SINCLAIR STOOD AT THE WINDOW gazing out at the snow-covered landscape. His hostess had referred to his room as ‘the Hunt Room’, doubtless because of the prints decorating it, most of which featured red-and-black-jacketed riders and packs of multicoloured hounds galloping across green fields crisscrossed by hedges and other obstacles. Out of curiosity he had examined them closely for any sign of a fox and found only one instance where their prey appeared, hurrying across a field with the hunt in full cry behind it. The autumn colours of the trees and hedges spoke of another season far removed from the stark, bone-white expanse of countryside he was looking at now.
The chief inspector shivered. The fresh fall of snow promised on the wireless that morning was yet to arrive, but it was deathly cold outside and in spite of the fire burning in his grate he felt a chill. His earlier impression that something was amiss in the household had only increased with time, but he was yet to put his finger on it. He had come up to his room to rest before lunch and lying on his bed he had gone over in his mind what Daisy had told them in the kitchen. Were Gonzales and Ilse Holtz enemies of a sort—perhaps competing for Julia’s favour—or was there more to their verbal clash than that?
Earlier, it had struck him as strange that the man should have chosen to walk the four or five miles from Enstone to Great Tew in a heavy snowfall rather than wait for better weather, but he had put it down initially to the apparent attraction that Julia had for her admirer. Now he was inclined to put a different interpretation on events. For one thing, it was possible Gonzales had undertaken the difficult journey to Wickham Manor because he had something important to communicate to its mistress. Casting his mind back, Sinclair recalled the look that had passed between him and Mrs Holtz after Gonzales had revealed to Julia that he’d recently been in Switzerland. The chief inspector had been unable to read it, but he remembered now that Ilse Holtz herself was Swiss. Were these facts somehow linked?
And then there were the other currents swirling about in the household. Although Baxter had given no outward indication of his feelings, Sinclair sensed a certain reserve in his manner towards Gonzales. Once again the image of a hothouse came to him, with its corollary of overheated emotions and reactions. Much of his working life had been spent trying to make sense of just such puzzles and he wished now that John Madden was with him. His old partner had a gift for making sense out of seemingly unconnected facts—a talent for joining up the dots, as more than one of his colleagues at the Yard had noted. The knowledge that he was close by—no further away than Oxford—but still out of touch only added to the chief inspector’s sense of frustration.
To put it in a nutshell, then, was there something going on beneath the surface at Wickham Manor that he ought to be concerned about? Or was he just an old man trying to re-create an image of his former life out of the tensions that so often arose in small, tightly knit—one might even say claustrophobic—communities?
The chief inspector couldn’t decide, and whatever the answer was he doubted it would reveal itself in the short time remaining to him as Julia Lesage’s guest. He would simply have to hope that his fears were misplaced and leave the occupants of the house to get on with their lives.
He glanced at his watch. It was nearly one o’clock. Lunch would be served soon, though not by Daisy. The previous afternoon, a further disruption to the household had presented itself in the shape of George Griggs, the butcher’s son, who had walked up from the village with troubling news.
Sinclair himself had not been present when the young man arrived, but he heard about it soon afterwards when he came upon Julia in the drawing-room. Her meeting with Gonzales, and later with Mrs Holtz as well, having apparently concluded, she had been sitting on her own by the fire and it was clear from the way she was staring into the fire that she had something on her mind.
‘Angus!’ She had looked up when he entered. ‘You’re just the person I want to speak to,’ she began, but got no further. At that moment the sound of hurried footsteps in the hall outside had caused her to break off and a moment later Baxter had entered in haste.
‘Sorry to disturb you, ma’am, but Daisy has just had some worrying news. It seems her mother is quite poorly. I told you she was down with bronchitis, didn’t I? Young George Griggs has come up from the village to tell us and to say that Dr Ferguson thinks that if you could spare Daisy it would be best if she could be with her mum, at least until the weather clears and they can get her into hospital, which is where she belongs, he thinks.’
‘But of course.’ Julia had cut him off. ‘She must go down at once and she’s to stay with her mother as long as necessary. Is there anything we can do to help?’
‘I don’t think so, ma’am. It’s just that Daisy’s mum’s cottage is a bit isolated and there ought to be someone with her. Don’t worry about things here in the house. Doris and I can manage on our own. And Mrs Dawlish might turn up at any moment.’
