Death Wears a Mask (12 page)

While we were talking about gemstones, I supposed I had better reveal my own little clue.

“There is something I should like to show you,” I said.

Inspector Jones looked at me in a way that might have been interpreted as suspicious. “Indeed?”

“Look at this.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out the sapphire, handing it to him.

I could tell he knew at once what it was.

“Already in the thick of things, I see,” he said, though I was certain that his dry tone held traces of amusement. He rolled the sapphire around the palm of his hand with his thumb, examining it. “Just how did you happen to come by this, Mrs. Ames?”

“My maid found it lodged in my shoe only a short while ago. It caused me to slip on the staircase and turn my ankle. And there's something else, a rather telling fact. I was in one of the bedrooms with Milo waiting for the doctor when we heard the shot. I couldn't get up to see who was moving about. However, Milo noted who was there, and I realized that everyone who had attended Mrs. Barrington's dinner party was on the first floor at the time of the murder, all except Mrs. Garmond.”

“Mrs. Vivian Garmond was, in fact, among those upstairs when the murder took place,” he said.

This was a surprise. “I never saw her.”

“She was in one of the bedrooms.” While his tone was perfectly neutral, I gathered my own inferences from this bit of information.

I couldn't resist raising my eyebrows. Between Mrs. Garmond, Felicity Echols, and myself, Lord Dunmore had been keeping quite a lot of women in bedrooms.

“Rather tidy, all of the suspected jewel thieves being together on the same floor,” I said.

“Yes, isn't it?”

“There were two men and two women seated on the stairs,” I said, remembering the group. “They may have observed something.”

“Yes, I've spoken with them. They've confirmed that after you fell, no one except for your husband came up or down the stairs. So that narrows the field of suspects considerably.”

I thought it very clever of him to have already discovered the witnesses. He really was a terribly efficient policeman.

“Someone could have taken the servant's stairs,” I suggested. “It's an enormous house. Anyone from the ball may have slipped past.”

“Possible, but not likely. I've spoken to the staff. There were extra servants engaged for the ball, and they all did a great deal of moving about. It would have been difficult for anyone to have gone upstairs without detection.”

“Then it does seem it must be one of Mrs. Barrington's original suspects. But surely it can be narrowed further. All the gentlemen were together when I saw them last. Can they confirm each other's whereabouts?”

He smiled ruefully. “As luck would have it, Mrs. Ames, the game had broken up shortly before the murder, and the gentlemen had dispersed.”

“Nothing can ever be simple, can it?” I observed.

“Very seldom when murder is concerned.”

I tried to recall the layout of the house. “Where was everyone when it happened?”

He pulled the familiar notebook from his pocket and consulted it. “Lord Dunmore said he had gone to ring the doctor for you.”

I nodded. “Yes, he went out shortly before the shot sounded.”

Inspector Jones looked at me intently. “Long enough for him to have fired it?”

I considered. “I suppose so.”

He said nothing, turning back to the notebook. “Mr. Douglas-Hughes and his wife remained together in the card room. Mr. Nigel Foster had gone out to smoke on the balcony.”

“Then the Douglas-Hugheses would have seen him if he had come back into the room and left.”

“Not necessarily. The balcony stretches the length of three rooms and overlooks the little courtyard below. There are doors to two of the other rooms on that side of the house, one of which was the room where the murder took place. However, both doors appear to have been bolted from the inside.”

“What about Mr. Barrington?”

“He had wandered off in search of his wife, but hadn't reached the library by the time the shot sounded.”

“Mrs. Barrington was in the library, and you said Mrs. Garmond was in one of the bedrooms. What about the Echols sisters?”

He consulted his notes. “Miss Felicity Echols was lying down with a headache. Marjorie Echols was powdering her nose in the bathroom.”

“So it seems everyone was alone at the time of the murder, save Mr. and Mrs. Douglas-Hughes.”

“Provided they really were together, yes.”

