Jasper held the door of Mr. Searsby’s study open for me, and I entered the small, plain space with a weighty keyhole desk of dark wood in the middle of the room. The surface was completely clear except for one sheet of paper and a neatly folded newspaper. A few chairs sat in front of the desk. The only other furniture in the room was a small built-in bookshelf with a set of encyclopedias on the bottom shelf. The rest of the space was taken up with ledgers. There was no sign of our host.
“We must have missed him,” I said, but then a man’s voice called, “I’m here. Come around.”
We followed the sound of his voice and found that the room was actually L-shaped. The desk was at the short end of the L, and the longer section of the room extended out beyond a wall, which had hidden it from our view when we first stepped into the room.
A man in his fifties with pointed eyebrows over hazel eyes and a sweep of dark hair going gray pulled the last dart out of a board mounted on the far wall. He transferred the darts to one hand and extended his other.
“Miss Belgrave, how do you do? I hope you’re recovered from the incident by the bridge.”
“I’m feeling much better. Thank you for opening your home to me.”
“Happy to have you. It delights my wife to no end to have more guests. And Mr. Rimington, are you enjoying your stay—except for the unpleasantness at the belvedere, of course?”
“Excepting that incident, very much so.”
“Glad to hear it. As you can see, I was having a game of darts. I’m working out a tricky problem. I find that it frees my mind up if I do another activity, something mindless. Care for a turn?”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Jasper said. “Olive? Are you in as well?”
“Of course.”
If Mr. Searsby was surprised that Jasper assumed I’d want to play, he didn’t show it. Jasper handed the darts to me. “Ladies first.”
My first throw went wide, hitting at the rim of the target, but my next two were much closer to the bullseye. Jasper did even better, his darts all striking near the center. We played a few rounds. Jasper and I acquitted ourselves fairly well, but it was Mr. Searsby who consistently hit the bullseye. Despite his expensive finely tailored suit, he looked quite comfortable throwing darts and seemed to enjoy the friendly competition. Jasper nearly beat him, but his last shot went wide.
“Jolly good showing, Mr. Rimington!”
Jasper walked down to the target to retrieve the darts. Mr. Searsby put his hands in his pockets. “Time to get down to work,” he said as he and I strolled to the desk. He gestured for me to have a seat in one of the chairs facing the desk before he went around to the other side. “I understand you’re quite good at finding answers to perplexing questions, Miss Belgrave.”
“I find I don’t like perplexing questions. I like answers.”
“So do I, Miss Belgrave. So do I.” Jasper sat down beside me in the matching chair. Mr. Searsby looked from one of us to the other. “I take it you two are a team.”
“Yes, we work well together.”
Jasper added, “I’d say our skills complement each other. Of course, mysterious death is Olive’s specialty. She’s the one who’s been helpful to the police in the past.”
“Yes, that’s what I understand. I’ve checked up on you, Miss Belgrave.” He gave me a brief smile. “I’m sure you understand. I’m not about to turn someone loose in my household unless I’ve investigated their bonafides. And yours, Miss Belgrave, seem to be in order.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” I said. “Did you have any questions for me?”
“If you were to look into Bankston’s death, what would that involve?”
“We’d be as discreet as possible. The first thing to do would be to look around Bankston’s quarters, then try to work out why he went to the belvedere.”
“Foolish thing to do, that,” Mr. Searsby said.
“He wasn’t in the habit of going there?”
Mr. Searsby shrugged. “I have no idea.”
Jasper said, “Then some discreet questioning of the servants would be in order. They will probably have more insight into Bankston’s habits. My man Grigsby can take care of that.” Jasper glanced at me, and I nodded. “Grigsby is here now and has a good rapport with staff, I believe.”
“Good.” Mr. Searsby ran his hand over his chin. “The man from Scotland Yard will arrive tomorrow. We’ve attempted to keep that news quiet, but it’s difficult to do. Have a snoop around—as inconspicuously as possible—and see what you can find out. I’d like nothing better than to wrap this whole thing up and present it to the London man as a fait accompli. I’d rather avoid having a man from the Yard invade our holiday. Most likely Bankston’s death was an accident—although dashed if I can figure out why Bankston would be at the belvedere.”
