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The next morning as I drank my tea and nibbled on toast—brought to me by Mrs. Bates since Maddie was otherwise occupied—I made a list of clues about my attacker. There was precious little.
1. Button, brass, plain
2. Scarf, mine, lost?
3. Scent, sweet, vanilla? almonds?
And that was it. There’d been no voice, no visual. No dropped driving license or letter with the attacker’s name conveniently written on it. The only thing left was to go through the clues one by one.
The button could have come from the chauffeur’s uniform. It looked like the sort of thing to be found on a uniform. I’d have to see if I could sneak in and have a look at his jackets. But, frankly, it could have come from anyone’s clothing. Chaz had a nautical blazer, and I didn’t doubt at least one of the other men did, too. Nautical was all the rage these days. Aunt Butty had a hat decked out in red, white, and blue ribbons and rosettes, loaded down with brass buttons.
My scarf I was fairly sure I’d left in the garden after luncheon the day after the break-in. Again, anyone could have picked it up and kept it. Either they didn’t realize who it belonged to, and therefore weren’t sure who to return it to, or they did know and either forgot or kept it for nefarious purposes. Either way, it didn’t narrow things down except, perhaps, to people in the house: guests and staff. And Harry, of course. It also ruled out Varant and Neville Chamberlain since neither of them had been there. Although I couldn’t imagine why the former would try and murder me, and the latter was no doubt long gone back to London.
Finally, that sweet scent. I couldn’t place it other than it smelled like...biscuits. Or cake perhaps. Unfortunately, it didn’t clue me in to my attacker. No one smelled like that. Although I supposed I hadn’t sniffed everyone thoroughly. It wasn’t any sort of perfume I was familiar with. Could it be Cook or her assistant? Could they be in on it? Or could the attacker have had a pocket full of biscuits?
I laughed at my own nonsensical ideas. This was getting nowhere fast.
Really, there was little I could do other than attempt a visit with Maddie, check the chauffeur’s uniforms, and go around sniffing people. Which would no doubt make me look like a lunatic. But there was nothing for it if I wanted to discover the truth.
Tucking my notes away, I finished my toilette with a swipe of lipstick and a string of Tahitian pearls and exited my room.
While I was breakfasting, Jarvis delivered me a note. It was from Varant. He’d had a word with Willis’s superiors, and I was to be allowed to visit Maddie any time I wished. Huzzah! Take that Willis!
The minute breakfast was over, I took my car into town and marched into the police station. I’d barely opened my mouth to demand to see my maid when the desk sergeant gave me a supercilious smile.
“Lady Rample. Detective Inspector Willis said to expect you. This way, please.”
I felt like grumbling but held my tongue. I hadn’t expected it to be this easy, even with Varant’s clout behind it. I suppose I should have known better.
The sergeant led me to a small room with a couple of chairs on either side of a narrow table. The floor was scuffed, the lightbulb dim, and the walls a depressing green that verged on gray. The single window overlooking the street was in desperate need of a wash, the fine film of dust partially blocking the morning light. The place stank of stale cigarettes and old tea.
Maddie sat at the table looking tired and pale, but otherwise none the worse for wear. She looked up and, seeing me, appeared suddenly hopeful.
“M’lady!” She jumped to her feet, hands clasped to her flat chest.
“Sit down. Sit down.” I waved at her as I took my own seat. I’d give anything for a cup of strong tea, but based on the odor, I decided to wait. “How are you doing, Maddie?”
She grimaced. “Been better. Could be worse.”
“Have you seen your solicitor?”
“Yes, m’lady. He was in the other day. I can’t thank you enough for sending him.”
“I am not about to allow this Willis person to railroad you into a confession.”
“Wouldn’t do it no how,” she said, her jaw set into stubborn lines.
I had no doubt of it. “Good girl. What did the solicitor say?”
“Mr. Jones said it’s poppycock. They’ve no evidence and no right to hold me. He said I’ll be out by the end of the day.” She didn’t look convinced.
