With a Little Bit of Blood Read online

  “I think it is more than possible, Fräulein Doolittle. If the police have come to tell us Pentwater’s death is no accident, it should be easy to solve.” The count shrugged. “No matter. It is of little import, except his death has spoiled the first house party of the baron and baroness. This reflects badly on my wife and me. Our friends and acquaintances will assume we had to manage things here because of the newlywed’s lack of experience. For someone to die during a hunt is an embarrassment. And a great inconvenience.”

  “Especially for the person who died,” Eliza reminded him.

  He gave Eliza a withering look “The English should teach their children manners.”

  “And where are your manners, Count Rudolf? A man was killed yesterday and all you feel is embarrassment. That’s blooming wrong.”

  His cheeks flamed red as he turned to Higgins. “I have saved you that phone call to the Times, Herr Professor. Now I must join the others in the gold drawing room. I suggest you and Fräulein Doolittle follow me.” He clicked his heels and took his leave.

  Higgins chuckled. “Be careful, Eliza. I believe he’d like to wring your neck.”

  “Great. I’m already looking over my shoulder for ghosts. Now I’ll have to keep an eye out for an angry Austrian.”

  Higgins didn’t upset her further by warning that if Pentwater had been murdered, that angry Austrian might well be the killer.

  Eliza welcomed the summons to the gold drawing room. It was one of the prettiest rooms at Banfield Manor, filled with creamy white furnishings, gold figurines and candelabra, velvet flocked wallpaper, and a dazzling decorated ceiling that Higgins told her was called ‘vaulted’. Crowning it all was an enormous, glittering chandelier which resembled a crystal sun. Eliza had never been in a palace before, but she thought this room would fit quite nicely in one.

  The blazing fire, coupled with the number of people scattered on various chairs and divans, also made the room far warmer than the library. The count and countess sent her icy looks, however. No doubt he had told his wife about their conversation. Eliza was also grateful they hadn’t been asked to meet in the music room where they had played cards last night. What if that poor ghostly child was still there, sitting all alone by the fireplace?

  Clara waved at Eliza. She had saved her a seat on one of the damask sofas. Because Higgins chose to sit on an ottoman by the door, Eliza went to join Clara.

  “Isn’t this dreadful?” Clara said as she watched the chief constable and two fellow policemen speak among themselves. “The whole county will know the police have turned up once again. Why would they do that for a simple hunting accident?”

  “Maybe they’ve come to tell us the death has been officially ruled an accident.” While Eliza meant to reassure Clara, she thought it unlikely. A simple confirmation of accidental death shouldn’t require the presence of three policemen.

  Clara appeared on the verge of tears. “I’ve heard the servants whispering about the house party. I can’t blame them. The party should have begun with a grouse hunt, not shooting hares in the forest. And why didn’t Richard’s sister include more people on the guest list? People with a proper English title. We’ve hardly any guests, and now one of them is dead!”

  Richard, who stood beside the marble fireplace, sent his bride an anxious glance. “Keep your voice down,” Eliza said. “No need to make the police more suspicious than they are.”

  Clara squeezed her hand. “I don’t know what Richard and I would do if you weren’t here. You’re the only guest I can trust. My only friend.” She glanced at Higgins. “I’m grateful for the Professor, too. The count and countess are a little afraid of him.”

  Being Clara’s only friend at the house party had proved exhausting to Eliza. Since the death of Pentwater, Clara had rarely left her alone. Their recent conversation in the library had been the first time Eliza was able to speak with Higgins in private.

  “With luck, this will be the last time the police visit,” Eliza said.

  “I certainly hope so,” Clara whispered back. “I blame them for almost ruining the carpet in the blue parlor. It took the servants hours to clean up. The carpet is still damp.”

  Chief Constable Brakefield cleared his throat, silencing the room. Even Freddy and Lily looked up from where they sat whispering on the piano bench. Eliza marveled that so many of the rooms held a piano. Especially since she had yet to hear any of the Ashmores play a note.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I regret having to bother you again,” Brakefield said. “But neither the circumstances nor the weather seem favorable at the moment.” The rainstorm had left the cuffs of his trousers wet. Drops of water beaded his thinning hair.

