"It was when I came down for breakfast this morning."
"I see, and what time was that?" asked Lady Marmalade.
"Well, like I told the Inspector, it was around nine or nine thirty. I don't really remember. I was in such shock that I didn't notice the time."
Agnes looked over at Lady Marmalade with eyebrows pinching the top of her nose.
"And what did you do once you found your husband?" asked Pearce, getting back into the conversation.
"Well, I walked up to him and lent over to kiss him on the cheek when I saw the letter opener in his chest. I screamed and very nearly feinted. Humphrey must have heard for he came rushing in to see what was going on."
"Did you call the police?" asked Pearce.
Agnes shook her head.
"No. I was very upset. You have to understand. Humphrey said he called you."
"I understand," said Pearce.
"I just don't understand why anyone would do this," said Agnes.
"That's what we will try and determine," said Lady Marmalade, trying to comfort the young woman.
Agnes picked up her cup with hands more steady, and took another sip of tea.
"I couldn't help but notice," said Frances, "that your husband seemed dressed for the day. Was he expecting anyone?"
Agnes shook her head slowly, and put down the cup.
"No," she said. "He usually sleeps down here. He finds it very difficult to sleep lying down on our bed. Sometimes he forgets to get dressed for bed. I believe those were the clothes he was wearing yesterday."
"I see," said Pearce. "Does he take any sleep aids?"
"We both use Medinal," said Agnes, smiling nervously. "I suffer quite a bit from anxiety and I couldn't sleep without it. As you can imagine, Christopher has a very stressful job and it helps him function properly after a good night's rest."
Agnes looked at her cup of tea.
"I can't believe my manners," she said. "Can I offer you some tea."
She looked up at Lady Marmalade with hopeful, bright eyes. Lady Marmalade smiled at her and nodded her head.
"That would be lovely, dear," she said.
"And for you?" she asked the Constable.
Pearce smiled and said "no thank you."
They both waited while Agnes poured Lady Marmalade a cup of tea.
"Oops, silly me," said Agnes. "I forgot to ask you if you wanted milk first."
She smiled shyly at Frances, putting the teapot back down. She picked up the saucer and offered it to her. Agnes' hands were still not as steady as a surgeon's, but nothing spilled.
"Before or after, doesn't matter to me," said Lady Marmalade kindly, smiling at her.
Lady Marmalade poured some milk into her tea, then placed one cube of sugar, stirred it and took a sip. It was lukewarm and bitter. It had brewed for far too long. She swallowed and smiled politely, putting the cup back down on the saucer and hoping not to have to take another sip.
"Getting back to the Medinal," said Pearce, smiling at Agnes as she looked at him. "Does he prescribe himself?"
"Good heavens no," said Agnes, shaking her head vigorously. "The doctor prescribes it for both of us.
"What I meant to say was, does your husband mix the Medinal himself?"
Agnes shook her head a little more slowly this time.
"No, he usually has me put it together for him in his whisky." Agnes looked nervously back and forth between Pearce and Lady Marmalade. "I know you're not supposed to, but he complains ever so much if I don't. And I'm quite worried about his health. As you can imagine. He only gets one dose each night. That's all we both need."
"I can imagine," said Pearce, smiling curtly.
"Did your husband have any enemies?" asked Frances.
Agnes looked over at Frances and then took to fidgeting with her fingers again. She looked down at them for a short while before looking back up at Frances.
"Well, I wouldn't say enemies," she said. "But you can imagine there's been quite a few disagreements around the house and from what I've heard, related to his work."
Frances nodded.
"Anything recently that comes to mind?" she asked.
"There was a bit of a row the other night."
"And when was that?" asked Frances.
Agnes looked up at the ceiling with her head tilted towards her right shoulder. She pursed her lips.
"That would have been on Monday evening I believe."
"And who did he have the row with?" asked Frances.
