his standard politeness.

  Lenox sighed, realizing what was going through Exeter’s mind.

  “Exeter,” he said, “I don’t want to be short with you, but you’ll vex me terribly if you don’t stop being an ass.”

  “Very black indeed,” said the Inspector.

  Lenox sighed again. “I’ll explain it, then. For the past ten minutes, I’ve been in the kitchen, inspecting the body with my friend McConnell. Do you really think that if I had committed a murder and successfully hidden the weapon in plain sight of several other people, I would be so daft as to come back into the first room the police were liable to search, where another murder had been committed, and hide the knife there? If I ever turn to crime, Exeter, I shall do better than that, I assure you.”

  There was a cloud of doubt on the large
man’s brow, but he came back. “That might have occurred to you only after you put the knife in here. Perhaps you’re getting it back now. Or perhaps you wanted to be found, finding it. Many murderers call in the body.”

  “You think me that stupid, Exeter? My heavens, I was called to the stairwell from the party, and from the instant I got there was among people.” He waved a hand. “This is nonsense, and we’re wasting time. Here is the weapon used to murder Jack Soames.” He laid it gently on the desk.

  “I suppose you’re right,” said Exeter finally. “Can’t be too careful, though, Mr. Lenox.”

  “Quite all right. Now, shall we get to work?”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “You ought to send two constables to the fourth floor. I can’t tell you why, but you may trust me. My own brother is there now.”

  “Why?”

  “As I said, I can’t tell you.”

  “Afraid we can’t do it, then.” Exeter looked as if he got some happiness from denying the request, after having been shown up.

  Inwardly, Lenox sighed. “Please, Exeter. Remember. The credit will be yours. We have to work together.” Together, indeed.

  For a moment Exeter pondered this new tack. “All right,” he said. “The fourth floor?”

  “Yes. I think the murderer escaped through this window. I’ll check outside for signs of him, though I doubt there will be any.”

  “And what shall I do?”

  “The force has the manpower I don’t, all the bobbies upstairs with Barnard. If I were you—though I’m sure you’ve thought of it already—I’d assemble the guests who are still here and ask them what they saw. Get ten or twelve men, if you can. This is now a double murder case, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “Two men to the fourth floor, and ten questioning the people upstairs? Probably in the line of what I should have done, the questioning upstairs.”

  “Yes. You’re acting very sensibly, Exeter. And perhaps, if you like, you should have the constables who question the guests look at their wrists and their shoes for blood or dirt. Particularly their shoes. It’s a wet night, but the guests all entered directly from their carriages. They should have clean shoes, unless they went through this window.”