“A lady of expensive tastes,” Argyll went on. “Not easy to keep her satisfied-and generous, and loyal-on a bookkeeper’s salary, even when he works for the Farraline company.”
“There is no money missing,” Kenneth said sullenly. “Count it for yourself.” There was confidence in his voice now, a ringing quality as if he knew he could not be proved wrong.
Argyll heard it too.
“I daresay there is none missing now, but was that always the case?”
The confidence was gone. Now it was defense.
“Certainly. I told you, I have taken nothing, and I was not responsible for my mother’s death. For all I knew it was Miss Latterly, for the wretched pearls.”
“So you say, sir, so you say.” Argyll smiled politely. “Thank you, Mr. Farraline, I have nothing further to ask you.”
Gilfeather shrugged. “I have nothing to ask this witness, my lord. As far as I can see he has nothing whatever to do with the case.”
Rathbone leaned forward again, grasping Argyll’s shoulder. “Call Quinlan Fyffe,” he whispered fiercely.
Argyll did not turn.
“I have nothing to ask him,” he whispered back. “I’ll only weaken my case by looking desperate.”
“Think of something,” Rathbone insisted. “Get him up there…”
“There’s no point! Even if he knows who killed her, he isn’t going to say so. He’s a clever and very self- possessed man. He isn’t going to flounder. He’s no Kenneth. Anyway, I’ve nothing to rattle him with.”
“Yes you have.” Rathbone leaned even farther forward, aware of the judge glaring at him, and the jury waiting. “Use his emotions. He’s a proud man, vain. He’s got a beautiful wife, and a brother-in-law who’s in love with her. He hates Mclvor. Use his jealousy.”
“What with?”
Rathbone’s mind raced. “The company accounts. Eilish has been systematically taking books, with Mclvor’s help, to teach her ragged school. I’ll wager Fyffe doesn’t know about that. For God’s sake, man, you’re supposed to be the best advocate in Scotland. Twist him. Use his emotions against him.”
“What about betraying Eilish?” Argyll asked. “Monk will be furious.”
‘To hell with Eilish,” Rathbone said. “And Monk too! This is Hester’s life!”
“Mr. Argyll,” the judge said loudly. “Are you concluding your case, or not?”
“No, my lord. The defense calls Quinlan Fyffe, may it please the court.”
The judge frowned. “For what purpose, Mr. Argyll? Mr. Gilfeather, are you aware of this?”
Gilfeather looked surprised, but interested, and not displeased.
The judge glanced at him.
Gilfeather lifted his shoulders slightly in the shadow of a shrug. “No, my lord, but if the court is prepared to wait for Mr. Fyffe to be sent for, I do not object. I think he will prove as useless to the defense’s case as Mr. Farraline.”
“Call Quinlan Fyffe!” the usher cried out. The words were echoed by the clerk at the door, and a messenger was duly dispatched.
In the interim the court was adjourned for luncheon.
When they returned over an hour later, Quinlan took the stand and was sworn in. He faced Argyll with outward politeness but a coldness of glance that bordered on insolence.
“Mr. Fyffe,” Argyll began carefully, measuring his words. “You are one of the principal officers in the management of the Farraline printing company, are you not?”
“Yes sir.”
“In what capacity?”
Gilfeather made as if to rise, and then changed his mind.
“Is this relevant, Mr. Argyll?” the judge said with a sigh. “If you are about to raise the matter of the company accounts, I must warn you that unless you provide real evidence that there has indeed been embezzlement, I shall not allow you to proceed.”
Argyll hesitated.
“The missing books Eilish took,” Rathbone whispered furiously behind him.
“No, my lord,” Argyll said blandly, looking at the judge with an innocent smile. “That is not the area I wish to pursue at the moment.”
The judge sighed again. “Then I don’t know what you do want. I thought that was what you called this witness for.”
“Yes my lord, but after I have laid suitable groundwork.”
“Then proceed, Mr. Argyll, proceed,” the judge said irritably.
“Thank you, my lord. Mr. Fyffe, in what capacity do you serve the Farraline company?”
“I am in control of the printing, and make all printing decisions,” Quinlan replied.
“I see. Are you aware, sir, that several of your books have been stolen over the last year or more?”
There was a sharp stir of interest in the court. Quinlan looked incredulous.
“No sir, I was not aware of it. And to tell you the truth, I am disinclined to believe it now. Such a loss would have been apparent.”
“To whom, sir?” Argyll asked. “To you?”
“No, not to me, but certainly…” He hesitated only a second or so, but a look of brilliance came into his eyes, a flash of thought ‘To Baird Mclvor. He manages that area of the company.”
“Precisely so,” Argyll agreed. “And he did not report such a loss to you?”
“No sir, he did not!”
Again Gilfeather half rose, but the judge waved him back.
“Would you be interested to know,” Argyll said carefully, “that it was your wife who took them, sir, with Mr. Mclvor’s assistance?”
There was a gasp from the gallery. Several jurors turned towards Eilish, then towards Baird.
Quinlan stood motionless, the blood rushing scarlet up his face, then receding again, leaving him ashen. He started to say something, but his voice died away.
“You did not know this,” Argyll said unnecessarily. “It would seem at a glance to make no sense, but she had a most excellent reason…”
There was a sigh of breath around the entire room, then utter silence.
Quinlan stared at Argyll.
Argyll smiled, just a slow lift of the corners of his mouth, his eyes brilliant.
“She teaches people to read,” he said distinctly. “Grown men who labor by day and come to learn from her by night how to read and write their names, to read street signs, warnings, instructions, who knows, perhaps in time even literature and the Holy Bible.”
There was a sharp rustle of movement in the gallery. Eilish sat white-faced, her eyes wide.
The judge leaned forward, frowning.
“I assume you must have some proof of this extraordinary allegation, Mr. Argyll?”
“I quibble with your word
Quinlan leaned forward over the edge of the witness-box, his fingers gripping the rail.
“It might be, if that were all it was,” he said fiercely. “But Mclvor is inexcusable. I always knew he lusted after her.” His voice was rising and growing louder. “He tried to seduce her from any kind of morality or honor. But that he should use this excuse for it-and to corrupt her honesty as well-is beyond pardon.”
There was a whisper around the room. The judge banged his gavel sharply.
Argyll cut in before there could be any direction from the bench or Gilfeather could protest.
“Are you not leaping to conclusions, Mr. Fyffe?” he asked with a lift of surprise displayed for the judge’s sake. “I did not say that Mr. Mclvor had done more than procure the books for her.”
Quinlan’s face was still white, his eyes narrowed to gleaming slits. He regarded Argyll with contempt.
“I know you did not. Do you take me for a fool, sir? I’ve watched him for years, staring at her, making excuses to be with her, the whispers, and laughter, the sudden falling into silence, the moods of temper and depression when she ignored him, the sudden elation when she did not.” Again his voice was becoming shrill. “I know when a