"He was arguing with one of the Lords of the House," said Agnes. "I came down to say goodnight to him. When I left I could hear them arguing. It wasn't long afterwards that the Lord left."
"What was his name?" asked Pearce, taking an interest in the conversation.
Agnes wrinkled her brow for a moment.
"I don't quite recall his name. I think it was something like Lowdy or Lawty. Something like that."
Pearce shrugged his shoulders at Lady Marmalade. She looked at him and then back at Agnes.
"Might it have been Lord Loughty?" she asked.
Agnes nodded slowly and then more vigorously.
"Yes... yes, I think that was it."
"Can you describe him to me?" asked Frances.
"He was a taller, older man. Quite slender with brown hair. He had an accent. If I were to guess, I'd say it was an Irish accent."
"Did he have a beard or was he clean shaven," asked Frances.
"Clean shaven," said Agnes.
Lady Marmalade nodded and then looked at Pearce.
"That would be Lord Larmer Loughty," she said.
Frances looked back at Agnes.
"Are you sure?"
"As I described him I am. I'd recognize him too."
"You don't fancy him as the murdering type?" asked Pearce to Lady Marmalade.
"Not particularly, Devlin, but as you might know in this line of work. One can never dismiss anyone until they've been thoroughly vetted."
Pearce nodded.
"What were they fighting about?" asked Frances, turning her attention back to Agnes.
"I can't say for certain, but it sounded like they were arguing about the violence in Ireland."
Frances nodded her head.
"Was it just your husband and Lord Loughty?"
"No, there was Lord Paussage here too. Lord Loughty even threatened my husband. That's what he told me the next day."
"What did he say exactly?" asked Frances.
"He said that Loughty had punched Paussage in the face and stormed off telling my husband that it would be the death of him."
"He used those words?" asked Frances.
"That's what Christopher said."
"And what did Loughty mean by 'it' being the death of him?"
Agnes shrugged her shoulders.
"I don't know. Christopher didn't want to get into specifics but I think it must have been his stance on what to do about Ireland."
Pearce nodded and looked outside for a moment. The sky was still a painted blue. The sort of blue you'd find on sale in Dover on tourist canvasses.
"Lady Marphallow," said Pearce, looking back at her. "Did anything seem in disarray when you came in this morning? Did it look like you might have been burgled?"
Agnes shook here head and took another sip of tea.
"Not really. We don't keep many valuables down here, and I don't believe that whoever got in went upstairs... Though I haven't checked the drawer in Christopher's office. He usually keeps quite a bit of money there. I don't know why. I imagine it's just in case."
"Which drawer?" asked Pearce.
"The right one at the top as you're sitting in the chair facing the desk. The key is usually in the middle drawer of the desk."
"Who knows about that?" asked Frances.
"Just Christopher and I, I think. At least I don't know if he's told anyone else."
"Does Humphrey know?" asked Frances.
"I shouldn't think so," said Agnes. "There'd be no reason for him to have access to that so
rt of money."
"And how much money are we talking about?" asked Pearce.
"Never less than one hundred pounds. Sometimes twice that amount."
"I see," said Pearce.
Agnes took another sip of tea. It was tepid now, but it gave her something to do. The milk had created a thin layer that floated above the rest of the tea almost like a wafer. Agnes didn't notice. She didn't look at the tea, she only sipped it. Then she put it down again. She blinked her eyes and brought the tissue up to dab them.
"I can't believe someone would do this to my Christopher just over a hundred pounds," she said.
"We don't know that for certain dear," said Lady Marmalade, patting Agnes' leg.
Agnes looked at her and smiled weakly and nodded her head.
"Thank you," she said.
"Do you know how they might have gotten into your home?" asked Frances.
Agnes shook her head.
"I haven't really looked, but I don't think any of the windows are broken or any of the doors."
Agnes fiddled with her fingers in her lap some more.
"What is it, dear?" asked Lady Marmalade.
"I feel so foolish," she said. "I imagine they might have come in through the front door."
