particularly that piece of jewelry. I don’t think a night had passed since Frank bought it for me that I didn’t carefully remove it at the end of an evening and place it in a small, velvet-lined box that I reserved specifically for it. That meant ...
“Do you usually wear jewelry like this to bed, Mrs. Fletcher?” Coots asked.
“I never wear jewelry to bed, Inspector, particularly that piece.”
“Then I assume you are acknowledging the fact that when you went to Miss Ainsworth’s room in your nightclothes, you were not wearing it.”
“Of course.”
“Which means that it must have fallen to the floor by her bed prior to that visit to the room by you.”
Everyone in the study stared at me. I knew precisely what Coots was getting at: if the pendant had been dropped in Marjorie’s bedroom prior to my discovery of the body, it could have been dropped by the person who killed her. Possibly me.
Coots was still looking at me over his shoulder, the same defiant, cocky smile on his face. I said flatly, “I assure you I did not visit Miss Ainsworth’s bedroom anytime prior to my having discovered the body.”
Coots lowered the notebook, opened to a blank page, took the stub of a pencil from his pocket, licked the lead, and made notes, glancing at me a few times for effect. I sat down again and decided I would say nothing more.
Coots set up a system of interviews with each person in the house, using the dining room for this purpose. Simultaneously, an ambulance arrived from the district infirmary, along with an elderly gentleman who was introduced as the district coroner. Two medical aides removed Marjorie’s body under his supervision—after Coots had made certain that his officers had taken photographs of the bedroom and made notes of its physical condition. I happened to be nearby when this conversation was going on, and asked Coots if he intended to take fingerprints and to check the exterior of the house for signs of a break-in. He wasn’t subtle in letting me know his displeasure at my interference, although later, at dawn, he went outside and personally inspected the exterior of Ainsworth Manor.
By the time the sun was up, casting merciful light on what had been a gloomy night, a succession of people arrived at the house. One was a young woman who was the editor of the Crumpsworth Gazette, as well as a stringer for the London Times. She questioned everyone she could corner, including Mrs. Horton and the kitchen staff, Marshall, a few of the guests who agreed to be interviewed, and, finally, Inspector Montgomery Coots, who needed no urging from her.
Eventually, after all of us had been interviewed by the inspector—my interview took only five minutes, which was considerably shorter than all the others; any significance eluded me—we were allowed to leave with the provision that we stay in Great Britain until further notice. This brought forth a protest from Clayton Perry and Bruce Herbert, both of whom said they were due back in New York immediately following the opening session of the ISMW, which I was to address as the keynote speaker. Their pleas fell on deaf Coots ears, although he promised to attempt to expedite his investigation of them to accommodate their plans.
He said to me, “You’ll be here all week, I understand.”
“Yes, I’m to attend the entire conference at the Savoy. Surely I’ll be free to return höme after that.”
“We’ll see, we’ll see,” he said, bouncing on his toes.
“About the pendant, Inspector. It means a great deal to me, has considerable sentimental value. When will it be returned?”
“Hard to say, hard to say. I’d say it’s vital evidence, wouldn’t you?”
“I don’t see why, although I won’t argue with you. By the way, Inspector Coots, will there be an ... investigation by a body ... well, how can I say it, a body of greater authority than your agency here in Crumpsworth?”
“No need for that. Scotland Yard, you mean? A waste of time,
“Do you usually wear jewelry like this to bed, Mrs. Fletcher?” Coots asked.
“I never wear jewelry to bed, Inspector, particularly that piece.”
“Then I assume you are acknowledging the fact that when you went to Miss Ainsworth’s room in your nightclothes, you were not wearing it.”
“Of course.”
“Which means that it must have fallen to the floor by her bed prior to that visit to the room by you.”
Everyone in the study stared at me. I knew precisely what Coots was getting at: if the pendant had been dropped in Marjorie’s bedroom prior to my discovery of the body, it could have been dropped by the person who killed her. Possibly me.
Coots was still looking at me over his shoulder, the same defiant, cocky smile on his face. I said flatly, “I assure you I did not visit Miss Ainsworth’s bedroom anytime prior to my having discovered the body.”
Coots lowered the notebook, opened to a blank page, took the stub of a pencil from his pocket, licked the lead, and made notes, glancing at me a few times for effect. I sat down again and decided I would say nothing more.
Coots set up a system of interviews with each person in the house, using the dining room for this purpose. Simultaneously, an ambulance arrived from the district infirmary, along with an elderly gentleman who was introduced as the district coroner. Two medical aides removed Marjorie’s body under his supervision—after Coots had made certain that his officers had taken photographs of the bedroom and made notes of its physical condition. I happened to be nearby when this conversation was going on, and asked Coots if he intended to take fingerprints and to check the exterior of the house for signs of a break-in. He wasn’t subtle in letting me know his displeasure at my interference, although later, at dawn, he went outside and personally inspected the exterior of Ainsworth Manor.
By the time the sun was up, casting merciful light on what had been a gloomy night, a succession of people arrived at the house. One was a young woman who was the editor of the Crumpsworth Gazette, as well as a stringer for the London Times. She questioned everyone she could corner, including Mrs. Horton and the kitchen staff, Marshall, a few of the guests who agreed to be interviewed, and, finally, Inspector Montgomery Coots, who needed no urging from her.
Eventually, after all of us had been interviewed by the inspector—my interview took only five minutes, which was considerably shorter than all the others; any significance eluded me—we were allowed to leave with the provision that we stay in Great Britain until further notice. This brought forth a protest from Clayton Perry and Bruce Herbert, both of whom said they were due back in New York immediately following the opening session of the ISMW, which I was to address as the keynote speaker. Their pleas fell on deaf Coots ears, although he promised to attempt to expedite his investigation of them to accommodate their plans.
He said to me, “You’ll be here all week, I understand.”
“Yes, I’m to attend the entire conference at the Savoy. Surely I’ll be free to return höme after that.”
“We’ll see, we’ll see,” he said, bouncing on his toes.
“About the pendant, Inspector. It means a great deal to me, has considerable sentimental value. When will it be returned?”
“Hard to say, hard to say. I’d say it’s vital evidence, wouldn’t you?”
“I don’t see why, although I won’t argue with you. By the way, Inspector Coots, will there be an ... investigation by a body ... well, how can I say it, a body of greater authority than your agency here in Crumpsworth?”
“No need for that. Scotland Yard, you mean? A waste of time,
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