  Eliza worried about Percy, although Richard assured her the estate peacocks slept in a large coop when the weather turned rainy. She decided to check on Percy once this police visit ended. She’d be most upset to find her pet peacock soaked and chilled in some tree.

  Brakefield scanned the room. “One member of your party is not here. The Frenchman.”

  “I could not find him,” the count replied. He sat to one side of an inlaid writing desk, his arm draped over the polished wood surface. The countess occupied an identical tufted chair at the other end of the table, completing the impression of two monarchs perched on their thrones. Even her tawny brown silk dress matched the color of his suit.

  “Philippe received a telegram while we were at breakfast,” Richard said. “He left the table to read it. I have not seen him since.” He turned to the butler, who stood at attention near Higgins. “Baxter, please find Mr. Corbet and inform him that his presence is required.”

  The butler bowed, then took his leave.

  “Must we wait for him to show up?” Lady Annabel asked. Eliza thought she looked quite attractive this morning in an amber dress of faun silk and velvet, trimmed with metallic gold cord. Combined with her red hair and creamy skin, Lady Annabel seemed the personification of autumn. Perhaps Higgins should have let her catch him a time or two.

  “Yes, can we get on with it?” Sir Anthony said.

  “All right then.” The chief constable looked down at his notes. “We spoke with authorities in America. A warrant for Dwight Pentwater’s arrest was issued in July. He left New York before he could be arrested and we believe he entered the country illegally last month. Probably under an assumed name, given that he was a wanted criminal.”

  A sudden discordant sound from the piano drew attention to Lily and Freddy, who sat on its bench. “Sorry,” Lily said, clearly flustered. “I accidentally leaned forward and hit the keys.”

  “What did they want to arrest him for?” Higgins asked.

  “Fraud,” Brakefield said. “Pentwater operated an investment company known as Pentland Inc. He formed the company in February 1912 with Gilbert Landis, a stockbroker turned financial adviser. After both men set up shop in Manhattan, they circulated flyers nationwide to attract investors. Not only did they guarantee a ten per cent return on each dollar invested with them, they promised such gains on a weekly basis.”

  Sir Anthony guffawed aloud, but the chief constable ignored him.

  “In less than a month’s time, more than three hundred thousand dollars had been invested with Pentland Inc.,” Brakefield went on. “Each subsequent month saw an increase in investors. People from all over the country wanted to give their money to Pentwater and Landis, believing they would see a quick and sizable profit. At the end of the first year, Pentwater and Landis had netted over a million dollars. However, their investors weren’t so fortunate.”

  When Sir Anthony laughed once more, the chief constable turned to the explorer, who sat in a loveseat opposite Eliza and Clara. “You find this amusing, Sir Anthony?”

  “It’s always amusing to learn how foolish greedy men can be. I may not be a financier, but I recognize a con game when I hear it.” He fished a handkerchief from his jacket and loudly blew his nose.

  Lady Annabel, who sat beside him, shot her husband a disapproving look.
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  Sir Anthony stuffed his handkerchief back into his pocket. “If people are stupid enough to fall for such schemes, they deserve to lose their shirts. They lost their money, didn’t they, Constable Brakefield?”

  He nodded. “Except for those who first invested with them.”

  “I’m confused,” Eliza said. “After people gave Pentwater and Landis their money, what did they invest that money in?”

  “Stocks and bonds, most likely,” the count sniffed. “Or business ventures that required capital investment.”

  “Actually, Pentwater and Landis never invested in anything. They kept most of the money for themselves.” Brakefield closed his notebook. “To keep up the pretense, they only paid those who first put money into the company. They made certain those returns were impressive enough to convince the other investors to be patient.”

  “A brilliant ruse,” Higgins said, “but not one they could continue indefinitely.”

  Now it made sense to Eliza. “So when enough people wanted to know why their investment never paid off, Pentwater and his partner realized the game was up.”