"I see," said Lady Marmalade.
Agnes looked at her for a moment.
"This is Bishops Avenue after all. We don't lock our doors. Perhaps we should have."
It wasn't a question, and it wasn't looking for an answer. This was 1920 after all and in one of the wealthiest parts of town. Nobody locked their doors because people just didn't walk into homes uninvited.
Pearce smiled at Lady Marmalade as Agnes stared outside absentmindedly. Perhaps he had become jaded at an early age, or perhaps it was just because of the sort of ruffians he dealt with on a daily basis, but his flat was always locked. Whether he was inside it or not. Then again, he didn't live in such elevated surroundings. It was Brixton after all, not the slums, but certainly not Bishops Avenue either.
"Agnes dear," said Lady Marmalade. "Do you have a staff besides Humphrey?"
Agnes looked over at Frances and nodded.
"Yes. I have a housekeeper and a cook. They should both be here by now," she said.
"We'll have to speak with them all if you don't mind."
Agnes nodded.
"My butler as you know is Humphrey. Humphrey Spilligan. Edith Edevane is my housekeeper and Vera Breggan is the cook. Humphrey can introduce you."
Agnes looked around for Humphrey as if to call him. He was not anywhere visible.
"Not to worry, dear," said Frances, "we'll make our own arrangements."
"We will also need to have access to their quarters," said Pearce. "Just to be sure."
Agnes looked at the Constable with wide eyes.
"You don't think one of my own staff would have done such an awful thing?"
"We won't know until we've had a chance to interview them," said Pearce. "I wander where the clues lead."
Agnes nodded her head but she was not reassured.
"You don't mind if we take a look around, do you?" asked Frances.
Agnes shook her head.
"Not if it will help find out who did this ghastly deed."
"It all helps," said Frances.
There was a knock at the door and after a short time the door could be heard closing. Frances looked into the other room and saw the coroner walk in with his medical bag.
"If you'll excuse me," she said, getting up. "It looks like the coroner is here and I need to speak with him."
Pearce nodded and Agnes smiled at her.
CHAPTER NINE
Marphallow Home
DR. Walter Thompson was a man in his late sixties and looked like it. That was not to say that he was unhealthy or out of shape. Indeed, he was of average build and in good health, but the job had taken its toll and he looked his age. Not that anyone would say that to his face. That would be unkind. But when you're working every day with the dead, you can't help but to think of your own mortality, and such thinking has a tendency to write itself all over your face in the deep lines of the forehead and the sagging, drooping eyelids. Thompson was clean shaven except for a black pencil mustache which did not match the white of his thin combed back hair. It did not match for it was a colored mustache that looked quite odd and if you had not met him before it took you aback.
Lady Marmalade had met him before. He was a decent man and efficient at his job. He had been a coroner for the City of London well over forty years. Indeed, it was surmised that he had never doctored a living patient, except perhaps what had to be done during medical college in order to graduate.
Frances walked into the living room where the deceased still squatted, a hulking bulk of black with gray protruding blubbery ends that were once living flesh. Thompson was speaking with Husher as Frances came in to join them. Husher turned to look at Lady Marmalade and smiled at her.
"Dr. Thompson was just apologizing for being late. Apparently, today has been quite the busy day with accidents and suicides."
Frances smiled at him.
"I'm sorry to hear that," she said.
"Not at all," replied Thompson.
"Have the two of you met?" asked the Inspector before introducing them.
"Yes," said Frances. "I've known Dr. Thompson for quite some time."
"I should say it's been fifteen years," said Thompson. "I believe the first time we met was in 1905 during the milkman murder investigation."
Frances nodded and smiled.
"You have a good memory, Walter," she said. "That does take me back a few years."
Thompson turned his attention once again to the Inspector.
"What do we have here?" he asked. "This is Baron Marphallow's house."
"Yes, and sadly the Baron has been murdered."