‘Not in this weather, she won’t,’ Julia had predicted with a wry smile. ‘If she’s got any sense she’ll stay where she is in Bicester until the snow clears.’
At all events she had appeared untroubled by this new development, possibly because it was merely an inconvenience compared with what she had on her mind, and which she had not yet shared with him. Or so the chief inspector surmised as he left his room now to go down to lunch.
As he went out of his room into the passage he saw Julia in her wheelchair emerge from her bedroom at the other end of the long corridor. Ilse Holtz was already standing at the head of the stairs waiting to help her. As Julia approached she began to pick up speed, working the wheels of her chair with the same sharp downward thrusts he remembered from before. Realizing that at the right moment she would swerve and bring the chair to an abrupt halt, he waited for her to make the same sharp turn he had witnessed before. Instead, just as she reached the stairs the chair gave a sudden lurch, slewing around in a half circle and then tipping over, flinging its occupant out of her seat and headlong down the stairs.
Stunned by the sight, Sinclair stood rooted to the spot. It was Ilse Holtz’s scream that brought him to his senses. Calling out Julia’s name, he hurried to the top of the stairs and saw her body lying sprawled on the steps below. Ilse Holtz was already there, crouched by her employer’s side, and at the same moment Baxter appeared. He was running across the hall from the direction of the kitchen. The chief inspector saw that Julia’s face was covered in blood.
‘Julia! . . . Julia!’
The shout came from behind him and when Sinclair looked back he saw that Gonzales had burst out of his bedroom, which was opposite his own. Brushing past the chief inspector, he raced down the stairs.
‘Stand back, both of you. Leave her to me.’
The order came from Baxter, who had already climbed the steps, and the other two drew back as he collected Julia’s body in his arms. About to carry her up to her room, he was checked by her voice.
‘Will you stop making such a fuss, all of you?’
Sinclair saw that her eyes were open. Blood was flowing freely from a cut on her forehead.
‘Do you think I’m made of glass? I’ve had worse falls, I can tell you. Baxter, take me down to the drawing-room. Ilse, get a basin of warm water and a cloth of some kind and come and clean me up. I appear to be bleeding. Philip—you can keep me company. Don’t just stand there, all of you.’
At that moment she caught sight of the chief inspector; Sinclair hadn’t moved from his place at the top of the stairs.
‘You see, Angus?’ Her bloodstained face broke into a smile. ‘I told you I’d provide you with some entertainment. Join us in the drawing-room, would you?’
‘Ma’am, I’ve told you before not to do that.’ Baxter found his tongue. Obeying her command, he carried her carefully down the stairs, followed by Gonzales. Ilse Holtz watched them go and then turned and hurried up to the landing. Her face was pale as she went past Sinclair.
Left on his own, the chief inspector’s gaze went to the wheelchair. It lay on its side, almost at his feet, two steps down. Righting it, he dragged it up to the landing and then peered closely at it. It took him only a minute to find what he was looking for. He saw that the chair was equipped with a pair of brakes—rubber pads perhaps three inches long—that were designed to clamp on the wheels. The handles for each were placed conveniently just below and outside the arms of the chair. The left-hand brake was in working order, but the one on the right had come loose. The nut holding it tight was missing and he found he was able to pull the brake pad off the bolt it was attached to.
Why hadn’t Julia realized it was malfunctioning? He recalled the moment when he had seen her emerge from her room and turn into the passage.
Shouldn’t she have been alerted to the flaw in her brake at that point?
Not necessarily, he decided. Since the chair was controlled manually by the push rims projecting from the wheels, she wouldn’t normally have needed to use the brakes. It was only when she approached the head of the stairs at high speed—when she gave herself the kind of thrill she had once enjoyed in the mountains—that she would have had to employ them. In the event, when she’d tried to bring the chair to a sudden halt, the right-hand brake hadn’t worked and the chair had slewed round, flinging her out of her seat and down the steps. She was lucky to have escaped with only a cut on her head, unless she had some other injuries not yet diagnosed. The chief inspector had got down on his knees to make his examination and after a minute or two he became aware that Gonzales was coming up the stairs to join him.
‘Was something wrong with it?’ he asked. Once again Sinclair found his dark eyes unreadable. He explained about the missing nut.
‘It must be either in the passage or in Mrs Lesage’s room,’ he said.
Gonzales stared at him, and Sinclair felt for a moment he was about to say something more. But then his gaze shifted and the chief inspector saw that Ilse Holtz was approaching down the passage from the direction of Julia’s room with a bowl in her hands. She passed them with only a glance and then continued down the stairs. Gonzales followed her and they went into the drawing-room together. A few seconds later Baxter appeared.
