Mrs. Pickering escorted us down a set of plain stairs from the family’s domain on the first floor to the servants’ hall and kitchens, which were on the ground floor. We met no one on the way, and I suspected that she had made sure the servants were busy so no questions would be raised about our presence. She turned the key in the lock to Bankston’s sitting room and stepped back. “I locked the door once we had the news about Mr. Bankston. It seemed the proper thing to do.”
“Good judgment on your part, Mrs. Pickering,” Jasper said.
The door opened to a large chilly room with polished wood furniture and a richly patterned Oriental carpet in a deep red and white pattern. An armchair sat in one corner by the fireplace, a large desk of polished wood filled another wall, and a grandfather clock stood by the window that looked out on the gardens at the back of the house.
Mrs. Pickering, her manner not nearly as frosty as it had been earlier, said, “The door on the right is the silver safe.” She hesitated. “I can’t open that for you. Mr. Bankston had that key with him. Mrs. Searsby brought the duplicate key, and we checked it together. All is in order, but she took the key away with her again.”
“We don’t need to have a look at it,” I said. “At the moment, we’re only concerned with his personal effects.”
“Then I’ll leave you to have a quick look around. I’ll return and lock up after you leave,” she said and departed.
I moved to the center of the room. “She put a bit of emphasis on the word quick. She doesn’t want us to linger here.”
“Yes, we’re making her skittish, being belowstairs. However, I don’t think it will take too long.” Jasper went to the desk, pulling his glove from his pocket. “I’ll start on this. It’s so neat and orderly, it won’t take long.”
Everything on the desk from the ledgers to the inkstand to the carefully placed pencil was aligned with precision. “It does rather look as if he used a ruler to space things exactly one inch apart. Look, even the Christmas cards on the mantel are arranged just so.” A card with a row of snow-covered cottages, their mullioned windows glowing with warm yellow light, sat at the exact center of the mantel. A few less-ornate cards were spaced at intervals of two inches apart on either side of the one with the cottages. Christmas packages wrapped in red paper with gold bows were stacked on either end of the mantel, arranged from largest on the bottom to the smallest on the top. I could read the tags on a few of them and saw they were for the servants.
Even with the meticulous placement of all the items, the room still felt more lived-in and homier than the bedroom. The easy chair by the fire looked comfortable, and there were more photos of the Highlands. The Christmas cards and presents gave the room a cheerful holiday touch.
A high stack of books sat on the square side table by the armchair, and I went over to have a look. “More dictionaries. There’s a hand-drawn plan for a crossword as well.” I’d put the glove back on, and I picked up the sheet of paper that rested on top of the books. A crossword grid had been sketched on it, and some squares had been blacked out with dark pencil strokes.
Jasper looked up from the drawer he had opened. “Any clues listed for the crossword?”
“Only one, ‘aristocratic beverage.’ Eight letters.”
We both fell silent, then Jasper said, “Earl Grey.”
“Oh, very good! That fits. Of course, I’d expect a code breaker to be quite good at crosswords. Probably child’s play to you.”
“Any puzzle, even a simple one, can be baffling if you don’t have the key.”
I replaced the paper. “Well, there’s nothing else here. It looks like it was a preliminary sketch with that one clue listed.”
“Then it’s not useful to us.” Jasper closed the desk drawer and moved to another one. “Except for a couple of unopened packs of Woodbine cigarettes, I’m not finding anything here either.”
“So he did smoke the same kind of cigarette you noticed at the belvedere.”
“Appears so.” Jasper shifted the contents of the next drawer. “Ledgers with the household accounts. He kept the wine cellar well stocked. Correspondence of the sort one would expect. Stamps, ink, and blank writing paper.” Jasper pulled out the rolling desk chair to open the lap drawer.
I shifted the dictionary out of the way to have a look at the books on the bottom of the stack, which were another travel guide and a book of poems. A soft leather-bound book didn’t have anything printed on the spine. I tugged it out, sat down on the edge of the easy chair, and opened it on my lap.
The lined pages were filled with tidy handwriting, notes about tradesmen to be paid and workmen who were scheduled to arrive to complete repairs. A folded down corner further on marked another section related to Mrs. Searsby’s guests. Bankston had detailed which bedroom guests were to have along with any of their preferences, such as whether a lady wanted tea or cocoa served on a tray in her room in the morning, or which newspaper a gentleman read. Mrs. Searsby was a thoughtful hostess, instructing Bankston to see that a guest’s favorite flowers were placed in the room along with special soaps for the ladies and cigarettes for the men.
