“To be sure,” Drew murmured.
“Anyhow, I don’t want you spoiling it all. Let’s just have a pleasant meal, all right?”
Drew put a hand over his heart. “I solemnly pledge that I will not bring up anything about the case or about murder or any aspect of death. We’ll have a jolly nice lunch, and Miss Holland shall not be worried in any form or fashion. How’s that?”
“All right then.” Nick gave him a grudging nod, and then there was a sudden hint of mischief in his eyes. “But until we get there, let’s see if we can figure out what little Joan is hiding and what more Mr. Barnaby can tell us.”
The remainder of their walk was occupied with a number of theories, from the mundane to the absurd, about who could have killed Lord Rainsby, and it wasn’t long before they reached the solicitor’s office.
“I hope Barnaby won’t be all day about seeing us,” Nick grumbled as Drew reached for the door. “I don’t want to keep Carrie waiting, and you know how solicitors are, always rambling on about—”
A piercing shriek came from inside, followed by a low wail and the sound of running footsteps. Drew turned the doorknob, but it was pulled violently out of his hand as the door flew open and Barnaby’s secretary practically fell into his arms.
“Sir!” she gasped. “Oh, sir. Mr. Barnaby, he’s—he’s—oh, sir . . .” She clung to him, flooding his shirtfront with tears. He pried her away from him, trying his best to see her face. It was dead white, and her horn-rimmed glasses hung wildly from one ear.
He settled her glasses properly on her face, trying to soothe her. “What is it, Miss Grahame? Tell me. What’s wrong with Mr. Barnaby?”
Somehow he knew the answer before she managed to speak.
“He’s d-dead . . . in his office there. Dead!” She began wailing again, and he put his arms around her, calming her as best he could.
“It’s all right. Shh, it’s all right now.” He looked at Nick over her head. “Better take charge here, old man, while I see what’s what. There now, Miss Grahame, Mr. Dennison here will look after you while I go see if there’s anything I can do for Mr. Barnaby.”
Nick tucked the flowers under one arm and managed to pry her away from Drew. “Look, there’s a lovely bench just over there,” he said, his voice low and gentle. “Why don’t we sit for a moment and let you collect yourself?”
Drew looked through the open doorway into Barnaby’s front office. Everything looked quite normal. The girl who had been at the desk when he’d been here before wasn’t in yet. He stepped inside and immediately noticed the odor. There was no mistaking the smell of death.
The smell intensified as he walked through Miss Grahame’s immaculate office and into Barnaby’s. The inner office looked much like Drew remembered it. The only difference now was the body slumped over the flurry of papers on the desk, a wine bottle and glass spilled over them, and the pervasive smell of decay. From the indications left on the floor, in the chair and on the papers, it seemed the man had spilled the wine when he slumped over. Or perhaps he’d spilled the wine and then slumped over. But that was after at least some of those papers had been scattered. Perhaps the murderer hadn’t wanted to wait until Barnaby was dead before searching for what he—or she—wanted.
Drew swallowed hard, trying not to think too much about the smell. Careful not to touch anything but Barnaby’s lifeless wrist, he assured himself that the man was in fact quite dead. He breathed a brief prayer for mercy over him and then inspected the desk drawer that stood open. A file drawer but without any files. Had the jumble on the desk once been stored there? Or had the missing files left the office along with the murderer?
Drew craned his neck to peer into the half-open drawer in the middle of the desk. It was a shallow one, the kind intended to hold pencils and other sundry items, but there was nothing of note inside it. Judging by the pair of tickets tucked away there, Barnaby had intended to go to the theater the coming Friday evening. Pity.
That left the bottom drawer, directly under the open one. Too bad it was closed. Drew leaned down to get a better look. There were a number of fresh marks on the wood and on the brass lock itself, marks made with an edged tool of some kind. He glanced toward the door and, not seeing Inspector Ranald storming through it threatening him with incarceration, attempted to nudge it open with the toe of his shoe. It wouldn’t budge.
There was nothing else in the office of note, and eager to breathe more wholesome air, he hurried back out to the street.