  “Probably when they decided to escape, too,” Higgins added.

  “Both men fled the country in July,” Brakefield informed them. “Landis was discovered two weeks later in Toronto as he tried to book passage to Europe. He was brought back to New York where he’s now standing trial for grand larceny. If convicted, he could be sentenced to ten years in prison. A prison I believe they call Sing Sing.”

  “To think that terrible man was a guest in our house! And it’s all your fault.” Clara pointed an accusing finger at the countess.

  “What an absurd accusation,” she said in outrage. “I demand an apology.”

  Count Rudolf frowned. “Ja. You must apologize to my wife.”

  “I will not apologize.” Clara lifted her chin in defiance. “You should apologize to Richard and me for inviting Mr. Pentwater. And to think you had the nerve to object to my inviting Madame Evangeline. At least she is a perfectly respectable person.”

  Everyone turned their attention to Madame Evangeline, who lounged on a sofa by the window. Her ivory silk gown matched the sofa’s fabric so well, she seemed to blend in with its cushions. By her dreamy expression, Eliza wondered if she was even paying attention to the conversation. She found it curious that Madame had not worn one of her dark and somber gowns. Then again, Eliza had not chosen black today either. How sad that no one mourned Dwight Pentwater. But he was little more than a stranger.

  “But you both invited a criminal,” Clara continued. “If Mr. Pentwater hadn’t died, who knows what he might have stolen from the house?”

  “I agree,” Richard said. “You have placed us in a difficult position. After news of his crime and his death become public, how do we explain Pentwater’s presence in our home?”

  Count Rudolf’s right eye began to twitch. “Es ist nicht unsere Schuld,” he muttered.

  “My husband is right,” the countess said. “It is not our fault. How could we know about the nefarious deeds of this man?”

  “A proper hostess should be aware of what their guests have been up to,” Clara snapped. “They don’t allow any old scoundrel to sit at their table and sleep under their roof.”

  Eliza had never been prouder of her young friend.

  “Herr Pentwater was a well known businessman,” the count said. “As I told you yesterday, we met in Berlin a few years ago.”

  “Had you much contact with him since?” the chief constable asked.

  “Not in person. By letter. An occasional phone call.”

  “Regarding what?”

  The count fidgeted in his seat. “Politics. Business.”

  “Please be more specific.”

  “He has done nothing wrong,” the countess insisted.

  “I will be the judge of that after you have answered my questions. And not just Count von Weisinger. All of you are to be questioned again today.”

  “Everyone seems to be getting steamed up over a simple hunting accident,” Lily said.

  Lady Annabel tugged at the locket on her long gold necklace. “Exactly.”

  “The interviews will take place in the study,” Brakefield said, ignoring their comments. “Each of you will be questioned separately. What I learn shall remain private.” He paused. “Unless it has direct bearing on the case.”

  Sir Anthony grumbled aloud. “Is this necessary? The fellow died because of a stray bullet. The fog was thick as custard yesterday. I’ve taken part in dozens of shoots. This wouldn’t be the first time someone has been killed by accident, usually one of the beaters. Pentwater happened to be standing in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Perhaps, Sir Anthony. But Pentwater was also a criminal whose company bankrupted people. Many investors saw their entire fortunes lost. Two investors committed suicide.”

  Eliza didn’t blame Clara. To think such a vile thief had sat at table with them.

  “Pentwater made enemies,” Brakefield went on. “Enemies who might feel they had nothing to lose now that their money was gone. Enemies who might want Pentwater dead and were prepared to make that happen.”

  “Well, it’s not me,” Lily said in a strained voice. “Constable, I don’t mean to grouse, but I’m just an actress. I don’t see what I can tell you.”

  “I won’t know that either, Miss Marlowe, until we have our interview.”

  Freddy put his arm around Lily’s shoulders and hugged her close.

  “I never met Mr. Pentwater,” Madame Evangeline suddenly announced. “But perhaps when we speak, Constable, the spirits will come through. They may tell me something important. All secrets are revealed on the Other Side.”