I flipped through the pages. Bankston’s personality came through in his short notes. For the first time I got a sense of the man. About Madge, he’d written, “Early riser. Likes tea hot and strong. Will send it back if it’s only warm. Mrs. Searsby wants an arrangement of holly and white roses for the sitting room table—although Miss Lambert will never notice.” Under Ambrose Eggers, he’d noted, “Fussy about linen and clothing. Must valet him myself. No one else will be up to his standards. Linen closet to be his darkroom. Remind staff to avoid it at all times.”
“Find anything?” Jasper asked. “Like a handy notation—perhaps a star—by a name with the words ‘next courier’ beside it?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“No, that would be far too simple.” He sighed. “Of course it would be folly to commit something of that nature to paper. He wouldn’t write it down.”
I slowed as I reached the last pages with Bankston’s handwriting, the section devoted to the current guests. I turned a page, and the notebook fell open where a page had been ripped out. “This is curious.”
“What?”
“Does Bankston strike you as the sort of man who would tear a page from a notebook in a sloppy manner?”
Jasper glanced at the desk where everything was neatly squared away. “No. I’d imagine he’d take a ruler and use a penknife to cut away a page.”
I went across to the desk and pointed out the ragged edge of the page that was still attached to the spine. “It’s a book of Bankston’s notes on household matters. The missing page is in the section about the current guests.”
“Looks as if he was in a hurry to remove it,” Jasper said.
I tilted the notebook closer to the light of the desk lamp that Jasper had switched on. “Look, there’s some writing on the bit of paper that’s still attached to the spine—the first letter of a word, a capital letter T. It must be someone’s name. See on these other pages how he wrote the names on a single line, then indented his notes about each guest underneath?”
“So it must be either . . . Tommy Phillips or Theo Culwell.”
“Let me see who’s missing from the entries.” I went back to the chair and fumbled with the pages. The glove made my fingers clumsy, but I finally turned the pages and read through the names of the most recent houseguests. “They’re listed by given name, then surname . . . there’s no listing for Tommy Phillips.”
Jasper was glancing through a stack of what appeared to be letters. The pages were folded in thirds and didn’t lie flat. His attention was on what he was reading, and he murmured a noise that indicated he was half-listening to me. I went through the entries again to double check that I hadn’t missed Tommy’s name—I hadn’t—but this time I read slower and noticed one of Bankston’s jottings underneath Prudence Brinkle’s name. Bankston had written, “Too fond of gin. Can probably get twenty pounds out of the old girl.”
I sat up straighter and read the note aloud to Jasper.
He looked up from the papers. I had his complete attention now. “That’s . . . curious. Sounds rather nefarious, in fact.”
“Yes, it does sound like Bankston intended to indulge in a spot of extortion, doesn’t it? And—remember in the garden—Miss Brinkle was talking to Mrs. Searsby about an ‘odious man.’”
“I don’t recall what they were saying. I was focused on getting the little plaque in place.”
“Well, I do. Miss Brinkle must have been talking about Bankston. She said she wouldn’t mourn him. She mentioned a fuss over G&Ts and Mrs. Searsby said ‘Frank’—Mr. Searsby—wouldn’t have cut off Miss Brinkle’s allowance.”
“Then it does sound as if Bankston intended to ask for hush money,” Jasper said. “I guess that answers our question about what motivated him.”
“It certainly appears to,” I said. “He was in a position to know the habits of the guests. Perhaps he threatened to send off an anonymous note if Miss Brinkle didn’t pay him. Twenty pounds isn’t an outrageous amount. Bankston probably hoped she would pay up without much of a fuss to make it go away.”
“We’re not building a flattering picture of Bankston.” Jasper tilted his head, indicating the stack of books at my elbow. “His interest in crossword puzzles seems to be the only redeeming feature we’ve uncovered.”
“He was good at his job. Mr. and Mrs. Searsby said he was an excellent butler.”
“But if Miss Brinkle is right,” Jasper countered, “Bankston used his trusted position to his advantage.”
