Mason had let the policemen in. They were from Redcar, and none too pleased about being called to the tiny town when most of them were just thinking of their suppers.
Detective Inspector John Tenney entered and handed his cap to the butler. Lord Dalton was there to receive him.
"Thank God you've arrived," he said to the detective. His blue eyes gleamed, even though his charcoal-gray hair threatened to turn grayer by the minute, and the crime weighed heavily on his countenance. "Lady Dalton is beside herself; most of the jewels were hers, of course. If you could find them as soon as possible—"
"That would depend on the state of the crime scene and the availability of any clues the thieves left behind," muttered Tenney, rubbing his mustache in an attempt to invigorate his focus. "Your Lordship, I sincerely hope the crime scene has not been altered in any way." He stood aside as three police officers—cadets, really—stumbled inside.
Lord Dalton cast a disapproving eye over the streaks of mud tracked in by the urgent guests, but there wasn't much he could do about it. He shook his head and answered the detective, "No, it hasn't; if you'll follow Charlie," he gestured to the young, lanky footman standing against the wall, "he can show you to it."
Tenney nodded and followed the servant down into the bowels of the house.
"Do you know anything about what happened?" Tenney asked Charlie.
The young man shook his head. "No, sir; leastways not much. I was upstairs, in the dining room when it 'appened." They entered the kitchen by a low, narrow door and descended the steps. Charlie gestured to the open doorway at the base of the stairs. "Kitchen's in there. Mollie, now," he shook his head, "she were there."
The crime scene was total chaos. Dirty dishwater, greasy pans, mud, plaster, and quite a bit of blood had scattered liberally over the area. Next to the table at the middle of the room, a young maid with curly hair tucked into a white cap sat in a chair with her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Staring vacantly, poor trembling waif rubbed at the rope marks on her wrists.
Inspector Tenney put his hands on his hips and nodded to the young cadet acting as his scribe.
"Right then, Miss—"
"Mollie, sir," she supplied tremulously.
The Inspector busied himself with a small sheaf of papers. "Yes, Margaret Dempsey, of Cheshire, it says?"
"Yes, sir; I came to work for the Daltons near on three years ago."
"And have they treated you well?"
Mollie nodded. "Yes sir; as well as I could 'ope to be treated."
Tenney nodded. "Right then, let's talk about the robbery." He nodded toward the gaping hole in the wall, containing the looted safe.
Mollie gave a sharp gasp and pressed her lips. "They attacked me, too."
"Who did?"
"The robbers. They grabbed me—"
"Yes, we'll get to that part in a moment. I'd rather we started at the beginning of the evening, if it's all right. I hear you were here in the kitchen when the robbers arrived."
She nodded. "Yes sir; I was just doing the washing-up from supper—"
"And the door to the kitchen; is that normally locked?"
Mollie nodded as her eyes shifted to that corner. "Most of the time. No reason to use it at night."
Tenney drew out the pause in the interview to make his way over to the door. The lack of undue scratches told him that the intruders had not needed to force the door. The detective's gaze returned to the terrified maid. "Why was the door that you don't use unlatched, Miss Dempsey?"
Mollie imagined the detective reporting back to Lord and Lady Dalton every word that passed her lips. She hung her head. "Cos I let in the neighbor's dog," she mumbled.
"What?" Tenney bent closer.
Mollie lifted her face. "I let in the neighbor's dog. He comes by a'times for scraps."
"Neighbor, eh?" Tenney mused. "What neighbor?"
"The Buxton's, sir; they keep a kennel of black elkhounds, and one o' them, Major--'e's got a streak over his head--comes by the 'ouse of times, as 'e pleases."
Tenney scoffed. "And they let it run loose after dark?"
"I don't know!" The memory of the heroic Major threatened to bring tears to the maid's eyes. "All I know is, he comes to the kitchen door at night, he's very well-behaved, he gets his scraps, and leaves again."
"Frank," Tenney spoke to the cadet, "make a note to check on the neighbor after this. Miss Dempsey," he continued, "you're saying that you opened the door to let the dog in, and the robbers came charging in after? One would think a dog who received such treatment would defend the hand that fed it."
"He did!" Mollie squealed. "I let him in, he ate his fill, trotted off, and I went back to the washing. When the robbers came in, I thought 'e'd come back, and they come at me..." Her whole body trembled and she began rubbing furiously at her arms. "I tried t' get them out, but they grabbed..." She shuddered so hard that her head jerked to one side. "Smashed the wall, they did! Cracked the safe like they knew what t' find... And when they was done... They wanted—" she gave a shiver and her mouth snapped shut.
Tenney leaned forward mercilessly. "Yes? What is it these robbers wanted besides the jewels?"
Mollie's chin wobbled and she could not produce a voice. As the stern detective leaned in so close that she could feel his breath on her face, she uttered in a hoarse whisper, "Th-they wanted... Me."
A cold fury seeped into her at the memory. The dark chuckles of the lewd men echoed in her ears, coupled with the memory of seeing the garish knife blade waving in front of her face.
"Betcher ticklish, eh wench? How 'bout we 'ave a liddle fun wit the 'ousie?" Mollie curled into a ball, covering her head with her arms to shut out the memories. "Not safe..." she muttered. "Safe not safe... No! Rosemary, mint... oregano... marjoram... Major!" Her head came up and