‘That shouldn’t have happened, sir.’ He too came up the stairs to join Sinclair. ‘I’ve told Madam time and again not to do that. It only takes a small mistake.’
‘This was no mistake,’ the chief inspector told him. He explained about the missing nut.
Seemingly appalled by what he had heard, Baxter listened to him in silence.
‘Those brakes are only meant for parking the chair, sir. They’re not supposed to be used in any other way. If you want to stop, you use those things outside the wheels.’
‘The push rims?’
The chauffeur nodded. ‘It’s dangerous using the brakes. Madam knows that.’ He struck his forehead. ‘It’s my fault.’
‘Hardly,’ Sinclair said.
‘It’s my job to look after those chairs. I check them every week. How could I have missed that?’
‘Have you inspected them since you got back?’
Baxter shook his head. ‘I haven’t had time. But that’s no excuse.’
‘Don’t blame yourself. These things happen.’
‘If only Madam wouldn’t take these risks.’
‘Ah, but she can’t help herself, you see.’ Sinclair sighed.
‘What do you mean, sir?’
‘She told me the other day that when she was a skier she loved living on the edge of danger because it made her feel more alive. That’s something she can never get back.’
Julia ran her fingers over the piece of sticking plaster covering the cut on her forehead. She studied her reflection in the hall mirror.
‘Well, I certainly don’t look like one of Chekhov’s heroines anymore,’ she said, ‘but if you gave me a rifle and a flag I might pass for a Communard. What do you think, Angus?’
Already the brief disruption of household routines brought about by her accident seemed all but forgotten. The crisis, if crisis it was, had been summarily dealt with.
‘No, I don’t require further examination,’ she had informed the circle of anxious attendants that had gathered about her in the drawing-room after Ilse Holtz had finished her ministrations. ‘And don’t tell me I might have broken a rib. I’ve done that a couple of times in the past and believe me I know just how it feels. As for getting poor Dr Ferguson up here to examine me, I absolutely forbid it. The effort might very well prove fatal for the old boy. In fact, the subject of my general health and fitness can now be considered closed. I did something stupid and if I feel sore for the next few days, I’ve only myself to blame.’
Her continuing high spirits had got them through a difficult lunch, one which Mrs Holtz had not attended, pleading a migraine headache, and at which Philip Gonzales had been only a shadow of his previously agreeable and entertaining self. Whether shaken up by Julia’s accident or for some other reason, he had offered little in the way of conversation and once or twice Sinclair had caught him gazing out of the window lost in thought, causing the chief inspector to wonder just what had transpired at his meeting with Julia in her study. Indeed, it had seemed to Sinclair that even their hostess was making an effort to keep up appearances, an impression that only gained strength when at the conclusion of the meal she abruptly asked Gonzales if he would walk down to the village to make further inquiries on her behalf.
‘See if you can find out what’s happening with the phone,’ she had said. ‘And bring back any news you can about the road to Enstone. I hate being cut off like this. Baxter’s already been down once this morning and I don’t like to ask him to do it again.’
If Gonzales was surprised by her sudden request he gave no sign of it—it seemed to Sinclair he was even eager to go—and he’d gone upstairs at once to change into more suitable footwear. Julia had led the way across the hall to the spot where they were standing now.
‘Angus, we were interrupted before, but I need to consult you about something.’ She spoke in a low tone. ‘But I’m going to wait until Philip has gone. It’s a serious matter and I’d prefer to talk to you alone.’
With no choice but to be patient, the chief inspector kept his curiosity in check and before long Gonzales returned wearing a pair of boots into which he had tucked the bottoms of his trousers. As he went to collect his coat from the clothes tree by the front door, Baxter appeared on the landing above.
‘I’ve found it, ma’am.’ He was holding up something in his fingers. ‘It’s the nut that was supposed to hold your brake in place. It was lying on the carpet just outside your room. I’ll screw it back on now.’
‘Well done, Baxter,’ Julia called out to him. Glancing round, she saw that Gonzales had paused at the front door and was listening to them. ‘Take care, Philip,’ she said. ‘It can be dangerous walking on ice. I know from experience.’
Caught off guard—or so it appeared to the chief inspector—he stared at her for a long moment. Then he collected himself.