“That’s true. Let me see if there’s anything else here . . .” I looked over the entries carefully. “Yes, there’s more. I missed these notations earlier because I was focused on the names, not the details about each person. Under Theo Culwell’s name, Bankston wrote, ‘Research Culwell Luggage Company, headquarters in Kansas City,’ and then there’s—”
Jasper held up a finger. “Wait. Kansas City . . . didn’t I see . . . ?” He flipped back through the letters, then plucked one from the pile. “Yes, here it is. A letter from the Kansas City Rotary Club.” As he skimmed the contents, his eyebrows moved up his forehead. “I didn’t read it earlier. I was only checking the return addresses, but listen to this. ‘Dear Mr. Bankston, regarding your inquiry into Culwell Luggage Company, we are unable to provide any further information as the company is not located in Kansas City. However, Anderson Fine Luggage and Trunks is located here. Their owner, Mr. Stephen Row, is astute and stays on the forefront of all things in his industry. He assures me that there is no such company as Culwell Luggage in Kansas City. He would be familiar with it if it did exist. I enclose Mr. Row’s address, if you would like to correspond with him. I can vouch for the quality of Mr. Row’s luggage. It is excellent. Please let us know if we can be of any further assistance.’”
I jumped up. “But then that would mean—Culwell Luggage Company doesn’t exist. Theo told me himself the headquarters are in Kansas City.” I went across and read the letter, then handed it back. “How incredibly bizarre. He’s clearly passionate about luggage, and Francie said she’d seen samples of his aeroplane case.”
“Anyone could have a prototype made and travel about in another country, raising investment funds and then . . .”
“Disappear with the money. Oh, dear. We’ll have to tell Francie. That will be upsetting.”
Jasper refolded the letter. “Perhaps a word with Mr. Searsby might be the better course. At least let him know the situation before he invests, then he can tell his daughter.”
“Yes, that would be better. But more to the point for us, Bankston apparently intended to put what he’d learned from the helpful Kansas City Rotary Club to work.” I found my place in Bankston’s notes. “There’s more to his entry under Theo’s name. Bankston used a very fine pencil, so it’s difficult to read, but the amount of two hundred pounds is written beside the note about Kansas City.” I tapped the notebook with my gloved finger. “There’s no question about it. Bankston was blackmailing the guests.”
“It certainly looks that way. This whole stack of letters is of a similar nature as the rotary letter. At first, I thought perhaps Mr. Searsby was having Bankston make inquiries about certain companies and persons, but that would be more the purview of a secretary, not a butler. Bankston was checking up on everyone. He inquired about Mr. Eggers’ scientific research, then had a private detective check on Miss Ravenna’s habits regarding paramours as well as drugs—she’ll find that amusing, I’m sure.”
“And you? Did he have you investigated?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. I was a late addition to the guest list. He probably didn’t have time to research me.”
“Thank goodness for small favors,” I said. “Such secrets you have—you could have been a veritable treasure trove!”
“Quite.” He met my teasing tone with a smile, then went on. “I also found a letter about Madge Lambert—checking what school she attended and what her connections are. And finally, the last related to our little group is a letter to a reporter asking if there’s any dirt on Blix Windway. It’s couched in more civilized language, but that’s what it boils down to. The single response that was—unflattering, shall we say—was the one about the Culwell Luggage Company.”
“Nothing about Tommy Phillips?”
Jasper looked again. “No. Nothing.”
I ran my gloved finger down the jagged edge of the missing page. “Odd that Tommy’s page is missing from Bankston’s notes and that there’s no letter about him.”
Jasper said, “Maybe there was a letter and it was removed when the page was torn out.”
I leaned back in the chair. “Remember when we set out on our walk earlier and came around the corner of the house and met Tommy. He was stomping snow from his boots. If my sense of direction is right, he would have been coming from somewhere around this area of the house.”
Jasper and I both looked at the room’s single window, which gave a view of the back gardens where the wind was dragging at the tree branches and driving snow against the hedges. Jasper crossed to the window and examined it without touching it. “This catch is unlocked.” He popped up on his tiptoes to look at the ground directly below the window. “Large prickly holly bushes on either side, but not a hedge of them. It wouldn’t be a comfortable experience, but it would be possible for Tommy to get to this window. The latch is a simple one. It could be opened with the blade of a penknife. Very lax, considering this room has the entrance to the silver safe.”
I felt the rug under the window. “Damp. You know what this means, don’t you? I didn’t share Miss Ravenna’s assurance that Bankston’s death had nothing to do with his involvement with couriers, but she may have been absolutely correct. His killer might have been a blackmailed houseguest.”