Page 16 of Murder at Hambledon Hall
“I hear doubt in your voice,” Peter said.
“There’s no evidence pointing to the poacher’s guilt.”
“And the local sergeant is in Lord Kershaw’s pocket,” Harmony added. “He won’t investigate further.”
Victor agreed that seemed unlikely. “So, Kershaw is making the sergeant sweep it under the carpet to protect himself or one of his family. His lordship sounds guilty to me.”
“He could simply be attempting to suppress scandal,” I pointed out. “He won’t want word reaching his friends or important people.”
“You sound like you’re defending him.”
“He’s a good man.”
“Good men have secrets to hide, too.”
He was right. I needed to keep an open mind, or I’d find myself making poor judgments. It was good having outside opinions to keep me focused. There was one other person who could give an outsider’s opinion of the facts. Someone whose opinion I valued and had relied upon while conducting numerous investigations.
Someone I’d already decided to consult when I realized I needed to understand the science of ballistics.
Chapter4
The office of Harry Armitage’s private detective agency was located in a narrow Soho street among an eclectic array of shops and flats. Compared to the busier thoroughfares nearby, it felt somewhat eerie with its ramshackle buildings and sheets of newspaper drifting in the breeze. I’d been there so often, however, that I wasn’t worried to walk down it. In fact, I rather liked its ambience.
The door painted with the sign ARMITAGE AND ASSOCIATES: PRIVATE DETECTIVES was squeezed between a barber and the Roma Café, the latter owned by Luigi, a man of Italian descent who served excellent coffee and pasta. The door led to a set of stairs, at the top of which was another door that opened up to Harry’s office. When I found the lower door locked, I ventured into the café.
The two leathery old men occupying stools at the counter looked up from their cups. Each bobbed their head in a nod before turning back to their coffees and resuming their conversation in rapid Italian.
Luigi flipped a green, white and red striped cloth over his shoulder and welcomed me with a smile. “Harry thought you would stop by today.” He reached under the counter and removed a key. “He left this for you and said to wait for him. He won’t be long.”
It was rather presumptuous of Harry to assume I’d visit on the very day I returned from my long weekend away.
Luigi’s smile widened as he dangled the key in front of me. “I’ll make a coffee to take with you. Or do you want muddy English water?”
“No to tea, yes to coffee, thank you.”
I took the cup upstairs and sat on Harry’s chair behind his desk. It was the perfect opportunity to take a peek at his papers and see what cases he had. It was easy to work out his system since he was very organized. There were three ongoing investigations—a missing pet, a missing wife, and missing money. His handwritten notes summarized his initial thoughts then went on to detail his progress. It was clear that his limited time and resources were directed at the latter two cases, not the first.
A confident knock on the door preceded the entry of an elegant middle-aged woman, dressed in black lace and wearing a large hat decorated with enough black feathers to cover an entire crow.
She strode up to the desk, looked down her beaked nose at me, then sat on the chair. “I’d like to leave a message for Mr. Armitage.” When I didn’t pick up a pen to write, she added, “Please.”
“I’m not his assistant, but I’ll pass on your message.” To appease her, I took a pen from the inkstand and opened the inkpot lid.
“Please advise Mr. Armitage that my Percy returned home this morning.”
“You must be the owner of the missing Pekingese.” According to Harry’s notes on the file, he hadn’t yet begun his investigation into the dog’s disappearance, but he’d made a number of suggestions to the owner, Mrs. Grantley-Owen, including simply to wait and see if her pet returned home of its own accord. “I’ll let Mr. Armitage know. I’m sure he’ll be very pleased.”
“Tell him that I’d like to know which one of my neighbors seemed the most likely dognapper, in his opinion.”
I scanned Harry’s notes again, but there was nothing about speaking to neighbors, although it was on Harry’s list of things to do. “Are you sure one of the neighbors took your dog?”
“Who else could have?”
“Perhaps Percy ran away, and returned when he got hungry.”
She shot to her feet. “Nonsense! My Percy would never leave me. He was dognapped by a neighbor, I’m sure of it. It was they who complained about Percy’s barking, so one of themmusthave taken him. Mr. Armitage told me he would threaten them all to shake out the truth.”
That didn’t sound like Harry.
