Page 71 of The Curse of Ill-Gotten Gains
After studying the vase, Barnaby returned it to the shelf.
“Except”—Stokes was looking out of the window toward the distant trees—“this time, Monty made a mistake. He didn’t realize he could be seen from outside.”
Penelope added, “And several witnesses say he came in and moved around the room, chatting to them, before he wentoutside.” She looked at the vase. “I wonder if he approached the vase?”
Barnaby had been studying the various groupings of chairs. “Recalling where all the chairs were when we arrived—before we moved those four—then if he did approach the vase, he would have been between the vase and those sitting in the armchairs, so he would have been able to remove a packet from inside the vase without any of those others seeing.”
Stokes checked the angle from the window to the vase. “But with that spyglass trained on him, the murderer would have seen Underhill’s arm move, at the very least, and most likely seen him take the packet from inside the vase and slip it into his pocket.”
Barnaby was assessing the various possibilities. He grimaced. “All the guests were here from the evening before. The murderer had plenty of time—literally the entire night—to place his payment in the vase with no one the wiser.”
Penelope was staring at where the spyglass had sat only feet away from the vase. Slowly, she nodded. “And when he left his payment, he realized what Monty hadn’t—that the window would allow him to keep watch and see who picked up the packet. See who his blackmailer was.” She pointed at where the spyglass had been. “And the spyglass he needed to do that was right there, waiting for him to take and use.”
Stokes looked deadly serious. “We need to stop and think”—he met Barnaby’s and Penelope’s gazes—“and put together everything we’ve heard and learned before we race ahead.”
Barnaby nodded, and more reluctantly, Penelope did, too.
“So,” she said, “let’s head to the inn. We can start sorting through all the information from our interviews before we break for dinner.”
At the Red Lion, Penelope led the way into their private parlor, and Barnaby and Stokes followed.
As Stokes shut the door, Penelope said, “What I want to know is what possessed Monty to use his own house to collect payments?” She dropped onto the settle facing the fireplace and looked at Barnaby and Stokes as they joined her. “Up to this point, he’d been so careful. Surely, arranging for payments at Patchcote Grange was a risk?”
Barnaby sank onto the cushion beside her. “I think you just answered your own question. He’d operated for years without a hitch, and he’d grown complacent.” He glanced at Stokes as he claimed the nearby armchair. “There’s also the possibility that Monty didn’t see the Grange ashishome but rather as Pamela’s house and, therefore, just another ton venue.”
Stokes added, “He favored crowds for confusion, and there were so many people in the house, he might have felt it was safe enough. Comfortable enough for him. Thirty guests and family, plus just as many staff, and probably more visiting staff, and for all the victims knew, any one of the entire cohort could have been the blackmailer.”
Penelope wrinkled her nose. “I suppose, at least with the payments being left outside, in the orchard and on the croquet lawn, they might have been picked up by literally anyone.”
“Don’t forget,” Stokes said, “that occasionally, he used third parties, and several victims were aware of that. There was no reason for his victims to imagine the blackmailer was one of the company, much less their host.”
“If you think about the fateful payment he arranged to be left in the library vase,” Barnaby said, “if it hadn’t been for thatwindow, he would almost certainly have retrieved that payment with no one the wiser. He made one mistake—just one—but it was with the wrong victim, one quick-thinking enough to see the opportunity and capitalize on it.”
Reluctantly accepting that, Penelope inclined her head. After a moment, she looked at Stokes. “So how are we to approach the mountain of information before us and tease out the pertinent points?’
Stokes arched a brow at her. “Logically, as always, I expect. And apropos of that, I think our first question should be: Are we correct in believing that the murderer is the person named on the page removed from Underhill’s black book?”
Penelope was already pulling out her lists. “All Monty’s female victims are either alibied by others or, like Regina, incapable of the deed. So assuming the killer is one of Monty’smalevictims, did he find the book and tear out the page? Or did Monty tear out that page at some earlier time for some other reason, and the killer is one of those still named in the book?”
Barnaby nodded. “I’ve been wondering about that, but the only male victims presently at the Grange whose names remain in the book are Morland and Nevin-Smythe, and neither were due to make payments while here.”
He looked at Penelope as she flicked through her lists, comparing and cross-checking.
After a moment, she replied, “On top of that, Morland was with the other gentlemen in the library the whole time, and Nevin-Smythe, who was seen in the front hall on the way to the billiards room as Monty left the house, remained in the billiards room with Griffith until everyone heard Rosalind scream.”
Stokes nodded in satisfaction. “Good. That’s one point settled. The killer tore out the page that referred to him in the black book and left it for us to find, intending to cast suspicion on the other victims among the company.” He met Barnaby’sand Penelope’s gazes. “That option best fits what we know thus far. It also suggests we’re dealing with a cold-blooded and calculating character.”
Barnaby steepled his fingers before his face. “Let’s accept that as our foundation—that the murderer was one of Monty’s male victims, and after murdering Monty, he found the black book and tore out the page referring to him.”
Penelope’s eyes narrowed. “Given none of the victims we’ve spoken with were aware that Monty was their blackmailer, can we assume that, when the murderer arrived at the Grange, he likewise did not know his blackmailer’s identity?”
Stokes stirred, then offered, “I think we can and should assume that. At the most, he might have suspected, but he didn’t know, or else he would have come much better prepared.”
“Nor would he have been so enraged on learning his blackmailer was Monty,” Barnaby observed.
Stokes nodded. “My instincts say he had no clue, any more than the others did. But of course, he was desperate to know, which is why he seized on the chance afforded by the positioning of the vase and why, as you say, he was so enraged on learning the blackmailer’s identity. This was a hot-blooded, opportunistic slaying, not a planned execution, and we know that, in his cooler moments, even under pressure, as he would have been while searching the study, our killer is careful and clever. Normally, he thinks before he acts.”
“So,” Barnaby concluded, “learning the blackmailer’s identity was a massive shock, one the blackmailer hadn’t anticipated or foreseen in any way, which was why he reacted so forcefully and ferociously. He’s not otherwise given to impulsive acts.”