Twelve
When Drew stepped outside, he saw that Nick was gone and two elderly ladies had taken his place on the bench with the distraught secretary.
“He said to tell you he’s gone for the police,” one of them said as she supplied Miss Grahame with a fresh handkerchief and nodded toward the milliner’s shop next door. “We wanted to take the poor dear into our place and give her some tea, but he thought we’d better not, at least until you came back.”
“Yes, better to wait,” Drew said, seeing Ranald and Shaw and a pair of constables following Nick back down the high street. “The inspector will want to talk to her.”
“Why am I not surprised to find you mixed up in this, Mr. Farthering?” the inspector growled when he reached Barnaby’s office.
“I suppose Mr. Dennison told you why we happened to be here,” Drew said, “and I have to say I’m glad we were. For Miss Grahame’s sake, I mean.”
Ranald turned to the woman huddled on the bench. “I’ll have to ask you a few questions, Miss Grahame, if you’ll be so kind as to come into the office here.”
Miss Grahame looked at Drew, terror on her tear-blotched face.
“Mightn’t she go with the ladies into their shop until she’s a bit calmer?” Drew asked. “There’s no need for her to go back inside at all, is there?”
Shaw nodded. “We’ll get much more of use from her, sir, when she’s had a chance to settle down.”
Ranald gave the sergeant a curt nod, and Shaw helped Miss Grahame into the shop. The two older ladies stood to follow her, and Ranald looked at them narrowly. “I’ll have to ask what you have seen, as well.”
The women looked at each other, wide-eyed.
“Nothing, Inspector,” the one with the handkerchief said. “We heard the poor dear scream and came out to see what the matter was.”
“It was horrible just to hear her tell it,” said the other. “I shan’t sleep, I tell you.”
“All right then, Mrs. Dundee,” the inspector said, his mouth taut with impatience. “I want you both and Miss Grahame to stay in your shop till I can come speak to you.”
“Oh, yes. Certainly, certainly.”
“We’ll send Dr. Portland over to see to Miss Grahame,” Shaw told them, “as soon as he’s had a look here.”
The two women hurried off, whispering and looking back, and Ranald gestured toward the still-open door to the office.
“I suppose you have no objections, Mr. Farthering?”
“None,” Drew said, “though I can’t tell you more than you can see for yourself.”
Ranald posted his two constables outside the door just as Shaw emerged from the milliner’s, and Drew and Nick followed the inspector and his sergeant inside.
Drew and Nick were late for lunch. Mrs. Drummond’s close-set little eyes were round with a peculiar mix of fear and excitement as she served the meal and listened in on Drew’s description of the morning’s events.
“Poor Miss Grahame found him there? And after almost two days? Mercy.”
She thumped a plate of minced collops and tatties down in front of Madeline, who looked at it warily. It was just ground beef, onion, and oats with a side of potatoes, but no doubt it looked rather suspect to the uninitiated.
“Yes, I’m sorry to say,” Drew said. “She’s been quite upset.”
“I can well imagine, sir.” Mrs. Drummond’s Scottish burr thickened with her excitement. “Mrs. Dunn says he’d been dead since Saturday night, slumped over his desk and already sta
rting to spoil.”
Nick set his fork down and drank a bit of water.
Carrie pushed her plate away untouched and contemplated her bouquet of wildflowers instead. “There can never be just one.”
“Dr. Portland’s had his hands full,” Mrs. Drummond agreed, setting down the finnan haddie chowder and a potato-cabbage-cheese dish she called rumbledethumps. “He hasn’t had so much coroner work since I can’t say when. Now, what else can I get for you? More of the collops?”
Once they had assured her they didn’t want anything more, she hurried back to the kitchen.
Madeline picked at her food, and then seeing Drew watching her, she coolly took a large bite of the chowder.
“I never thought I’d be pining for our Chief Inspector Birdsong,” Drew said, starting on his own plate. “He might grumble and grouse, but he would at least tell us a bit more about what happened.”
