if he had discovered the murderer already, it could only have been one of the servants. Most people did not want to believe-could not believe-their servants capable of such a deed.
'Yes,' Laken said. 'Sir Charles Sheridan, as you may know, is a mycologist.' He looked at her. It was perhaps a term that required explanation. 'That is,' he added, 'an expert on mushrooms.'
'I know what the word means,' Miss Ardleigh said, with some asperity.
Laken immediately regretted his assumption. But there was something else about her look that made him wonder. Was the mention of mushrooms entirely a surprise to her? Had she suspected, or perhaps even known' And what exactly did Sir Charles find?' Miss Ardleigh was making an obvious effort to speak calmly.
'He found what is most likely the means of murder,' Laken replied. 'A Death Cap.'
'A deadly mushroom!' the vicar gasped.
'Quite so, sir,' Laken said gravely. 'The symptoms of Amanita poisoning are exactly those exhibited by the victims, and Sir Charles located a remaining toadstool in the kitchen storeroom. The scullery maid has told us that she cut up its match for the mushroom pudding-quite unwittingly,' he added. 'The circumstantial evidence points to the cook, although-'
'Mrs. Pratt!' Miss Ardleigh exclaimed, her eyes opening wide.
'I understand your consternation, ma'am,' Laken said, bowing his head. 'Every effort will be made to get at the truth, I assure you.'
The fact was that the constable had serious reservations about the cook's guilt. As Charlie Sheridan had observed, the evidence clearly pointed in her direction-the circumstantial evidence, that was. But although Laken rarely had such a serious crime as a murder to investigate, he had over the years met his share of criminals, and he had come to respect his intuitive assessment of guilt or innocence. In this case, while he felt it appropriate to take Mrs. Pratt to the village jail for
questioning, he did not think it altogether likely that she was the murderer-or at least, the sole instigator. Of course, some crimes were born of passion, rather than greed. But there remained in his mind that fundamental principle of law, cui-bono. He would discover as quickly as he could the identity of the heir. At the moment, he reminded himself, it was quite probable-indeed, as far as he knew, a certainty-that Miss Ardleigh herself was the last Ardleigh. She was the one most likely to benefit from the deaths of the Ardleigh sisters.
But he did not think it proper to share his thinking with Miss Ardleigh, who was frowning at him. 'You are arresting Mrs. Pratt?' she asked.
The vicar went to Miss Ardleigh's chair and put his arm around her shoulders. 'I know the idea of the woman's guilt must disturb you, my dear,' he murmured. 'But you must admit that we cannot see into the soul. It is possible for a person to appear blameless to the outer view, and yet to harbor an inner nature that is quite the contrary.'
'There is good reason to believe her guilty,' Laken said, watching Miss Ardleigh closely.
'Your evidence is only circumstantial,' she said, rising. 'I do not believe that Mrs. Pratt committed murder.'
Laken's eyes narrowed very slightly. The woman spoke with a surprising confidence-surprising, that is, unless she knew that the cook was not guilty because she knew who was. 'May I know the reason for your assurance?' he inquired carefully.
She hesitated for a moment. 'We are friends,' she said finally.
Laken stared at her. 'Friends?' An odd term indeed, coming from- He stopped himself, recalling that Miss Ardleigh had described herself as an employee, her aunt's secretary, which made her a kind of superior servant. In that role, it was quite likely that she had become friendly with the other servants. And she was an American, which perhaps also made her less likely to impose a barrier between herself and them. In his limited experience, Americans were an egalitarian lot.
'I see,' he said mildly. 'I must suggest, however, that friendship is no warrant of innocence.'
'It is in this case,' Miss Ardleigh said, her voice sharp-edged. She seemed annoyed by his failure to understand and irritated at her annoyance. 'If Mrs. Pratt had determined to kill either of my aunts, she would not have used a weapon that might have killed me. She could not know that I would not eat the pudding.'
'I see,' Laken said. He paused, letting the silence linger a second longer than was comfortable. ' 'Why did you not eat the pudding?''
Miss Ardleigh went to stand with her back to the fire. If she was offended by the question, she did not show it. ' 'Because,' she said in a factual tone, 'Aunt Jaggers helped herself to my portion as well as hers. What was left to me was what remained from luncheon.'
Laken made a mental note to confirm her report with the butler, while Miss Ardleigh continued, her voice clear and firm. 'What is a more compelling argument for Mrs. Pratt's innocence, though, is the absolute certainty of discovery. Once a foodstuff is implicated, the cook is bound to be suspected. Only a foolish person could hope to get away with poisoning the pudding, and Mrs. Pratt is certainly no fool.'
Laken looked at the woman. She spoke with an intelligence and a conviction that he could only respect. But there was at the same time the stirring of doubt in his mind. A few moments before, he had thought that she was not surprised to hear that her aunts had died of mushroom poisoning. Now, she was defending the cook with an intensity that might, to a suspicious mind, suggest that she knew Mrs. Pratt to be innocent. Laken's mind, over the years, had become entirely suspicious, for he had learned that the fairest exterior-and Miss Ardleigh was unquestionably fair-could conceal some very guilty secrets.
But he did not speak of any of this. 'I admit your point, Miss Ardleigh,' he said quietly, 'but I intend to take Mrs. Pratt to the jail for questioning. I expect to detain her overnight. If I discover her to be the culprit, I shall arrest her forthwith. If I find that there is no reason to charge her, I shall release her and continue my search.'
'I believe you will find her innocent,' Miss Ardleigh said.
'I suggest that you look elsewhere for the guilty individual. Do you know, for instance, how the mushrooms came to be in the kitchen?'
'Not for a certainty,' Laken said. 'The scullery maid says that the cook usually picks them.'
She was silent, her head bowed. Then she asked, 'How do you intend to transport Mrs. Pratt? Not on your bicycle, I should hope.'
Laken frowned. The bicycle was decidedly useful, but it presented certain practical problems when he was required to take someone into custody. 'Will you permit me to borrow a horse and cart, Miss Ardleigh? I shall see that it is speedily returned.'
She set her mouth. 'You may borrow the horse but not the cart,' she replied, raising her chin. 'I shall ask Pocket to bring the carriage round.'
Laken's mouth fell open. 'The carriage?'
'Forgive me, Kathryn,' the vicar said gently, 'but it would hardly be seemly to-'
'Seemly?' Miss Ardleigh cried. 'Let us not talk of what is seemly on such a day! If Mrs. Pratt must go to jail, it will not be in a cart, like some poor wretch on her way to the gibbet or the guillotine. She will ride in the carriage, with dignity!'
Laken stared at her, astonished. For a moment she glared back, then gathered her skirts in her hand and swept out of the room. He shook his head, bemused. Miss Kathryn Ardleigh was surely one of the most remarkable women he had ever met.
47
'The cook was a good cook as cooks go; ana as cooks go, sne went.'
Spending the night in the cramped, unheated stone jail behind the constable's office was not an experience Sarah Pratt would treasure in her memory.
What she would remember, however, to the very end of her days, was riding to jail in the carriage. Pocket, to
