We clambered down the spiral staircase, round and round in a dizzying manner, then hurried across the flagstone floor, but once we were in the open air and approaching the snowy mound, we both slowed.
Jasper went to one end of it and used his scarf to dust away the snow. I hoped that he’d uncover a bush or a pile of stones that had fallen from the fractured windowsill, but after a few strokes, he stepped back. “I never met the man, but I’m fairly sure this is Bankston. Poor chap.”
Jasper had only removed a small section of the snow, but it was enough to reveal a patch of black hair with silver strands, a pale cheekbone, a sloping nose, and a thick dark eyebrow.
“I believe you’re right.”
“Blast!” Jasper said under his breath as he stood over Bankston’s body.
I looked up sharply at his tone. It was quiet, but there was an intensity to it that I’d rarely heard from Jasper.
He felt my gaze and looked up. “Sorry for the outburst, but his death throws a spanner into the works.”
I knew he couldn’t say more than that, so I shifted my attention to the belvedere. The window with the decayed sill was directly above us. “Do you think he fell?”
Jasper squatted down and brushed away more snow. Now that I knew it was a person under the layer of white, I could see that Bankston lay on his stomach with one side of his face pressed to the ground.
“No, I don’t think so. There’s a wound on the side of his head that’s not next to the ground. No, don’t come around. It’s rather ghastly. You’ll sleep better if you don’t see it.” Jasper stood and surveyed the area around us, his hands on his hips. “I would imagine that if he fell, the wound would be on the underside of his head and not visible.”
“That makes sense. It’s quite flat here at the base of the belvedere. If he had fallen, he wouldn’t have—um—rolled after he hit the ground.”
Jasper stepped back and brushed a layer of snow away from a large stone that lay nearby. “This is what hit him.” Jasper swiveled and looked upward. “It must have fallen from the window.”
“The area around the window was crumbling away.” I didn’t want to look at the pale section of Bankston’s face that I could see, so I focused on the belvedere. “Why was he here in the first place? And in the middle of the night too? It was so late when he arrived in Chipping Bascomb. I’d have thought he would have stayed on the path and gone directly to the house.”
“He might have popped up to have a smoke. The cigarette butt and pack looked fairly new. Or perhaps he was meeting someone.” Jasper moved back to Bankston, leaned down, and gripped one of his shoulders.
“What are you doing?”
“Rolling him over.”
“You can’t do that. We must wait for the police.”
“Ten to one the local chaps will wash their hands of this. A death on a country estate a few days before Christmas? It will be passed up the chain.”
“You mean to Scotland Yard.”
“Something like that. And I guarantee nothing will be done until at least after Boxing Day. I can’t wait that long. I have to find out everything I can about Bankston now.”
This was a side of Jasper I’d never seen—intense and focused and unwilling to swerve from his course. Before I could argue further, he pulled at the shoulder. The body rolled over, and Jasper began going through the butler’s pockets.
“Jasper!”
“Yes?” He didn’t look up.
“I’m . . . shocked. I really am.”
He glanced up at me from under his hat brim. “You wanted to see what goes on behind the façade of the foppish gentleman.” He tilted his head toward the dead body. “Well, I can say that this is not usual, but . . . in this case, needs must.” He pulled out a piece of paper from one of Bankston’s pockets.
My curiosity overcame my reservations. “Anything?”
“Nothing of significance. Some loose change. A pencil stub and the receipt for the flowers.” Jasper tilted the page so I could read it.
“Well, we do know that he was in London, then. It has yesterday’s date.”
Jasper nodded and replaced everything. He was about to return the body to the position it had been in, but I said, “Wait, what’s that on the ground? There, under his arm.”
I plucked it out and held it by the edges with my gloved fingers. It was a sheet of paper folded in half. One of the corners had a jagged tear. The word “Bankston” was written in thick black letters across the front.
Jasper carefully rolled Bankston’s body back onto its side, then came around to look over my shoulder. “What does it say?”
I opened it. “Nothing. It’s blank inside. How peculiar.”
“Quite.” Jasper stepped back and scanned the area. “Bankston left the station and walked this way through the woods toward the Lodge, but he left the path and came up here . . .”
“Where there was a note with his name on it, but no message inside? Why would you leave a note like that?”
Jasper’s gaze traveled from Bankston’s body to the window of the belvedere above it. “Perhaps there was someone up there waiting for him.”
“To drop a rock on his head, you mean. What a horrible thought, but yes, that could be what happened.” I traced my gloved hand along the jagged edge of the note. “The note was only to get Bankston into position below the window. There was no need for a message inside.” I shivered. “How very cold-blooded.”
“Yes, and if it’s true, the paper must have been attached to the belvedere somehow.”
We both surveyed the ivy-covered stone tower. Jasper strode quickly through the snow and parted the ivy, his motions jarring the leaves and releasing little bursts of snow. “I think . . . yes, there is a bit of paper lodged here among the leaves. It is a slightly different hue. It has a blue tinge to it, rather than the pure white of the snow.”
