'Just an hour gone, sir, since he was found. I was sent for right away and arrived not much before you did. Butler last saw him at two o'clock this afternoon, upstairs. At half past, butler glances into this room and sees that.' He gestured to the corpse.
I looked into Pomeroy's ingenuous blue eyes. He liked to lay his hands on a culprit, and I had the feeling that he would not scruple to arrest even his former captain on the slim evidence of my sword in the wound.
'You a friend of Mr. Inglethorpe, Captain?' he asked me.
'No, I met him for the first time yesterday.'
'Lent him your stick, did you?'
'I left it behind,' I said in a hard voice. 'I was returning to fetch it.'
'Yesterday, while you were calling on Mr. Inglethorpe. He'd invited you?'
I eyed him narrowly. 'Yes.'
'Butler says, too, that you were here with a gathering of Mr. Inglethorpe's friends. Butler says he saw you come in with your walking stick, that very one that's stuck in his master.'
'I did not stick it there, Sergeant.'
Pomeroy shrugged. 'Sometimes you get into a rare temper, sir. I have seen what you are like when you're enraged. Ready for murder, sir, you are.'
'If I had been that angry at Inglethorpe, I would have challenged him,' I said.
'Not necessarily. I've seen you draw a pistol on a cove, and I've seen you knock a chap down, easy as breathing. No mention of duels then. Dueling would be too good for them, you said.'
I held onto my temper. 'I was not angry with Inglethorpe, and I was not here today. I barely knew the man.'
'That's as may be, sir. But that is your sticker. You weren't his friend, but you looked him up yesterday. Struck with fellow feeling, were you, sir?'
'Do not question me, Pomeroy. I do not like it.'
'Just following orders, sir, same as always. You came here yesterday. I want to know why.'
I observed the room, trying to shut out Pomeroy's prying questions. Little had changed from when I'd paced in here the day before, except that a neatly folded pile of clothing now lay on the chair. I unfolded and examined each piece-a frock coat, a waistcoat, shirt, collar, and cravat. Fine materials, fine tailoring. The cravat smelled of lavender oil.
'The dead man's,' Pomeroy said. 'So the butler says. Neither of us can decide why he was standing bare- breasted in his reception room.'
'What do the servants say?' I asked.
'Very little, sir. Inglethorpe was right as rain all this morning, then he came in here and that was that.'
'Inglethorpe must have entered this room for some reason. To greet a visitor, most likely.'
'Servants didn't open the door to anyone all morning, they say.'
That did not mean no one arrived. Gentlemen of Inglethorpe's wealth let their servants answer the front door, but that did not mean he could not have admitted someone himself. Perhaps Inglethorpe had spied the person arriving and hadn't wanted to wait for his butler to open the door.
The removed clothing suggested a romantic liaison-I could think of no other reason for Inglethorpe to so tamely remove his coat and shirt. The visitor, then, might have been a woman, although I remembered Grenville in the Rearing Pony, his mouth twisted in distaste, proclaiming, 'I honestly do not believe Inglethorpe cares which way the wind blows.' A woman or man, likely a man, from the strength of the blow.
I had left my walking stick in the sitting room upstairs. Had Inglethorpe found it? Brought it down here with him, where his killer had used it as a convenient weapon? Or had the murderer been a member of yesterday's gathering, taken my walking stick away with him, and returned with it this morning?
My heart went cold. Mrs. Danbury had been in the room when I'd gone off without my walking stick. I remembered her, flushed with the magic gas, staring at me in bewilderment as I hurried after Lady Breckenridge.
Lady Breckenridge had not taken the stick away with her; I would have seen it. That left Mrs. Danbury and the few gentlemen who'd still remained when I'd gone. I could not remember through the haze of the laughing gas which of the gentlemen still had been there, though Inglethorpe's servants would probably know.
I did not want to think of Mrs. Danbury returning this morning and stabbing Inglethorpe when he made advances upon her.
Common sense cut into this dire scene. Inglethorpe had removed and folded his clothes, not torn them off in a frenzy of passion. I doubted Mrs. Danbury would stand still and wait for him to undress before stabbing him in panic.
Also, I could see no reason for Mrs. Danbury to return to Inglethorpe's at all. If she had taken my walking stick, she could have had it delivered to my rooms or given it to Sir Gideon Derwent to give to me when I next visited him. Lady Breckenridge had said that Inglethorpe's gatherings were held on Mondays and Wednesdays only, and that Inglethorpe was most regular in his habits, which meant he would not have had a gathering today.
Why Mrs. Danbury had attended Inglethorpe's party the day before still puzzled me. She had not known how to breathe the air in the bag, which indicated she had not done it before. Had she, like Peaches, come to Inglethorpe's in search of a new sensation? Or out of curiosity? Or had she been Inglethorpe's friend, and he had invited her personally?
I felt cold again. She being a close friend of Inglethorpe brought me back to the possibility of her murdering him. I could imagine Inglethorpe eagerly hurrying to open the door for the pretty Mrs. Danbury without waiting for the servants. I certainly would have. I also would have been happy to pull her into the tiny reception room to speak with her alone. Perhaps Mrs. Danbury had come for a liaison with Inglethorpe, and they'd quarreled. No, I could not overlook the possibility that she had deliberately stabbed him.
I dropped the clothes back on the chair. Inglethorpe's death must be no coincidence-Peaches had come here the afternoon before she'd died. Had she told Inglethorpe something that the killer worried about? Had she been on her way to The Glass House to meet someone and had told Inglethorpe who? I'd planned to question Inglethorpe about Peaches yesterday, and of course had missed the opportunity through my own folly. I'd planned to ask him again today, and his death had put paid to that.
'Has Sir Montague Harris been informed?' I asked.
'Couldn't say, sir. I imagine he will be.'
I walked out of the room with Pomeroy following. 'Bloody hell, Sergeant,' I said heavily.
'It's a nasty thing, sir, people sticking each other.'
He sounded cheerful and confident. He'd never had a day of melancholia in his life.
'I did not kill this man, Pomeroy,' I said. I took up my hat, clapped it back to my damp hair. 'But I intend to find out who did.'
'Probably in your best interest, sir.'
'Thank you, Sergeant.'
I strode out into the rain. Pomeroy said something jovial behind me, but I did not stop to respond.
I continued walking to Grosvenor Street, angry and worried, wondering what Inglethorpe had known-and what I had overlooked. I needed to know more about Inglethorpe's household and his friends, and I thought over ways in which I might find out.
When I reached Grenville's house, Matthias admitted me but told me his master was out. When I informed him and Bartholomew of the news of Inglethorpe, they both stared at me with stunned blue eyes.
'Lord, sir,' Bartholomew breathed. 'With your sticker?'
'Yes. It's a bother, that.' I went over the plan I'd formed as I'd walked between Inglethorpe's and here. 'Bartholomew, I'd like you and your brother to poke around Inglethorpe's a bit, get the servants to confide in you. Find out who was in Inglethorpe's house yesterday and this morning. Discover if any of the staff saw what became of my walking stick between the time I left it and the time it ended up in Inglethorpe's chest. I want to know any gossip about Mrs. Chapman-who she knew and what she did whenever she went to Inglethorpe's, how well she knew Inglethorpe, and what they talked about.'
Bartholomew nodded, as did his brother. They'd both assisted me last year in the affair of Colonel Westin and looked eager to involve themselves in my adventures again.