“If that’s what he says, then you should believe him. He’s one of the best.” I studied her closely. “Maddie, do you recall the scarf I was wearing the afternoon after the break-in? The one with pink and white stripes.”
“Of course, m’lady.”
“Do you remember if I was wearing it when I came up to get ready for supper later that day?”
She scrunched up her face in thought. “No, my lady, you weren’t. Fact, I went down to find it thinking you must ‘ave left it somewhere. I even checked the garden.”
“Did you find it?”
“No. Somebody picked it up.” She frowned. “I think it was that Binky person.”
My eyebrows went up at that. “Binky took my scarf?”
“I’m almost certain of it. When I stepped out on the terrace, he was standing next to the table. When he heard me, he turned around and looked all guilty. He was holding something in his hand, all scrunched up like. I asked had he seen your scarf and he barked at me like I was an idiot and walked away. I thought on it, and I’m pretty sure that’s what he was holding. But I couldn’t very well tell on him. Who’d believe me against a lord?”
She had a point. “You could have told me.”
She shrugged. “I was gonna get Mary, that’s the maid as cleans his room, to poke around for it. But before I could ask, that whole thing with the dead guy happened. Who was he?”
“We still don’t know, I’m afraid.” Even to my maid I wasn’t going to mention the fact I’d seen the dead man with Binky. But I did think it was an interesting coincidence that Binky had also likely taken my scarf.
After assuring myself that Maddie was well, I exited the police station, my mind spinning. Binky had shown up at a party in the middle of nowhere where he knew no one and proceeded to have a secret meeting with a man who later turned up dead. Binky had also likely taken my scarf which was later used in an attempt to strangle me. Yes, Binky and I needed to have a conversation. And this time I was bringing in the big guns.
––––––––
AS I PULLED INTO THE drive at Wit’s End, I passed Harry’s Bentley pulling out, the chauffeur at the wheel and Harry in the back, nose in a paper. I smiled to myself. This was the perfect time to search the chauffeur’s quarters.
Instead of pulling up to the front door, I drove around to the garage. No one was in sight, so I slipped inside and took the stairs to the upper floor where the chauffeur’s apartment was. The door was unlocked so I stepped inside and took stock.
It was one large room tucked up under the eaves of the garage. To my left was a tiny kitchenette with a cooker barely big enough to boil a kettle on. To the side of that was a small sink above which hung a rack for dishes and cups. On the other side was a curtained area which I assumed held the loo.
Straight ahead was a table big enough for two, tucked up under a low window. On either side were rickety chairs. They looked like antiques and had no doubt come from the big house at some point. Probably Harry had ditched them when he was renovating. In the center of the room on a round braided rug was a single armchair and next to it a stand which held a lamp and a radio.
To the right, in the darkest corner, was a narrow bed and next to it a single door wardrobe made of cheap pinewood.
“Eureka,” I muttered to myself.
I threw open the door of the wardrobe. In addition to regular clothing, a single chauffeur’s uniform hung neatly. Obviously, he was wearing the other, so I couldn’t check that, but I doubted he’d be wearing a uniform with a missing button. I checked the spare. The brass buttons were similar to the one Chaz had found, but the spare uniform had all its buttons. Dash it all.
I checked the hamper and found nothing but a handful of dirty linens and shirts. So, unless he was running around in a uniform that was missing a button, the chauffeur was out. It had been too easy anyway.
I returned to the house, more convinced than ever that Binky held the clues to all of this. I needed to confront him once and for all, but I was going to need help.
I found Aunt Butty in the morning room, sipping tea, and reading a rather torrid romance novel. I made a mental note to borrow it at some point in the future.
“Ophelia,” she exclaimed when I entered. “How is poor Maddie?”
“Holding up.” I quickly told her what I’d discovered and outlined my plan.
She smiled smugly and set aside her novel. “Oh, this should be fun. Lead on!”