Mrs. Jeffries Pinches the Post by Emily Brightwell Page B

rambling.”
    “Nocturnal rambling?” Barnes repeated. “Are you telling us that Mrs. Nye is tied to her bed because she sleepwalks?”
    “That’s what we think,” Duffy said. “Not that we’ve discussed it very much, of course. Mr. Nye didn’t allow us to gossip. But Mrs. Nye was seen walking about the garden in her nightclothes on at least two occasions. I guess she must have gotten loose on those nights.”
    Witherspoon sagged in relief. It sounded reasonable. People did walk in their sleep, and being tied to a bed post could be rather undignified. He wouldn’t want his servants seeing him in such a position. “Er, I take it she and her husband had separate bedrooms?”
    “Of course. But there is, naturally, an adjoining door.”
    The inspector thought for a moment. He rather wanted to get off the subject of where people slept. “What did you mean when you said you came back inside to see if Mr. Lionel needed a cab?”
    “Mr. Lionel was one of the dinner guests. He’s a relation of Mrs. Nye, rather distant, I believe, but family nonetheless. He was actually the last to leave the house last night,” Duffy explained. “After I passed Mr. Nye on the stairs I came back inside. Mr. Lionel and Mrs. Nye were in the drawing room. I asked Mr. Lionel if he needed a hansom. He said he didn’t need one.”
    “Mr. Lionel lives close by?” Barnes asked.
    “Not really, he has rooms in Bayswater. He generally has us fetch him a hansom, but last night he didn’t. He said it was a nice evening, and he wanted to walk home.”
    “So Mrs. Nye hadn’t retired by the time her husband left?” the inspector asked. “I thought you said he usually waited until she’d retired before he went out.”

    “He did,” Duffy replied. “But last night he didn’t, and I just assumed he must have told her something or other because she didn’t seem upset. As a matter of fact, she smiled at him quite warmly before he left.”
    “So you think he probably told her where he was going?”
    He hesitated. “I would think so. Mr. Nye is quite a strong character, if you know what I mean, but he’s very considerate of his wife’s feelings. He wouldn’t want her to worry. I’m sure he must have mentioned something to Mrs. Nye. He was already a bit in the doghouse, if you know what I mean. What with that silly Mr. Daggett bursting in in the middle of the fish course and disrupting Mrs. Nye’s dinner party.”
    Witherspoon stared hard at the man. “Would you mind explaining that please.”
    “Mr. Oscar Daggett, he’s a business associate of Mr. Nye’s. He showed up here last night in the middle of a dinner party and demanded to see the master. I tried to tell him that it was impossible, but he made such a fuss that Mr. Nye came out of the dining room to see what was going on. He took Mr. Daggett off to his study and they were in there for over half an hour. The mistress was most displeased.”
    “What time was this?”
    “Let me see, we’d just served the trout…” His round face creased in concentration. “It must have been about half past eight. Yes, it was because the clock had just struck nine when Mrs. Nye left the table to go and get Mr. Nye.”
    “Where does this Mr. Daggett live?”
    “I’m not sure of the exact address, but I believe his house is in South Kensington. His address is in Mr. Nye’s study.”
    “Could you get it for me when you get the guest list?” Witherspoon asked. He tried to think of what would be best to ask next. There really were so very many questions one could ask when someone had been murdered. Sometimes it was difficult to decide which were the right ones. “Did Mr. Nye have any enemies?”
    Duffy shook his head. “He was a decent enough master to the household. None of us would want to kill him.”
    “What about his business acquaintances?”
    “I don’t know anything about that.”
    “Has there been anyone lurking about the neighborhood or anything like that?”
    “Not that