Page 87 of Ghost in the Garden
Duggin opened it and stared at them without blinking. “Well, well, look what the cat’s dragged in.”
“Good day to you, too,” Constance murmured.
At least he stood back and let them enter, before turning back to the large table, where he appeared, incongruously, to be polishing silver cutlery.
“Thought you were leaving her in the lurch,” Duggin said, sitting down.
“We understand each other,” Constance said vaguely. “Where is everyone else?”
“About their own duties. Apart from Mrs. Feathers, who’s having a lie-down.”
Presumably the gin had got the better of her, which was unusual. Although she tippled all the time, she had never appeared to be drunk. Well, the situation in the house was considerably more stressful than usual.
“Is she well?” Constance asked.
Duggin grunted.
“How is Mrs. Lambert?” she asked brightly.
“Better since the peelers decamped.”
“Are they going to pin it on Iris Fraser?” Solomon asked.
Duggin sneered. “If the cap fits her.”
“I don’t think it does,” Constance argued, “and the inspector will know that too. He’s not a fool. Help me here, Mr. Duggin, so we can clear everything up quickly. When you went down to the cellar in the first place, looking for the wine Mr. Lambert had ordered, was anyone else in there?”
He shrugged. “Didn’t see anyone. But then, I didn’t look. My attention was all on bottles. She could have been there.”
“Was the key in the cellar door out to the garden?” Solomon asked.
“I didn’t notice.”
“Did you look inside that padded room?” Constance asked. There was no point in asking if he’d known about the room. Of course he had. He’d been covering for Lambert with his wife for months, if not years.
“It was closed,” Duggin said. “I went straight down the steps to the cellar.”
“How long were you there?”
“I don’t know. Five minutes? Ten? What does it matter?”
“It matters when you came back up,” Constance said mildly, “when you announced dinner and when Mr. Lambert went to look for the missing bottle.”
“Christ, I’ve been telling this to the police all bloody morning. I must’ve gone down to the cellar about half past six to look for the wine, come back about twenty minutes to seven, then seen to the places in the dining room. Dinner was at seven o’clock. It’s always at seven o’clock. So it must have been two minutes past when his nibs went down.”
“Then Iris can’t have done it, because at two minutes past she was with us.”
“Then she must have done it between twenty to seven and seven, mustn’t she? While you two lovebirds were otherwise engaged.”
Constance felt heat rise into her face, but Solomon leaned forward in his chair, saying, “Whom are you protecting? Why are you so determined to attribute this to Iris? How long have you known about her affair with Lambert?”
Duggin only smiled. It wasn’t pleasant, but Constance pursued the issue.
“You’ve always known, haven’t you? Nothing much happens in this house without your knowledge. You’ve got the key to the cellar. You can tell Mrs. Lambert, as I’m sure you have, that her husband is in his study when he’s actually trysting in his padded room.”
Duggin didn’t so much as glance at her.
“When did she find out?” Solomon asked conversationally.