"I see."
Husher turned towards the body and moved closer to it with the doctor at his side. Thompson's face frowned and he shook his head.
"Good heavens," he said. "I didn't notice him right there."
Frances smiled at the coroner. He might have been thorough at his job, but he was also often absentminded. Perhaps the dead were less noticeable than the living. Thompson looked at the Baron and the letter opener stuffed in his chest. He took his time to look over the Baron's face and the rest of his body. Then Thompson looked at the Baron's watch on his left hand. He looked at his own watch and noticed they were of similar time. Thompson took note of the time which was ten forty five in the morning.
Lifting up the Baron's wrist with the watch was difficult. Thompson went to poking the Baron's body here and there. It seemed quite odd but Frances had seen it before, as had the Inspector. Thompson prodded the Baron's chest, then his abdomen, then his thighs. He leaned down and prodded the calves. He turned up the Baron's pant legs and took note of the purpled color and size of the flesh. Then he stood back up and prodded the neck and the Baron's shoulders. Thompson then turned to look at the Inspector and Lady Marmalade, just as Pearce walked in to join them.
Pearce and Thompson acknowledged each other with brief nods.
"Looks like rigor has set in quite substantially though not fully. Rigor is full in the smaller muscles. The neck, the shoulders and most of the arms. The face as you can see is quite rigid, though the thighs and chest and abdomen are showing some palpation. The blood has been pooling in the calves for some time as you can tell by the discoloration and hypostasis."
Inspector Husher nodded and Frances looked over at the Baron's lifeless corpse. She did not like the look of corpses. It was perhaps the most unpleasant part of her work.
"In my estimation, I'd put the time of death some where between ten last night and two this morning. I can't be more certain than that without checking body temperature which will have to wait until I get back to the lab. Though as is likely apparent to most of us here, this certainly looks like an unlawful killing, though I'll check for poisoning as well."
"So you'd suggest
that the Baron was murdered sometime late last night or early morning with the letter opener?" asked Husher.
"I would, yes," said Thompson. "Unless something else comes to light during the autopsy."
"Thank you, doctor," said the Inspector.
"Not at all. Would there be anything else?"
"Not at the moment. Though if you can get the results of the autopsy to me as soon as possible. Due to the nature of the deceased's business you can imagine that this has become the most pressing issue for the government, and I'd like to get to the bottom of this quickly."
"I understand, Inspector," said Thompson.
Thompson nodded to four men hanging around in the main hallway with a stretcher between them. They were covered in overalls. They came into the room as Frances, Husher, Pearce and Thompson moved out of their way. They had the devil's time moving Marphallow's corpulent body onto the stretcher and straightening it out before they left with Dr. Thompson behind them.
"I was just thinking, Inspector," said Pearce, as the three of them stood gathered together where once there had been five. "That letter opener seems like quite the feeble murder weapon. Did you notice how it was bent at the handle. A little more pressure and I'm sure it would have snapped off."
Husher nodded.
"Lady Marphallow told me that the letter opener was actually gold. 22 carat gold. Now I don't understand my gold jewelry that well, but I believe the higher the carat the softer the metal."
Husher looked at Lady Marmalade as if she might know. She nodded at him.
"Quite correct, Inspector," she said. "Pure gold is 24 carats. And pure gold is generally too soft to be used in jewelry. 22 carats is also surprisingly soft as well. I'm surprised such a soft metal would be used in a letter opener. It was probably made as a decorative piece rather than something to be used. 24 carat gold being pure would mean that 22 carat gold would be 22 out of 24 pure. That's roughly ninety percent pure. Quite soft, and not something that is generally available here in London. That purity is usually found in the Arab world."
Husher interjected.
"Yes, quite right. Lady Marphallow mentioned that her husband had bought it in India some years ago."
Frances nodded.
"And odd weapon of choice, unless one didn't know how soft it was. Or perhaps it was a crime of passion," she said.
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