Page 101 of Murder at the Mayfair Hotel
“My men have already taken her away,” Inspector Hobart said. “It was fortuitous that Harry caught her in the act of removing the stolen goods when we arrived at the hotel. We met him in the foyer as he confronted her.”
I congratulated them. “It’s been a good night’s work all around.”
“We then went looking for you in the ballroom,” the inspector went on. “Sir Ronald was none too happy about us mingling with his guests, although I felt we were very discreet. Don’t you agree, Harry?”
“We stood out like nuns at a Tattersalls bloodstock auction,” Mr. Armitage said.
“Very amusing, Harry. Now, come and sit down.” The inspector indicated the chair next to me. “There’s no need to stand sentinel by the door. All the bad eggs have been arrested.”
Mr. Armitage did as his father directed, but he didn’t sit comfortably. He held himself like a tightly coiled spring, ready to leap into action at any moment. “We arrived in the ballroom just before the midnight countdown,” he told me. “When we couldn’t see you, we made inquiries of Sir Ronald and the footmen on duty then went in search of you. It was an age before one of the footmen overheard you in the storeroom.”
“Not an age,” the inspector said. “A minute or two at the most. How did you find yourself in the storeroom with Mr. Hookly, Miss Fox?”
Harmony arrived with a tray of tea things as well as a silver flask marked with the hotel’s emblem. “I’m so glad to see you!” She set the tray down and closed her hands into fists at her sides. She bit her lip.
I put out my hand to her and smiled. She took it and squeezed. “I think I need a dash of whatever you’ve got in that flask,” I said.
“Mr. Hobart said you might.” She poured the tea then tipped a small measure of the flask’s contents into the cup. She handed it to me. “So what happened?”
I started at the beginning for the inspector’s sake, explaining how I’d suspected Mr. Hookly then discovered he wasn’t the real Mr. Hookly. “I still don’t know his name. He told me he was a footman in Mr. Hookly’s household, but Mrs. Warrick recognized him from his previous employment.”
“And how did he get into and out of her room without breaking in?” the inspector asked. He did not take down notes, but merely sipped his tea and listened.
“Edith, one of the maids, gave him hers. Either that or she delivered the poison herself. I’m afraid he manipulated her by pretending he loved her.”
“It’s not her fault,” Harmony added.
“Has she been found?” Mr. Armitage asked.
Harmony shook her head. “I’m very worried about her. What if he…” She swallowed.
“I’ll make inquiries,” the inspector said. “I’ll do my best to locate her.”
He drained his teacup and set it down on the tray. “I must return to the Yard and question Hookly, or whatever his name is.”
“It can’t wait for morning?” I asked. “It’s New Year’s Eve. Your wife would probably want you at home.”
“Mrs. Hobart is used to me being out at all hours. She was going to enjoy a quiet evening with her sister-in-law and should be fast asleep now. Tomorrow is a busy day for her, with calls to make.”
He left with a promise to keep us informed of his progress in the search for Edith. I was glad he didn’t lecture me about investigating the murder. I wasn’t up for it. I was suddenly rather tired.
Harmony offered to see me settled in my room before she retired for the night.
I shrugged off Mr. Armitage’s jacket and handed it back to him. “Thank you again. For the jacket and…everything. If you hadn’t come when you had…” I blew out a ragged breath.
He offered me a weak smile. “You seemed to be doing quite well on your own. I only came in at the end to take the glory.”
I returned his smile, although we both knew if he hadn’t tackled Mr. Hookly I would have been stabbed. “We make a good team, Mr. Armitage.”
“Goodnight, Miss Fox. And happy new year.” He strode out of the office, throwing his jacket on as he walked.
Harmony gathered the teacups on the tray, only to leave it on the desk. She picked up the flask instead.
“I don’t need any more,” I told her. “I’ve warmed up and calmed down.”
“It’s not for you, it’s for me,” she said. “My nerves are as jangly as a jester’s bells.”
* * *
