“I noticed.”
He smiled. “The footprints were quite distinctive. A small notch was visible in the print of the left foot, where a piece of the leather had been somehow cut away. And, clearly, the prints had been made by someone leaving the room by means of the window, and then returning to it in the same manner.
“Someone else could’ve left the footprints.”
“According to the landlord, no one but Sir David has used the room in a week.”
I nodded.
“By a curious coincidence,” he said, “the residence of Mrs. Constance Coburn, where Cecily Fitzwilliam was visiting, is only two houses away. The footprints led there, to a bedroom on the first floor, at the rear of the house. From the prints, it is obvious that Sir David climbed into this window as well. I spoke with Mrs. Coburn, and she was good enough to tell me that Cecily was feeling unwell during her visit, and lay down for an hour in the back bedroom. For a rest.”
I nodded.
“Mrs. Coburn is nearly deaf,” he said, “but I was able, finally, to obtain from her a record of Miss Fitzwilliam’s earlier visits to her house. These correspond, exactly, to the times at which Sir David was staying at the Cock and Bull. And, in every case, she lay down for an hour, sometimes longer, in the back bedroom.” He smiled. “It appears that Miss Fitzwilliam is rather a faster young thing than she appears.”
“Incredible,” I said.
“But you do see what this means. If Sir David and Miss Fitzwilliam were occupied with each other, neither one of them could have fired that rifle yesterday.”
“Yeah. So who did?”
He smiled. “But surely, Beaumont, you’ve determined who that was?”
“I’ve got an idea or two. But who do you think it was?”
Another smile. “You shall learn that in”-he took out his watch-“twenty minutes. Now. Did anything of note transpire during my absence?”
“Yeah.” I told him about Lord Bob and his father.
“Lovely. So things begin to fall into place at last. And you say Houdini was there at the time?”
“Yeah.”
“Has he in fact solved the mystery?”
“He thinks so.”
“Lovely. I look forward to meeting with him.” He glanced at his watch again. “I must go hunt up Sergeant Meadows.” A final smile. “I’ll see you in the drawing room, then.”
“Right.”
After he left, I washed up, checked the Colt, slipped it back into my pocket.
Downstairs, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was waiting for me outside the drawing room, tall and bulky in another tweed suit. “A moment, Beaumont?”
“Sure.”
He led me down the hall a short distance. Frowning, he said, “I’ve been attempting to talk to this Marsh fellow, but he refuses to listen to me. This is ridiculous. I possess information that is absolutely critical to his case.”
“What information?”
“Madame Sosostris was good enough to hold a small seance this afternoon, with only myself present, and Mr. Dempsey, of course.”
“You talked to Running Bear.”
“Yes. It is as I thought, Beaumont. Lord Reginald effected the Earl’s death.”
“The ghost.”
“Yes. He drove the Earl insane, you see. Drove him to madness and finally to suicide.”
“Uh-huh. And how did the pistol get into the Earl’s room?”
“Evidently Lord Reginald dematerialized it from the Great Hall, then caused it to reappear in the Earl’s chambers. As you know, perhaps better than anyone, dematerialization is a reality.”
“Uh-huh.”
He frowned impatiently. “I know you pretend to be something of a skeptic, Beaumont. But, look, man, do you happen to know the guiding principle of my detective work? It is this-that when you have eliminated from consideration all the impossibilities, then whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. And that is patently the case here. I ask only that Inspector Marsh listen to me.”
“I’ll tell you what, Sir Arthur. You hold on to your idea for a while. Let’s see what happens in the drawing room. If you don’t get an explanation that you’re happy with, then I promise I'll get Marsh to listen to yours.”
“Well… I expect that’s better than nothing.”
“But,” I said, “I’d like one small favor in return.”
“And what might that be?”
I told him.
Chapter Thirty-seven
“Ladies,” said inspector Marsh, “and gentlemen. I do thank you all for being present.”
Smiling delicately, he looked around the drawing room.
Once again, everyone had plates of food on the tables in front of them, and pots of tea and coffee. Lord Bob and Lady Purleigh and Cecily sat together on one of the sofas. Mr. Dempsey sat beside the wheelchair of Madame Sosostris. Mrs. Allardyce and Miss Turner were together, and so were Sir David and Mrs. Corneille and Dr. Auerbach. Sergeant Meadows was looming against one wall, and Doyle stood a few feet away, looming even larger. I was sitting about a yard from where Marsh was standing. The Great Man sat by himself across the room. He had faintly nodded to me when I entered, and I knew that everything was set up.
Lord Purleigh,” said Marsh, “has graciously permitted me this opportunity to speak with you all, to discuss the recent curious events at Maplewhite. How very bizarre these have been, have they not? A gun suddenly fired across a sunny lawn. An elderly man abruptly dead in his own locked bedroom. It is a reeling world indeed, my lord, and I believe will never stand upright. Richard the Third, of course.”
He smiled and glanced around the room. “Now. All of you know of the late Earl’s death. But what do you know, really, of his life? Did you know that, on the testimony of his own son, the man was mad? Mad, yes, and no longer paralyzed.”
There was a small, well-mannered flutter of response. Heads turned, eyebrows arched. Cecily Fitzwilliam leaned toward her mother. Lady Purleigh pressed her lips together and she took her daughter’s hand. Mrs. Corneille frowned and glanced over at Lady Purleigh.
“At night,” said Marsh, “when the houseguests were asleep, the late Earl prowled through a network of secret passageways that connect the room and chambers of Maplewhite. Dressed as his own ancestor, Lord Reginald, he stalked into the rooms of certain female guests and attempted to assault them.”
More turning heads. More arched eyebrows. Lord Bob and Lady Purleigh sat still and stared forward, like a pair of officials witnessing an execution.
“He did this two months ago,” said Marsh, “and he did this again on Friday night, when he entered the room of Miss Turner.” Heads swiveled toward Miss Turner.
“Earlier on that same evening,” said Marsh, “Lord and Lady Purleigh had spoken with the late Earl in his room.” Heads swiveled toward Lord Bob and his wife. “No one else was present, but I believe it likely that in view of the Earl’s attempted assault of two months earlier, Lord Purleigh warned his father not to make another attempt that night.”
Marsh shrugged. “But as we all now know, the Earl did make an attempt.”
He lifted a glass of water from a nearby table, sipped at it, set it back down. “According to his own statement, voluntarily given to Mr. Beaumont, Lord Purleigh spoke with his father on the following morning. He