“They can’t blame this one on Kuznetsov,” Nick said. “Someone must have had that wine bottle ready for him, don’t you think?”
Carrie pressed her lips together. “I don’t suppose you could just leave this one alone? Either of you?” Drew and Nick both looked at her, and she sighed. “No, I don’t suppose you could.”
“Carrie,” Madeline began, but her friend stopped her.
“I’m going upstairs now,” she said, laying her napkin aside. “I’m sure you’ll all want to go find out every lurid detail. When you’re through, let me know.”
She stood, the bouquet in one hand, and Drew and Nick immediately got to their feet.
“Carrie.” Nick grabbed her hand. “Please don’t go.”
She freed herself and made it to the dining room door before he caught her again.
“Carrie.”
She tried to pull away again, but this time he wouldn’t let her. He leaned down a little, his whispers urgent, and gradually her expression softened. She said something in reply, and he pressed a fervent kiss to her hand. Then he let her go, and she disappeared into the corridor.
He returned to the table. “I’m going to leave the sleuthing to you for a bit, old man,” he told Drew. “Carrie and I will be spending the rest of the day taking in the sights. If nothing else, there’s a great lot of water to look at.”
“Good,” Madeline said, giving his arm a squeeze. “That’s a wonderful idea.”
“I don’t expect there’s much we’ll be able to find out about the investigation right off, anyway,” Drew said. “Ranald will probably be playing it close as usual. Madeline and I will see what we can dig up on our own and report back later. Meanwhile, you’d better see to your young lady. You’re not likely to find another who’ll put up with your foolishness.”
“I’m quite sure of that,” Nick said, and with a grin he sprinted off.
“I hope it’s not too late,” Drew said once he had gone. “I feel bad for them both, especially with this new incident.”
“It certainly hasn’t helped.” Madeline took another bite of the rumbledethumps. “I can’t imagine Inspector Ranald won’t be interested in that will now. And in Lady Rainsby.”
“I suppose they will want to talk to her about it,” Drew said. “I don’t know why, but for some reason the poison surprises me.”
“Why should it? Though it does show premeditation, and it’s almost sure he must have known whoever brought him the wine. Count Kuznetsov isn’t in a position to have given it to him.”
“Seems logical.”
They ate in silence for a few minutes more. Madeline was right. Unless he had a confederate, Kuznetsov couldn’t have been involved in Barnaby’s murder.
“I suppose,” Drew said, “the wine could have been in Barnaby’s possession some time before he actually drank any of it.”
“You mean like Lord Rainsby’s saddle. Someone planned it ahead of time.”
“Perhaps.” Drew ate more of the chowder. It was actually rather good. “We need a great deal more information before we can start to theorize about it, and Ranald isn’t likely to tell us a thing.”
Madeline smiled over her glass. “Maybe I could ask him.”
“As charming as he would no doubt find that, I really haven’t time to be detained for assaulting a police officer.”
“Then what can we do?”
“Well, to begin with, I’m hoping Sergeant Shaw can tell us more about Mr. Barnaby himself.”
Once they’d finished their lunch and settled the bill, Drew and Madeline walked back to Hugh Barnaby’s office. Drew tipped his hat to the weary-looking officer standing guard at the door. “Good afternoon, Constable.”
“Afternoon, sir. I beg your pardon, but there’s a police investigation on these premises, and I’ll have to ask you and the lady to stay clear.”
“Yes,” Drew said, “I was here when the body was found. Might I ask if Inspector Ranald is still present?”
“Not just now, sir. I believe the inspector’s gone back to the station, if you’d care to call for him there.”
“No, no. It’s not as urgent as all that. Perhaps Sergeant Shaw is still here.”
“He is, sir, but I’m not sure—”
“Never mind, Rodgers,” Shaw said as he came down the front steps. “I’ll see to this gentleman. You go inside and help Yellin with those files.”
“Right you are, Sergeant.”
The sergeant waited until Rodgers had gone into the building before he said anything. “I suppose the gossip’s already got round the village.”