“So anyone might have done it,” I said with a sigh.

“Precisely. And, as far as I can tell, no one had much of a motive. That's where you come in, Mrs. Ames. People may be inclined to talk to you. Perhaps you can discover some connections that it would be more difficult for me to find.”

I nodded. “People do tend to talk. I'll see what I can find out.”

“Did you notice anything suspicious at the ball?”

I cast my mind back. “I have been trying to think, but there was nothing that really stood out to me. Unless…” I suddenly remembered something that had somehow escaped me until now. “I saw Mr. Harker only once, on the staircase. He…” I stopped. Why hadn't I thought of it before? “He was wearing the same mask as Mr. Foster. A tiger's mask.”

This seemed to interest the inspector. “Mr. Foster was not wearing a mask when I spoke with him.”

“No. I believe he discarded it when he was playing cards. All the gentlemen had. Do you think someone might have killed James Harker by mistake?”

“It's certainly something to take into consideration. I shall look into it.”

“There's one more thing,” I told him. “Mr. Harker told me he had an appointment with someone that night. He didn't say with whom, but it might be worth finding out.”

“Yes, I'd say so. You've been most helpful already, Mrs. Ames,” he said, rising from his seat. “I think that will be all for now. Don't trouble yourself getting up. I can show myself out. I'll check in with you in the next few days. As I said, if you can glean a bit of society gossip, it may prove useful. Don't do anything foolish.”

“Of course not,” I replied.

He stopped at the doorway and turned back. “By the way, how is Mr. Ames these days?”

I hesitated. “He's much the same as usual,” I replied.

He seemed to consider that. “I see,” he said, and then he was gone.

I felt sure that he had indeed seen just what I meant.

When he was gone, I sat for a moment, lost in thought. This latest turn of events was quite unexpected. I would never have imagined that he would come to me for help, but I was very glad that he had.

Perhaps, as Milo had pointed out, the murder was really none of my business. Nevertheless, there was something about the ability to prove useful, to make a difference, that I found terribly appealing. I hadn't known James Harker well at all, but he hadn't deserved to die in that terrible way. If nothing else, I felt it my duty to do whatever I could to see that a murderer did not go free.

 

11

“I'M EVER SO
glad he's gone,” said Winnelda, coming back into the room and interrupting my reverie. “I'm all on edge whenever there's a policeman about. Not that I've ever done anything really wrong. But they do have a way of making one feel as though one
might
be guilty of something, don't they?”

“I have felt that way on occasion.” I agreed with a smile. “But Inspector Jones is quite nearly a friend of mine.”

“Oh,” said Winnelda, clearly impressed. “I didn't mean to say anything improper.”

“I assure you, he has made me feel on edge myself on more than one occasion. However, this time he actually came to ask for my assistance.”

“Yes, I heard…” She stopped, flushing bright red. “That is, when I was passing the doorway … It seemed that I might have happened to overhear…”

I waved away her explanations. I knew perfectly well that it was very difficult for Winnelda not to listen to interesting things that happened to be said in her vicinity. I couldn't exactly blame her. A great deal of very interesting things seemed to be happening in the Ames residence as of late.

“Was it really murder?” she asked.

“It seems so. Of course, you mustn't say anything to anyone.”

“Oh, no, madam! I won't breathe a word. But I've been thinking. It's very queer about that stone being in your shoe. It does seem that whoever dropped it must have been very careless. That is, if I had a sapphire, I would be very careful not to just drop it any old place, wouldn't you, madam? That is, you
do
have sapphires, and I've never seen you fling them about with no thought as to where they might end up.”

“No, Winnelda. You're quite right.”

The same thought had occurred to me, though perhaps a bit less verbosely. It was odd that a jewel, the procurement of which had somehow led to a man's death, should be so easily misplaced. Then again, it was perfectly possible that either Mr. Harker or his killer had dropped the stone in haste.