‘Have no fear, dear lady.’ With a return to his earlier flamboyance, he swept her a low bow. ‘I’ll be back before you know it.’
Julia waited until the door had shut behind him. Then she turned to Sinclair.
‘Let’s go to my study,’ she said. ‘There’s something I want to show you.’
He followed her down the corridor and, having waited until she had settled herself behind her desk, drew up a chair beside her.
‘First, I’d like you to read this letter.’
She handed him a single sheet of paper, which he saw was a typed letter from a company of estate agents with an address in Lausanne. It was dated a fortnight earlier.
Dear Mme Lesage (it read),
I must apologize to you for a slight delay that has arisen in the matter of the sale of your property. While the purchaser, M. Martineau, has every intention of completing the contract as agreed, he has asked if you would allow him a little more time before the settlement is finalized. As you know, we anticipated receiving a cheque from him for the full amount this week. He has assured us that the only reason for the delay is that it is taking him longer than he anticipated to liquidate certain investments in order to realize the necessary funds and has asked for a postponement of a fortnight, after which he assures us the sum owing will be paid. He trusts that this will not put you to any inconvenience.
May I add that before advising you to agree to this sale we made discreet but searching inquiries into the financial status of the prospective buyer and were satisfied that he was fully able to meet the financial requirements of the purchase. Accordingly it is our recommendation that you agree to the short delay he has requested, while joining him in expressing our deep regret for any inconvenience it may cause you.
We look forward to hearing from you.
Beneath the scrawled signature there was a typed name: Maurice Jansen.
Sinclair looked up. ‘Yes?’
‘The property M. Jansen refers to is the home I shared with my late husband.’ Julia moved her wheelchair around to face him. ‘It’s a villa not far from Lausanne overlooking Lake Geneva. I couldn’t bear to part with it when I left Switzerland. It meant so much to both Andre and me. But after I’d made one trip back—that was a little over a year ago—I realized I couldn’t do it again. The house held too many memories for me and finally I decided to sell it and it went on the market a few months ago. There was no shortage of offers—it’s a lovely villa—and the one I accepted was made by the gentleman mentioned in the letter. He was willing to pay the asking price, which was well over a million Swiss francs, and in due course we exchanged contracts and the deal was completed. However, I received this letter just before I went to London a fortnight or so ago.’
‘Were you concerned about it?’ Sinclair asked.
‘Not in the least,’ she replied without hesitation. ‘It’s not uncommon for there to be delays when it comes to raising funds for a costly transaction. I learned that from Andre. The buyer naturally wants to make sure he’s getting the best price for whatever securities he needs to sell. I mentioned it to Philip just before we left—me to London and him to Switzerland, though I didn’t know that at the time. In fact, I made a joke about it. I said the rich were never in a hurry to pay their bills, and M. Martineau is beyond question a wealthy man.’
She paused to collect her thoughts. Sinclair waited. He was sure there was more to come.
‘You’ll recall that when Philip turned up unexpectedly the other night he promised to tell me what he’d been up to in Switzerland. Well, it all came out the following day when we had our meeting and it’s left me in a state of shock. It seems that letter you’ve just been reading wasn’t written by M. Jansen; he knows nothing about it. At least that’s what I’ve been told.’
Sinclair didn’t hide his surprise.
‘But how did Mr Gonzales . . . ?’
‘. . . discover that?’ Julia’s expression hardened. ‘By doing something he had no right to do—if indeed he did it, if this isn’t some story he’s cooked up. I’ll tell you what he told me and you can make your own judgement. Philip claims he’s had his suspicions about Ilse Holtz for some time; he feels I’ve allowed her too big a hand in dealing with my business affairs and he thinks she may have taken advantage of it. I should say at once I’ve absolutely no evidence of that, nor has Philip produced anything to support his assertion.’
‘But what made him go to Switzerland—what reason did he have to approach these estate agents of yours?’ The chief inspector was still at sea.
‘That’s what I want to know, and I still haven’t got a sensible answer out of him. He simply said there was something about this letter that didn’t seem right to him and he decided to take the bull by the horns and go and speak to the man who had been personally responsible for handling the transaction.’
‘That doesn’t sound very convincing.’