“I can see it. Yes, it does.” The slight hint of blue made it stand out from the snow layered on the ivy.
“A hole’s been punched in the corner, and a piece of twine’s been threaded through it—that’s how it was attached.”
I held up the note. The diagonal tear at the edge of it fit exactly into the jagged edge of paper that remained in the ivy. “So someone did want Bankston right under the window.”
“Wait—the twine isn’t tied off to a vine.” Jasper reached higher and pushed the ivy out of the way, exposing the rough line of string. It ran straight up through the ivy.
“I saw some twine when we were on the top floor—at the window above us.” I shoved the note at Jasper and dashed away, calling over my shoulder. “Wait here. Let me check and see if it’s still there.” I raced up the circular steps and went to the window.
When I reached the top, Jasper’s voice floated up, “Be careful, old bean.”
I poked my head out of the window and had a perfect view of the top of Jasper’s fedora—and poor Bankston’s body at Jasper’s feet. “I’m the epitome of caution.” He tilted his head back and opened his mouth to speak, but I added, “Most of the time, but most certainly right now.”
The ivy curled over the crumpled windowsill and laced up the sides of the frame. The twine was still there, caught on the nail. I gently tugged away a strand of ivy that partially covered the nail. Once I’d pulled the ivy back, I could see that I was wrong. The string hadn’t been caught on the nail, which I could now see was shiny, not rusty.
The new nail had been driven through the center of a small piece of wood and deep into the masonry of the window frame. I touched the little strip of wood with my gloved finger. It swiveled loosely on the nail, the far end pivoting up, revealing a hole bored into the end of the wood. The twine had been run through it and knotted. Jasper said, “What did you do? The string moved.”
I glanced from the small piece of wood to the other side of the window frame, where the long board I’d noticed earlier still hung by a single nail, pointing downward. “You’d better come up and see for yourself.”
By the time he’d sprinted up the stairs, I’d pulled the long board into a horizontal position. It fit across the window opening.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Just watch a moment. See how this small strip of wood, when I swivel it up, holds the longer board in place? If something were placed here, in the middle, and balanced against the long board . . .” I reached over and tugged on the string. “When Bankston pulled the paper away—”
The strip of wood pivoted as I tugged on the string, and the long board fell way. Jasper’s gaze went from the board to the figure of Bankston on the ground below. Like the pendulum on a clock that was winding down, the swing of the long board became smaller and smaller as we watched it for a moment in silence. Then Jasper tapped the portion of the sill that was still intact. “Whatever was positioned here on the sill—”
“Like the good-sized rock you found beside Bankston’s head,” I said.
“—would fall straight down and hit Bankston when he tugged on the note. Clever, in a fiendish way.”
“Someone intended to harm Bankston—hurt him severely, if not murder him outright.”
“Yes.” Jasper sounded preoccupied. His attention was bouncing back and forth between the window and the body below us.
“But why would someone leave the twine and the boards?” I asked. “It’s clear what happened.”
“Only if you see the string—and it’s well hidden in the ivy. Whoever did this probably intended to return and remove the note, twine, and boards. Something must have happened to prevent them from doing it before we found Bankston.”
“Oh! Of course! The snow.” I swept my arm across the view. “Once it snowed, they couldn’t risk returning and leaving tracks that could be identified.”
“I bet you’re right. The storm blew up more quickly than expected. The forecast had called for snow today, not during the night.”
We heard the lilt of voices and scanned the woods.
“There.” Jasper pointed. “Coming from the village, down the trail we walked.”
Through the trees, I glimpsed two people on horseback. We hurried down the stairs. “That’s Francie and—um—Mr. Culwell. Theo,” I said, struggling to recall his given name at the moment.
By the time they appeared at the bottom of the slope below the belvedere, we were high stepping through the snow down to the path. Francie waved and called, “You should have come with us, Olive. We found a tremendously handsome bough that will work wonderfully for a Yule log . . .” Her voice died away as she saw our expressions. Francie reined in her horse. Theo slowed his horse and stopped beside her, studying our tracks to and from the belvedere. “What’s happened?” Francie asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Francie, I’m sorry to tell you this, but something horrible has happened. It’s Bankston. He’s dead.”
Francie’s eyes widened, and for a moment I could have sworn a look of relief flashed across Theo’s face, but it was quickly hidden as he trotted his horse forward. “We can go for help. Which is closer, the Lodge or Chipping Bascomb?”
Francie’s horse shied to the side, and it took her a moment to tighten the reins. “The house.” Francie looked around. “Where . . . ?”
“It happened at the belvedere,” I said.
“Are you sure? Perhaps I should . . .”
“No, there’s no question about it,” Jasper said. “And it’s a rather gruesome sight. It would be best if you could fetch the police as quickly as possible.”
“All right.” Francie wheeled the horse around.
Theo called out, “We’ll be back as quick as we can,” and they galloped away.