It seemed that all of this related back to the jewels. I felt that if we could make some sense of the theft, we would be on our way to solving the murder.

Mr. Harker had been found with four stones in his pocket, and a few stones were scattered nearby. It seemed, then, that he must have had possession of the bracelet at some point in the evening. If so, how had the stones come loose?

Another idea came to me. Perhaps Mr. Harker had taken his aunt's bracelet intending to try to catch the thief on his own. The encounter might have gone badly. Perhaps there had been a struggle and the thief had murdered Mr. Harker. It was a bit melodramatic, perhaps, but certainly not outside the realm of possibility.

It was also possible that someone knew he had the bracelet and, not knowing it was paste, had killed him to get it. How horrifying that he might have been murdered for paste jewels.

The problem was that there were so many unknowns. This was going to be quite a task.

I sighed. Sometimes it was very trying to be a detective.

*   *   *

I SPENT A
quiet evening at home and was still sitting before the fire with a cup of tea when Milo arrived home. It was a quarter to one, and I was just beginning to wonder if he might not make it back when I heard a key in the lock. The front door opened, and I waited. He must have seen the light, for a moment later he was in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

Apparently, he had changed at his club, for he had gone out in a day suit and come home in evening clothes.

“Hello, darling,” he said. “You're up late.”

“I've been thinking.”

“Oh, dear,” he said dryly. “I hesitate to ask. Of what have you been thinking?”

“Things,” I said vaguely. I was not feeling especially charitable toward him, and my response was not intended to encourage conversation.

I half expected him to continue on to the bedroom, but he came into the room and took a seat on the sofa. “It was a dull evening without you.”

“Oh?” I took a sip of tea, my gaze on the fire.

“I wish you had been along, for you're much better company than Frederick Garmond. He's an utter bore. You might have made the evening bearable.”

I recognized the subtle flexing of his charm, the maddening way he had of winning me over when I was cross with him. Even more irritating than this familiar tactic was the fact that I could feel it working. I fought against the inclination to be pleased with his comment.

“Did everything come off all right with the horse?” I asked with as little interest in my tone as I could manage.

“Yes, I'm going to Bedfordshire in the morning to collect it and bring it to Thornecrest.”

In the morning. It crossed my mind that he could very well have sent someone else to do it. Geoffrey, the groom at Thornecrest, might have gone to Bedfordshire, but Milo was always very particular about his horses.

“Do you expect to be gone long?” I asked, wiping at a tea stain on my white china saucer.

“Not very. A few days or perhaps a week. I want to see him settled.”

“Yes, of course.”

It struck me that our conversation was suddenly oddly formal, and I felt somehow powerless to rectify it. Since the ball, we had not quite regained our equilibrium. Being married to Milo sometimes felt very like walking a tightrope. I always had the impression that one small step in the wrong direction could prove disastrous

Milo took a cigarette from the box on the table. He lit it and settled back in his seat, his eyes on my face. “Why don't you tell me what's on your mind, my lovely?”

I glanced at him, half surprised at his interest. For some absurd reason, I suddenly wanted to go and sit beside him and lean my head on his shoulder, as though everything was easy between us. Instead, I sighed, my mind a jumble of problems, personal and otherwise. “I wouldn't know where to begin.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“Detective Inspector Jones came to see me tonight,” I said suddenly, deciding to ignore, at least for the time being, my growing concerns about our relationship and focus on the more pressing matter at hand.

Only the barest flicker of interest showed in Milo's expression. “Touring the big city, is he? It was nice of him to drop by.”

I wondered if Milo suspected, as I had, that there was more to the inspector's visit than that.

“He's transferred to Scotland Yard, in fact, and has been assigned to the Harker case.”

Milo's brows rose slightly. “How very cozy all of this is becoming.”

“Yes, that's what I've thought. And there's more … He's asked for my help.”

“Has he indeed? I suppose I needn't ask what your answer was.”

“I told him I would do whatever I could, of course.”