Page 81 of Murder at the Dinner Party
“Is it a clue?” Harmony asked.
“A clue for what?” Flossy said.
I briefly told her about Mr. Hardy, including the tiepin and watch I’d found hidden in his shoe. I mentioned that the tiepin was a gift, but I wasn’t sure about the watch, and I’d wondered if he’d stolen it. “If he had, shouldn’t it have an engraving like yours, Floyd? The initials of the man it once belonged to, or of the person who gave it to him. But it was quite plain.”
“Did it have a silversmith’s mark?” Floyd asked. “Or a watchmaker’s?”
“I didn’t look that closely, and I can’t check now. It and the tiepin were stolen from me.”
“That’s a suspicious coincidence,” Harmony said.
I frowned but didn’t have the opportunity to explore that line of thought further as Floyd made another valid point.
“Good quality silver watches aren’t common. You could go to the best watchmakers and describe it to them, and they might remember who they sold it to. It would be time consuming, but if you’re at a loss and you think it’s important, it might be worth it.”
I had a better idea. “There was a box of receipts in Mr. Hardy’s office. If he did purchase it, the watchmaker’s receipt might be among them. If not, then I’ll assume he stole it and send some friends out to as many watchmakers as possible in the city to make inquiries.”
“What friends?” he asked.
I tucked the watch back into his waistcoat pocket, then stood on my toes to kiss his cheek. “Well done, Floyd.”
He gave his sister a smug smile. “See, I am good for something.”
“Yes, dearest brother. You’re good for ordering ice cream for me from the kitchen before you leave.”
* * *
Mrs. Turner’schange of heart bothered me. Her sudden opposition to me continuing with the investigation was quite aggressive. Perhaps her reasons were financial, and she realized she couldn’t afford to pay me, and when I’d continued to investigate, she’d become annoyed with me. It was understandable. I had been persistent.
But I suspected her reasons weren’t financial, that something else lay at the root. I wasn’t yet sure what.
For now, the reason didn’t matter. The fact remained that none of the Campbells’ staff would allow me to enter the house, let alone Mr. Hardy’s office. Harry was known to them all now, too, and would be in the same boat. His charms wouldn’t be of any use. Even so, I went to his office to ask his advice.
He wasn’t there.
I headed to the Campbells’ residence on my own. By the time I arrived, I’d decided the only way I could get in unobserved was through the back door, accessed via the rear courtyard. There were no outdoor staff, and of the few staff they did have, only two had a good reason to be in the courtyard. Davey, to carry deliveries in, and Betty, to hang up washing. The back door was also closer to Mr. Hardy’s office. Indeed, I wouldn’t need to pass any other rooms to get to it.
I entered the courtyard off the mews and crept to the rear door of the house. Finding it unlocked, I slipped inside and tiptoed down the stairs to the basement. The house was quiet except for Birdy humming tunelessly in the kitchen.
I tried the handle of Mr. Hardy’s office door, but as I expected, it was locked. I removed my lock-picking tools and got to work as quickly as I could. Fortunately, it was a simple mechanism. Moments later, I entered the office and closed the door softly behind me.
The box of receipts was in the same place, in one of the desk drawers. I rifled through the bills of sale from vintners, tailors, and haberdashers, all of whom Mr. Hardy would have engaged on behalf of the Campbells. If the watch was purchased for Mr. Hardy, not Sir Ian, there was a possibility the receipt would be in his own room. I’d not seen it there when I’d gone through his belongings on the day Mrs. Turner engaged my services, but as the pile in the box grew smaller, my hope of finding it in his office faded.
Just as I was about to give up, I found it near the bottom. According to the handwritten receipt, Mason and Sons had sold a watch matching the description of the one I’d found in Mr. Hardy’s shoe three weeks before he died for the sum of twenty pounds. It wasn’t an enormous amount, but it would have been out of reach on a butler’s wages, especially one who was supposedly inexpensive to employ due to his limp. Mr. Hardy’s name appeared on the receipt, written in the same hand as the watch’s description. The watchmaker had definitely sold it to him, then. Mr. Hardy hadn’t stolen it, nor had he received it as a gift.
So where had he gotten the money to buy it? Was he blackmailing the Whitchurches, after all? Or someone else? Or had he inherited money?
Even more curious, why store it in his shoe and not the lockbox?
The more I considered those questions, the more I realized I didn’t know enough about Mr. Hardy. Did he have anyone in his life who may have left him an inheritance? A former employer, perhaps, or a friend? There were no personal letters or photographs in his bedchamber or office, and the other staff hadn’t known of anyone.
I returned the box to the drawer and rounded the desk. As I reached for the door handle, it began to turn. Someone was entering from the other side.
I was trapped.
CHAPTER16
Seeing Betty enter the butler’s office was an enormous relief. The panic that had tightened my chest began to ease. Poor Betty, however, emitted a small cry upon finding me in a room she thought was empty.