Mrs. Searsby came into the room, and the men stood as she went around the desk to her husband. She’d removed the worn beret and ulster and wore an elegant silk dress. “I see you’ve met Miss Belgrave.”
Mr. Searsby said, “Yes. Everything is arranged. Miss Belgrave and Mr. Rimington will do some quiet investigation this afternoon.”
“Good. I do hope you’ll be able to sort this out quickly. Tomorrow we put up the tree and bring in the Yule log. I don’t want a police investigation to mar our Christmas celebrations.” She sighed. “The housekeeper asked me about Scotland Yard, so the word is already out among the servants. I did my best to downplay it, but I’m sure the news will spread throughout the house.”
“Don’t worry, my dear. Everything will be fine.” Mr. Searsby pushed in his chair, and I stood as well. “Miss Belgrave and Mr. Rimington would like to begin by examining Bankston’s rooms.”
“Then you’ll want to see his bedroom along with his sitting room. I’ve already checked the silver safe. I used Mr. Searsby’s duplicate key. Mrs. Pickering—the housekeeper—and I examined the contents. Nothing is missing.”
Mr. Searsby said, “I asked my wife to check it. I’m sure the Scotland Yard people will want to know.”
“I didn’t have any doubt it was all just as it should be,” Mrs. Searsby said.
“But he’d been with you for some time?” I asked.
“Over three years,” Mr. Searsby said. “Excellent at his job. No complaints there.”
Mrs. Searsby patted her husband’s arm as we walked to the door. “Of course Mr. Searsby wouldn’t have kept Bankston on if he wasn’t good at his job.”
“I have little patience with incompetence.”
The genial host who had played darts was now frowning, and I could see the businessman in him. I imagined he was the sort of person who had high expectations for his staff, and if those expectations weren’t met, then the person would be let go quickly.
“When would you like to begin?” Mrs. Searsby asked.
Jasper waved a hand, deferring to me, and I said, “Immediately.”
“Then let me ring for Mrs. Pickering. She can take you to Bankston’s quarters.”
Bankston had a sparsely furnished bedroom with the other servants’ rooms at the top of the house. Mrs. Pickering, a spindly woman with a brisk manner, stood with her hand on the doorknob. She had kept her face blank when Mrs. Searsby informed her that Jasper and I would be making inquiries into Bankston’s death and that information was to be kept from the rest of the staff, but now it was clear she wasn’t pleased with the idea of leaving us alone in Bankston’s room.
The room contained a single bed covered with a thick counterpane in dark blue, a bureau with shaving implements laid out in a neat row in front of the mirror, and a fine walnut wardrobe. The only personal touches were a photograph of a Highland landscape and a stack of books on the bedside table. Jasper tilted his head so he could read the spines of the books, which were perfectly aligned, as I asked Mrs. Pickering, “I suppose Bankston didn’t spend much time here?”
“No, miss. He was always busy about his work.”
“He had a sitting room as well?”
“Yes, miss. Belowstairs, next to my sitting room.”
“We’ll need to see it as well. We’ll come downstairs and ring for you when we’re ready to see his sitting room.”
Her brow lowered. “I don’t hold with ladies and gentlemen coming belowstairs. It upsets things.”
“We’ll do our best to not cause a commotion. In fact, we’d prefer to keep our visit as quiet as possible.” The attic rooms were deserted at this time of day, so there was no one to see us here, but the basement of Holly Hill Lodge would be bustling. “Our only interest is to discover what happened to Bankston,” I added in my most placating tone.
Her gaze, which had been challenging, wavered. “Yes. Terrible, that.”
“Do you know why he walked back from the station?”
“No, and it was a foolish thing to do with the storm on the way.”
Jasper looked up from the books. “He wasn’t in the habit of walking back?”
“Mr. Bankston?” She gave a little scoffing laugh. “No. He much preferred to have Thompson, the chauffeur, drive him.”
Jasper motioned to the bedside table. “A dictionary and thesaurus. Not quite the usual bedtime reading.”
A smile crossed Mrs. Pickering’s face. “Mr. Bankston was fond of his word puzzles.”
“Word puzzles?” I asked.
“The sort with clues and squares that you fill with each letter of your answer.”