  Brakefield ignored this pronouncement. “It is possible Mr. Pentwater’s death was accidental, despite his criminal past. If so, all of you will be free to go. But at this time, everyone is to remain at Banfield Manor until inquiries are completed.”

  Eliza heard Higgins muttering. She didn’t blame him. It felt like they were prisoners.

  The butler re-entered the room. “Excuse me, sir.”

  “Yes, Baxter?” Richard asked.

  “I have been informed by one of the footmen that Mr. Corbet left the house twenty minutes ago. He was carrying his traveling bags.”

  “His traveling bags?” Richard repeated. “Why would he do that?

  Eliza thought the answer was obvious. So did the police constables.

  “Didn’t Corbet fly here in his aeroplane?” one the constables asked their chief.

  Before he could answer, the sound of a plane’s rumbling engine met their ears.

  Eliza sprang to her feet and ran to the window. The rain had stopped and there was no morning mist. She had a clear view of Philippe Corbet about to make his escape.

  12

  “Bloody hell!” Stuffing his notebook into his jacket, Chief Constable Brakefield ran out of the drawing room. His men raced after him. Higgins hoped they wouldn’t be too late.

  “What’s going on?” Freddy asked. “Why is Corbet leaving without telling anyone?”

  “Dummkopf.” Count Rudolf shook his head at him. “The Frenchman is escaping.”

  The countess sighed. “It appears Monsieur Corbet has taken fright. He would not do so without reason. Which means his reasons must be criminal.”

  “At least it’s livened up the morning,” Sir Anthony said with a laugh. “And I feared we faced a dull day cooped up in the house. Things have turned rather amusing.”

  “What a ridiculous thing to say, Anthony. There’s nothing amusing about murder.” Lady Annabel pulled on her gold necklace so hard, the locket broke off.

  “Wait. Did Philippe Corbet kill Mr. Pentwater?” Clara rushed over to her husband and threw herself in his arms. “Richard, this is horrible.”

  Richard looked as miserable as his bride. Higgins felt miserable himself. Corbet may have had a reason to hate Pentwater, but would the Frenchman commit murder? Corbet was an admired aviator, a pi
oneer, and a decent and intelligent man. Higgins took no pleasure in thinking him a killer. But if he was guilty, he must face justice.

  “None of this seems real,” Lily said. “I feel like we’re all actors in one of my movies.”

  Higgins joined Eliza at the window. “I’m going out there.”

  She tore her attention away from the scene outside. “Why? The police are better able to capture him than you are.” Eliza gave a pointed glance at his injured arm.

  “I want to be there when they pull Philippe out of that plane. He may be too upset to concoct a proper lie. If so, I need to hear what he has to say.”

  “But he’s not in the aeroplane yet. He’s still on the ground, trying to spin that thing you call a propeller.”

  “Good.” Higgins strode out of the room.

  Eliza followed him. “Wait! I’ll go with you.”

  He stopped her in the hallway. “Stay here. Pay attention to what everyone says and does. If Philippe didn’t kill Pentwater, one of them certainly did.”

  For a moment, he feared she might object, Instead, Eliza gave him a slight push. “Then you’d better hurry.”

  Higgins did just that, and almost knocked down a chambermaid busy with her dustpan in the foyer. He didn’t stop until he reached the front door when he realized he had no quick way to reach Philippe’s aeroplane on the estate. It would take a good fifteen minute walk. And the police were already speeding across the lawn in their four-seater Daimler.

  “How long will it take to have a car brought up from the garage?” Higgins asked the butler, who surveyed the scene from the front steps.

  “The chauffeur can bring the car within five minutes, sir.”

  At that moment a black and white delivery van appeared from around the side of the house, apparently having made a delivery to one of the back entrances. The words ‘Lisle Milk Service’ were painted on its sides.

  Flipping the collar of his suit jacket up against the brisk chilly wind, Higgins ran down the steps. “Hold on! I say, chap!” He waved at the driver with his good arm.