“Really?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll go see him.”
His brother had indeed come on one of his rare visits. He was sitting in one of the two armchairs by the fire with a tray of tea things by him, staring out the window.
“Edmund,” said Lenox, “what an unexpected pleasure.”
“They said you came by the house to visit last night,” said the baronet, as he turned and smiled. He had a cup of tea in his hand.
“So I did. Will you pour one for me?”
Sir Edmund did as he was asked and waited to speak again until Lenox had settled comfortably into the other armchair.
“How is the case?”
“Perplexing.”
“Who did it?”
Lenox raised his eyebrows. “Hm.”
“You don’t know?”
“I may, actually, but it’s not happy news. By sheer luck, I may have discovered that it was Jack Soames.”
“Soames!”
“Yes.”
“It’s impossible. I could see him having a gambling debt, at most. But cold-blooded murder? It’s impossible.”
“You may be right. It looks badly though.”
“How did you find out?”
“I was in Barnard’s house this morning—”
“How did you manage that?”
“Exeter asked me to come. He was struggling with the case.”
“That man you hate so much?”
“I don’t hate anybody.”
“That man, though?”
“Yes.”
Sir Edmund looked into the fire ruminatively. “I suppose frogs will begin to fall from the sky pretty soon.”
“I daresay.”
“We should stay indoors when it happens. Messy business.”
“I saw Soames trying to figure a way into the guarded room.”
“What!”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me straightaway? We need—we ought to—”
“No, it’s safe.”
“What do you mean?”
“I saw him through a skylight, and it would have been impossible for him to drag any of the crates through it.”
“Then what was he doing?”
“Examining the room. I expect he’ll make a try during the ball tomorrow night. If it is him.”
“Do you think it is?”
Lenox shrugged. “It’s so hard to say. What do you know of his finances?”
“He’s washed out, I’m afraid. Oh, is that why—he’s after the gold!”
“I think so.”
“But he might have been merely taking a walk, Charles. I would think that more readily than that Soames could kill somebody. He might have been looking at those blasted orchids.”
Lenox shook his head. “I went to the greenhouse once with Lady Jane. Barnard had a lunch and showed us up there afterward. I saw the row of skylights. First of all, it would be particularly hard and pointless to get there— there’s no door, and once you get there there’s no view, no stretch of roof to walk across. You have to walk around the entire greenhouse. You have to
“Another thing, though,” said Edmund, satisfied with his brother’s explanation of the last point.
“Yes?”
“The girl couldn’t possibly have known, even if she had seen him snooping around.”
“Perhaps he thought she knew and became nervous,” said Lenox. “I don’t think it’s in his natural way to be a thief and a murderer. He might have become paranoid.”
“Would he know anything about poisons?”
“I don’t know. Although he lives near Oxford, of course, and went there with you.”
“In my year,” said Sir Edmund.
“Yes.”
Still, his brother’s points were valid. It was good to bounce ideas off of him. Had Soames been
“Jack Soames.…”
“You must tell me something more of his finances, Edmund.”
“I heard it from Robert Camp, but everyone knows, I rather think.”
“What did Camp say?”
“That Soames had been struggling along with less than anybody thought and then lost a few bets and had to pay some outstanding debts to tradesmen, and that he went under. More or less. He’s living on credit.”
“Is it only gossip?”
“I don’t know. Could be. At any rate, you heard it, didn’t you?”
“From Graham.”
“Not one to lie.”
“What does he have left?”
“They say very little ready money,” said Sir Edmund, plucking another scone from the tray and spreading clotted cream over it. “He could touch his friends for some, I suppose.”
“He has a great many friends.”
“One has fewer when one needs money, however.”
“You’re right. It’s awful, really,” said Lenox.
“Well, it’s awful for the girl, Miss Smith.”
“Yes, of course.”
“At any rate, people live on nothing all across London. It’s sad that Soames has fallen over, I grant you, but what do we know about any of it?”
Sometimes Lenox’s brother surprised him. “You’re right, of course.”
“And anyway, he has the Pacific, I suppose.”
“The Pacific?”
“Surely you know what that is, Charles? It’s much in the news.”
“No, I’m afraid not. I don’t often read the bits about business.”
“He sits on the board of the Pacific Trust, that trading company. They pay him something.”
“How many people are on the board?”
“Seven or eight. Actually, it must be seven—they can’t have an even number.”
“What does he have to do?”
“Vote. He made people cross only the other day, because he was the deciding ballot on something or other, I’m not sure what. I can only say I’m grateful that Father put our money in the five percents.”
“I am too,” said Lenox, thinking. “Say, Edmund, would you help me at Barnard’s ball?”
“Does that mean I have to go?”