‘I said as much to him.’ Julia frowned. ‘But be that as it may, he apparently took himself off to Lausanne while I was in London and managed to meet Maurice Jansen in person. Introducing himself as a close friend of mine, he had the gall to say I was concerned about the delay in the sale going through and could M. Jansen assure him that all was in order. According to Philip the man didn’t know what he was talking about—the sale had gone ahead as planned, he said, and the money had been paid and he was awaiting my instructions as to where to deposit it. M. Jansen said he had posted a letter to that effect to me more than a week before. I have to say I have not received it. Mind you, I could have been in London when it arrived, but it should have been waiting for me here when I got back, and it wasn’t. I could have sorted this out already if the telephone was working. I could have called M. Jansen in Lausanne. As it is, I’ve been left up in the air.’
She looked pleadingly at him.
‘I’m so sorry to land this on you, Angus, but I don’t know who to believe. Does Philip’s story sound fishy to you? Or do you think there might be something in what he’s told me?’
At a loss himself, the chief inspector hardly knew how to answer.
‘Has there been any ill feeling between them—I mean Mr Gonzales and Mrs Holtz?’ he asked.
‘Not to my knowledge,’ Julia replied. ‘But as I think I told you, Ilse’s a difficult person. Baxter seems to know how to handle her, but I couldn’t say the same for the rest of the staff. But she’s always been loyal to me. In fact, I don’t know what I’d do without her, and to have Philip come out with these . . . well, they’re not exactly accusations, they’re more like insinuations, is just too much.’
Sinclair hesitated.
‘Look, I’m going to have to question you like a detective now, Julia.’ He tried to keep his tone light. ‘How is your post delivered?’
‘In the normal way.’ She shrugged. ‘The postman brings it in his van. We’ve had the same one for years and he always drops it off in the kitchen because he knows he’ll get a cup of tea there. Eventually it finds its way to my study, where Ilse deals with it. And before you ask whether she might have tampered with it, I should tell you I happened to be at my desk when this particular letter arrived and I saw her open it. She passed it over to me at once and said something like, “You’d better read this.”’
‘And was Mr Gonzales staying here at the time?’
‘He was. It was just before I went up to London, as I said, and I told him about it. But I made it quite clear that I wasn’t bothered by the delay M. Martineau had requested. It was just something I mentioned casually.’
She looked expectantly at Sinclair, who could only shrug.
‘The trouble with this is that I can’t see how sending you a letter with incorrect information could possibly benefit anyone.’ The chief inspector found his tongue. ‘The moment the phones are working again—and that could be any minute now—you’ll be able to clear this whole matter up. A single call to Lausanne will suffice. I’m tempted to wonder if this isn’t someone’s idea of a joke. But if so, it’s in poor taste. And I can’t understand what Mr Gonzales is on about. I ought to tell you that I’m aware there was some kind of altercation between him and Mrs Holtz. It was overheard by Daisy, quite innocently, I assure you. But I understand feelings ran high.’
‘It was horrible.’ Julia shivered. ‘Philip asked her if she was up to something, or words to that effect, and poor Ilse was terribly upset. She said she didn’t know what he was talking about and she accused him of trying to stir up trouble between us.’
Again the chief inspector hesitated; he knew he was about to step onto shaky ground.
‘It’s not my business, Julia, but how well do you know him?’
‘Well enough, I would say.’ Her tone sharpened. ‘No, better than that—I might as well tell you he’s asked me to marry him, and I’m considering his proposal.’ She paused. ‘Does that surprise you?’ Her voice was edged.
‘Not in the least. He’s an attractive man and from what little I’ve seen I would say he’s genuinely attached to you.’
‘Genuinely?’ She tested the word. ‘What exactly do you mean by that?’
Now Sinclair knew for certain he’d stepped into a minefield. But it was too late to retreat.
‘You’re a rich woman, Julia, and as such a tempting target for a certain kind of man.’
‘Do you think I don’t know that?’ She flared up. ‘I might add it’s something several of my friends have been only too willing to point out. They seem to think I’m a lovesick ninny. Is that your opinion of me?’
‘Certainly not.’
‘Then why bring it up?’
‘Because, as I said, nothing about this makes sense.’ The chief inspector stuck to his guns. ‘Because, if he has genuine doubts about Mrs Holtz, why hasn’t he been more explicit? What’s holding him back? And finally, why didn’t he tell you he was going to Lausanne to look into this business? There’s something going on here I don’t understand. That letter must have been sent to you for a reason, but I can’t see what that is. Cui bono? Who benefits from it? I’m damned if I can see.’
He shook his head in exasperation. Julia too seemed lost for words. But she reached for his hand.