“There’s nothing swifter,” Drew said, and turned to Madeline. “You remember the highly recommended Sergeant Shaw, darling. Sergeant, I trust you haven’t forgotten my wife.”
“That would be very difficult, sir.” Shaw gave her a nod. “Mrs. Farthering, ma’am.”
“I understand the inspector has returned to the police station,” Drew said. “Does that mean you might be willing to tell us a bit more about the case? I don’t doubt you’ve turned up some important evidence while I was away.”
Shaw took a quick glance down the street and then up the other way. “I could tell you a few things,” he said, lowering his voice, “but only because Chief Inspector Birdsong says you might have a thought or two worth hearing, and because he says you’re all right.”
Madeline gave him a most charming smile. “He’s a nice man, isn’t he? Even if he pretends not to be.”
“Yes, ma’am. And he was always fair to us men, even if the pay wasn’t enough to keep a cat on.”
“Pity,” Drew said. “I’d still like to hear what you’ve found out.”
Shaw shrugged. “There’s not all that much more since you were here, sir. The doctor says the victim died on Saturday night or very early Sunday morning as a result of taking poison. He wasn’t sure about the exact type of poison yet, but he suspects arsenic. As you saw yourself, some papers and perhaps other things were taken.”
“Rather an odd sort of robbery,” Drew observed. “Seems more like there were documents the murderer wanted, things not valuable to anyone but the murderer himself perhaps?”
“That could be the way of it, sir. A solicitor isn’t usually in possession of items that have intrinsic value, but he does have information regarding wills and estates and other things that might be worth a great deal to other parties not normally privileged to see them.”
Drew peered into the doorway, not actually stepping into the building. “I take it the poison was in the wine bottle.”
“We haven’t done extensive testing as yet, but the coroner did say the man was poisoned and certainly there’s poison in the bottle.”
Drew moved closer to the door, but Shaw stood his ground.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t let anyone in unless he’s officially connected with the investigation. Inspector Ranald’s orders.”
Drew winced. “He didn’t happen to name any parties specifically, did he?”
“I’m afraid the inspector doesn’t care for amateur sleuths, sir. Not even in books.”
Madeline’s lips twitched, though she managed not to laugh.
“Perhaps my wife and I can help you puzzle this case out, along with the Rainsby matter,” Drew said, giving her a reproving look, “and get you a nice promotion in the bargain. How would that be?”
One side of Shaw’s mouth turned up. “Can’t say I’d complain, sir, but it’d be you who’d get the accolades, not me.”
“Our names need not appear,” Drew assured him. “I never did much care for those newspaper accounts, anyway. They almost always get everything wrong.” He gave the officer a hopeful look and nodded toward the doorway once more.
Shaw shook his head. “Chief Inspector Birdsong tells me you can both be trusted to keep confidential information confidential, so I’ll tell you what I can about the case. But I won’t be able to let you inside, not as long as there are orders to the contrary.”
“I’ll concede defeat,” Drew said with a sigh. “But aren’t you ordered not to speak to me about the case, as well? In your official capacity, of course.”
“That, sir, was not mentioned. Now, if Inspector Ranald were to see you and me standing here chatting, it might be mentioned, so we’d ought to take care he doesn’t, eh?”
“That seems to be advised in this instance.” Drew took another look up and down the street. “Before any of your mates come down to see what you’re up to, what else can you tell me about Barnaby?”
“Not much, I’m afraid. As you saw, someone tried to break open a drawer in Mr. Barnaby’s desk. The locksmith is up there now opening it for us.”
Madeline tilted her head to one side. “Why do you suppose there was only one glass?”
“There was another found broken in the alleyway behind the office,” Shaw told her. “Both are being checked for fingerprints, though it seems quite likely there will be either none or Mr. Barnaby’s only.”
Drew nodded. “More than likely. What else?”
“Not much more of note. Not yet. But, uh . . .” Shaw glanced back into the building, hearing footsteps. “If there is, there’s always The Brassie and Cleek. Fair enough?”
Death at Thorburn Hall Page 17