“Oh, yes. I’ve seen them in a few ladies’ magazines. Crosswords, I believe they’re called.”
“That’s right. Crosswords. That’s what he used the dictionaries for. ‘To look up possibilities,’ he said.” Her attitude seemed to have softened toward us a bit. “He would sometimes read out the clues in the servants’ hall. I didn’t understand most of them, but he could always explain them so that they made sense—a twisted sense, if you know what I mean.”
I smiled. “I do. I tried a crossword recently and failed miserably.”
Mrs. Pickering chuckled. “It’s very difficult to find the crossword puzzles, though. If any of the staff came across one—in a magazine that was in the rubbish or something like that—we saved it for Mr. Bankston. He even made his own crossword puzzles a few times. Stumped most of us, he did.”
“What sort of man was he?” Jasper, his hands in his pockets, walked across the room to us. “His attitudes and manner?”
Mrs. Pickering considered a moment, her forehead crinkling. “It’s hard to say. Now that I think about it, his fondness for crosswords was the single . . . personal . . . thing I knew about him. Most times, he was standoffish. Of course one has to be when one is in charge of the staff, but he never made any overtures of friendship toward me—or anyone else that I know of. He was a very self-contained man. Occasionally he would have tea with me in the evening, but not often. During those times, we discussed household matters.”
“Do you know if he had any family?” I asked.
“I don’t believe so. At any rate, he never mentioned anyone.” She shook her head. “I don’t understand why he was out at the belvedere. It wasn’t like him at all.”
“He wasn’t a rambler?” Jasper asked.
“No. He much preferred to be indoors.” The chime of a clock echoed up from downstairs. “I must return to my duties.”
She left, and I closed the door after she was a few steps down the hall. Jasper pulled a pair of driving gloves from his pocket and gave me the right-handed one. “Here. Best wear this.” He put on the other one, then used his left hand to open the wardrobe.
“You think the police will look for fingerprints?”
“Perhaps. Better not to leave ours, don’t you think?”
“Definitely. We wouldn’t want to confuse the issue. I’ll look in the bureau.” The supple leather glove was too big for my hand. The ends of the fingertips flopped around and got in my way, but I put my other hand in my pocket so I didn’t accidentally touch anything with it. I worked my way down through the drawers. “Only clothing. Everything is exceptionally neat.” Each article of clothing was carefully folded and precisely placed. I pushed in the bottom drawer and moved on to search under the bed, then ran my gloved hand under the mattress.
“It’s the same here,” Jasper said. “His own clothes—his day suit—are of the finest quality. The shoes as well. Everything is of the very best materials and workmanship.”
I cocked my head. “Better quality than you would expect?”
He turned from the wardrobe, a pair of shoes in his hand. “From Milford & Dean,” he said, his tone reverent.
“Are they?” Even I recognized the name of the exclusive shop. “A butler who shops on Bond Street. Intriguing.” I kneeled and pulled out the drawers of the small bedside table. “But it sounds as if he had no family. Perhaps he spent most of his earnings on bespoke shoes and suits.”
“Or he liked to indulge in luxurious things, which could be why he’s helping with the couriers.”
I sat back on my heels. “You mean he was doing it for money, not because he believes in their cause?”
“Money is an incredible motivator—even more so than political opinions.”
“Yes, people will do quite a lot for financial gain.” I returned to my search. “More books here. An old Baedeker’s—Egypt—and several books of sermons.”
“Odd assortment.”
“Yes. They all have paper bookmarks with numbers. Let me see . . .” I flipped open the cover of a book of sermons. The bookplate was stamped with the name Oscar Quick. “Yes, they’re from the library here.” I angled the book so Jasper could see the bookplate. “Tommy told me Mr. Searsby purchased the contents along with the house itself from the former owner, Mr. Quick. Unusual name. That’s why I remembered it.” I replaced the book in the drawer. “Perhaps the books are for his crosswords. No one has said he was a devout man.”
“The library here is quite extensive. It would be a good resource for him.” Jasper closed the wardrobe. “Nothing else that I see here. Ready to do downstairs?”
I took off the glove. “I’ll just hang onto this, shall I?” At Jasper’s nod, I tucked it into my pocket. “Hopefully his sitting room will be more revealing.”