‘Forgive me, Angus,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I asked for your help and you only said what had to be said. I’m fully aware what people think of Philip and they may be right. All I know about him really is what he’s told me. I know he’s been all over the world doing this and that and it may be he’s what my friends think he is: no better than an adventurer. But he lightens my heart. I don’t know any other way to put it. I just feel better when he’s with me and, whatever you think, I know he has feelings for me, even if I can’t prove it. That’s why I hate what’s happened.’
She shook her head angrily.
‘Oh, God! How much longer do we have to wait for that bloody telephone to start working?’
‘Excuse me, sir. Could I trouble you for a moment?’
The note of urgency in Baxter’s voice roused the chief inspector from his reverie. He had been sitting on his own in the drawing-room for the past twenty minutes, staring into the fire, trying to make sense of the conversation he had had with Julia Lesage a short while before. Their discussion having reached no conclusion, she had decided to go upstairs and rest for an hour—she had finally admitted to feeling not quite herself following her fall on the stairs.
He looked up.
‘What is it, Baxter?’
‘Could you come to the kitchen, sir?’ Baxter’s face was a picture of worry. ‘Doris has something to tell you.’
Mystified, Sinclair followed the chauffeur across the hall and down the long corridor to the kitchen, where he found the older of the two maids pacing about nervously. Doris’s plump cheeks seemed paler than usual; she appeared agitated.
‘Tell Mr Sinclair what you’ve told me.’ Baxter looked hard at her. His tone brooked no refusal.
The maid swallowed.
‘It was while I was doing Mr Gonzales’s room, sir.’ She had turned her gaze on the chief inspector. ‘With Daisy gone, I had to put off doing it until after lunch. But once I’d seen Madam settled I went to his room and it was while I was making his bed that I saw it.’
‘Saw what?’
‘What Madam told Mr Baxter about when they were coming back from Oxford. I mean that cuff link with the snake’s head on it. Mr Baxter told us about that and how he’d heard you say you were looking for the man who owned it.’
‘And you’re telling me you found it in Mr Gonzales’s room?’
Doris nodded.
Without a word the chief inspector reached into his pocket and brought out the broken link, which he’d been carrying on him since his meeting with Alf Hutton.
‘Was it like this one?’ He showed it to the maid.
‘Just like that, sir.’ She nodded vigorously. ‘It was lying there in a bowl on the dressing-table. It was with some other stuff, a set of keys and loose change . . .’
Sinclair could feel his heartbeat increasing. He took a moment to calm himself.
‘What did you do with it?’ he asked.
‘Nothing, sir. I just left it where it was and came downstairs and told Mr Baxter.’
She broke off to glance up at the chauffeur, whose face too had paled, or so it seemed to the chief inspector. They looked at each other. Baxter’s broad brow was grooved by a frown.
‘What are you going to do about it, sir?’ he asked.
Sinclair had already asked himself the same question. ‘Go upstairs and have a look at the thing myself,’ he said.
‘And then?’ The chauffeur waited for a moment, and when no immediate response was forthcoming, he added: ‘What are you going to say to Mr Gonzales, sir?’
‘I’m not sure.’ Sinclair bit his lip. ‘But he must be given a chance to explain how it came into his possession. Shouldn’t he be back by now?’
‘You’d think so.’ Baxter’s face had darkened further. ‘He’s been gone more than an hour. But what about Madam—shouldn’t she be told?’
‘Of course, and I’ll do that as soon as she comes down from her room. I don’t want to disturb her now.’ The chief inspector knew he was prevaricating. In truth he was so shocked by what he’d heard he hardly knew what to say. ‘I suggest you all carry on as usual, at least for the time being.’ It was the best he could manage.
‘I’m sorry, sir, but from what you told Mrs Lesage before about this cuff link, Mr Gonzales might be some kind of criminal.’ Baxter’s jaw was set. ‘I have to know; we have to think about Madam. Could he be dangerous?’
‘I don’t believe so.’ Sinclair knew he’d replied too quickly. But he could see no advantage to sowing panic among the staff, not when they were still effectively cut off from outside help. ‘It’s important we keep this to ourselves for the time being.’ He looked at them both. ‘And I want to be informed the moment Mr Gonzales returns from the village.’
Baxter nodded his agreement. ‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do,’ he said after a moment’s thought. ‘I’ll lock the front door. That way he’ll have to come round by the kitchen and I’ll be sure to spot him.’