Page 24 of Murder at the Mayfair Hotel
The door closed but I could still hear the inspector’s voice asking where each of the senior staff had been yesterday afternoon and evening. It seemed he still didn’t trust that Danny spoke the truth about seeing Mrs. Warrick alive at eleven.
They each answered, but it was Mr. Armitage’s response that had me pressing my ear to the door to hear better.
“I dined in my office at about eight as I looked over the day’s accounts,” he told his father. “I finished around ten, retired to my rooms where I read for an hour before falling asleep.”
“And earlier?” Inspector Hobart asked.
“I took Miss Fox for a tour of this level then spoke to Mr. Chapman in the dining room. Following that I spent some time in maintenance, assisting with the lift problem.”
“Isn’t that a maintenance issue?”
“I was idle and felt like doing something with my hands.”
“And prior to your tour with Miss Fox?”
Mr. Armitage paused. “I was in my office, going over today’s arrivals and departures. I heard a noise in the corridor and saw Miss Fox wandering about, looking lost.”
The liar! He hadn’t been in his office when he saw me. He’d been coming out of Mr. Chapman’s office. Indeed, he’d done it furtively, opening the door a mere crack and peeking through before emerging. He was checking the coast was clear first. Clear of what? Or whom? Mr. Chapman?
The detective inspector sounded as though he was about to dismiss the group so I hurried away. I didn’t want to be caught eavesdropping. I didn’t want Mr. Armitage or anyone else offering me polite smiles and innocuous conversation. I needed time to think about what I’d heard, and consider what possible reason Mr. Armitage could have for lying.
But there was only one explanation I could come up with—he was hiding something.
I ought to inform the inspector. In ordinary circumstances, I would do just that. But Mr. Armitage was the inspector’s son. If Mr. Armitage turned out to be the murderer, Hobart would cover it up. It wasn’t just the lie about his whereabouts before he met me that concerned me. There was also Mrs. Warrick’s muttered words as she stepped into the lift—she’d recognized someone. Someone who shouldn’t be in the hotel.
And she’d been staring directly at Mr. Armitage as she said it.
Chapter 4
Iclimbed the stairs to retire to my room and think, but by the time I reached the fourth floor, there was only one thought in my mind and I couldn’t shake it. If Mr. Armitage was the killer, Detective Inspector Hobart would protect his son. He might even look for an innocent man to blame instead.
A hollowness settled in the pit of my stomach. I liked Mr. Armitage. I liked his uncle, Mr. Hobart, too. But both men were hotel employees and I was their employer’s niece. Of course they’d been friendly towards me. Even if I didn’t deserve their kindness, they’d bestow it upon me anyway. So if I couldn’t trust their outward manner, why should I trust them at all?
It seemed I’d been too hasty in telling Harmony that I wouldn’t conduct a separate investigation. I ought to find her and inform her of my decision to resume. She would be the only one I’d inform, however. The fewer people who knew I doubted the inspector’s impartiality, the better.
“Cleo! I’m so glad I found you.” Flossy waved at me from further along the corridor. “I’m in need of good company. Father is in a lather over the murder.” She whispered the word as if speaking it aloud made it more horrid. “Poor Floyd is taking the brunt of his anger since Mr. Hobart has been busy helping Inspector Hobart. Mother is resting and I’m in desperate need of an outing, but I can’t go shopping so we’ll have to settle for a walk.”
Now that I’d made my decision to investigate the murder, all I wanted to do was get on with it. At the top of my list was to talk to the guests who’d been near Mr. Armitage when Mrs. Warrick uttered her damning statement. Unfortunately I couldn’t think of an excuse and Flossy hustled me towards my room.
“Get a coat, hat and gloves,” she said. “I’ve already got mine.”
I did as ordered and locked the door again. “Do you know all the guests currently staying in the hotel?” I asked her as we waited for the lift.
“Good lord, Cleo, there are so many! We’re not terribly busy, admittedly, but there must be…” Her lips moved as she did calculations in her head. “Tons. Too many to know individually. Why?”
“I was curious. Do you know who would know them all?”
“Mr. Hobart and Mr. Armitage. Father once scolded Floyd for not doing as the managers did and study the reservations book each night to learn the names of the guests arriving the following day. Peter would know too, of course, butaftereach guest checks in.” The lift arrived, its floor perfectly level with the corridor. John opened the door and smiled. “John knows all the guests too, of course,” Flossy added.
“Only those who travel by my ascending room,” he said, patting the door as if it were a loyal pet. “Not those who take the stairs.” This last he said with a pointed look in my direction as he pushed the lever.
“I like the exercise,” I muttered.
“Was there a guest in particular you wanted to know about?” Flossy gave her hands a little clap. “Oh, I know! There’s a dashing foreign count staying on level two. You ought to know he’s married, Cleo. Not that he’s here with his wife.” She winked.
I had no idea how to interpret the wink, but John smiled. I felt as though I were being left out of a joke.
“Did either of you notice the gentlemen standing near Mr. Armitage yesterday when we got into the lift?” I didn’t want to mention Mrs. Warrick’s name in case it led either of them to suspect I was investigating her murder.
