description which, Charles thought, fit Miss Deacon remarkably well.
Was it possible that it had been Miss Deacon who presented the stones at the Ashmolean?
Was she somehow involved with the thieves?
A ridiculous idea, on the face of it, or so the Duke would certainly think. But the preceding year, the Times had carried the story of a certain Lady Tallarde, who had been found guilty of a similar association in France and sentenced to a lengthy prison term. And Chief Norwood had mentioned that a woman guest had fallen under suspicion at Welbeck. Charles could not discount the possibility.
But this was only speculation, and Charles had no way of determining the truth. Because of this, he felt that it would not be quite prudent to discuss the matter with the Duke, at least, not yet. He needed more inside information, and he had thought of a way to get it. But he would first have to consult with Winston. If the Duke’s cousin could be convinced that the matter was urgent, he was in a position to help implement the scheme…
These were the thoughts that were passing through Charles Sheridan’s mind as he went across the stableyard on his way back to the palace, his camera bag over one shoulder and his tripod over the other, whistling tunelessly as he walked. In fact, he was so preoccupied that he scarcely knew where he was, and didn’t hear Winston calling until he nearly bumped into him.
“Ah, Winston,” he said, blinking in surprise. “I was just thinking about you. I’d like to discuss an important matter with you. I think you might be able to-”
“I need a word with you first, Charles,” Winston said urgently.
Within a few minutes, Charles had heard the news that Miss Deacon had disappeared the night before, dressed in evening clothes and wearing her diamond necklace. And that Marlborough seemed to be missing as well.
Charles felt a sharp stirring of concern. “You’ve checked the Duke’s room? And Miss Deacon’s? Is there any luggage missing, or any indication that they went off together? What about horses? Motor cars?”
“I haven’t checked the rooms,” Winston said, “although Kate and Consuelo have done so. There are no horses missing, and the only motor car on the property is Consuelo’s little electric runabout. Consuelo and Kate have driven it out to look around the estate, hoping that they’ll catch sight of one or the other of our-” He cleared his throat and said dryly, “Our missing persons.”
Charles heard the crunch of wheels on gravel, and looked up. “And there they are,” he said, with a strong sense of relief, seeing a small electric motorcar, with Consuelo driving. Kate was sitting beside her, and on the engine box behind them sat the Duke of Marlborough, holding a fishing rod and wearing a distinctly disagreeable look.
Ten minutes later, they were all back at the palace. Winston and the Duke went off together, Charles agreeing to meet them shortly in the Duke’s private study. Consuelo said she had a wretched headache and went to lie down, and Kate had followed her upstairs, but not before telling Charles privately how she and Consuelo had chanced on the Duke walking along a narrow lane near High Lodge, on the west side of the Park. Marlborough had told them he had been fishing at the southern end of the lake since very early in the morning, although he did not seem to have caught any fish and volunteered no explanation for missing his appointment with the estate agent. He had seemed astonished to learn of Gladys’s disappearance and kept shaking his head and muttering darkly that it must not be true, that he could not believe that Gladys would leave without a word of explanation to him.
“Which hurt Consuelo deeply,” Kate added with a sober expression. “Really, Charles, this affair, or whatever it is, is becoming very difficult for her. And here is something that makes it even worse.” She put her hand into the pocket of her skirt and brought out a scrap of gold silk. “I found this at Rosamund’s Well before breakfast this morning, caught on a bush. I believe it’s from Gladys’s dress, the one she was wearing last night. When I saw it, I immediately assumed that she and the Duke had rowed over there together, a sort of romantic tryst. You remember that she talked about the Well at dinner.”
“I remember,” Charles said, taking the scrap and looking at it closely. “She cast herself in the role of Rosamund, with Marlborough as Henry, and the Duchess, implicitly, as the jealous Eleanor.”
“And Botsy Northcote as Roger of Salisbury,” Kate said. “A ready-made cast for a tragic theatrical.” She paused. “There’s something odd about that torn piece, Charles, now that I come to think about it. I found it on a small bush, but the bush wasn’t sturdy enough to have snagged and torn that heavy silk.”
“Rosamund’s Well,” Charles mused, pocketing the scrap. “Thank you, Kate. I’ll have a look around the place.” He leaned forward and took her arm. “Listen, my dear, it’s very important that Miss Deacon’s bedroom be immediately locked. Can you find the housekeeper and make sure that’s done? I don’t want the maids going in there until it’s been thoroughly searched.”
With a little smile, Kate put a key into his hand. “It’s done already,” she said. “I locked the door when Consuelo and I left this morning. No one’s been in there, at least since we left.”
“Ah, my Kate,” Charles said with pleasure, and kissed her cheek. “What a treasure of a wife you are.” He paused, thinking. “But perhaps it would be better if you’d search the room. I have a number of urgent things to see to, and you may find something that should be acted upon right away. Would you mind?”
“Of course not,” Kate said with satisfaction, taking the key back. “It will make me feel that I am being of some use.”
“And one more question,” Charles said. “Have you seen Lord Northcote this morning?”
“Botsy?” Kate’s hazel eyes widened. “Oh, my goodness, Charles. No, I haven’t seen him!”
As it turned out, no one else had seen Northcote, either. An inquiry of the housemaids-deliberately casual, so as not to raise suspicion-told Charles that Botsy’s bed had not been slept in, and that all of his clothing, together with the Gladstone bag he’d brought it in, was gone from his room.
Charles then made a quick visit to the butler’s pantry, a large, well-lit room off the main corridor below stairs, where he found Mr. Stevens reviewing the wine and spirits inventories and preparing an order for the King’s visit.
The butler, a man in his sixties, was stooped and almost frail, but he still held himself with a dignified reserve. He listened gravely to Charles’s question and explanation and agreed to look into the matter. “Rest assured, m’lord,” he said with equanimity, “that if there’s anything to be learned, it will be reported to you at once.”
Charles thanked the butler, and then, telling himself that he had done as much as one reasonably could in such a short while, he took himself off to the Duke’s study.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Some circumstantial evidence is very strong, such as when you find a trout in the milk.
“Northcote’s gone too?” the Duke croaked in a voice that was harsh with alarm and disbelief. He dropped back into a leather chair so large that it made him look like a boy. “Bag and baggage?”
“So the housemaids tell me,” Charles replied evenly. “I haven’t yet checked his room.”
With a moan, the Duke buried his face in his hands.
“Old Northcote,” Winston muttered. “Didn’t think he was up to it.”
“Up to what?” Charles asked, thinking of the torn scrap of fabric Kate had given him. Had Botsy Northcote taken Miss Deacon to Rosamund’s Well, assaulted her and torn her dress and, perhaps, inflicted some physical harm on her?
But Winston seemed to have something rather different in mind. “Of convincing Gladys to go off with him,” he said in a low voice. “Of course, he’s a good-looking chap and all that, but after all, he was a guest here. And it’s not exactly-”
“What makes you think he convinced her to go off with him?” The Duke’s voice was muffled by his hands.
Winston looked surprised. “Why, what other explanation can there possibly be? Northcote considered that
