Maisie Donovan’s interview and the missing footman. It was no good. He couldn’t make heads or tails of anything. The only thing which would do any good at all was having a nice long chat with his housekeeper.
“Here you are, sir,” she said, handing him his cup. She sat down on the chair opposite him and waited patiently for him to begin. Mrs. Jeffries had no doubt he’d tell her everything. He always did.
“It’s very good of you to have tea waiting for me,” he began after he’d taken a nice long sip. “I’m going to become spoiled and expect it.”
“You deserve it, sir,” she said truthfully. He was the best of employers. He’d inherited this house and his fortune from a rather eccentric aunt, and having not been born to wealth, he’d never learned to treat servants badly. Unlike most men of his position, he actually treated the staff like human beings and not objects put on this earth for his pleasure and amusement. Even if he hadn’t been a police inspector and hadn’t given Mrs. Jeffries a chance to do what she most loved doing, solving mysteries, she thought she still might wait up for him when he came in late. “Now, sir, do tell me all about this case of yours.”
“It’s going to be one of those dreadful ones, Mrs. Jeffries.” He sighed. “I just know it. Why, already I’ve learned so much that I can’t quite keep everything straight in my mind. Does that ever happen to you?”
“Of course,” she answered promptly. “It happens to everyone, but I’m sure it must be especially difficult for you, sir. After all, your mind is quite different from the rest of us. Your mind, sir, is always on the hunt, so to speak.”
He gazed at her blankly, as though he couldn’t quite decide whether she was complimenting him or insulting him. “Yes,” he said slowly, “I suppose it is…I mean, I suppose I am a bit different. Well, I must be, mustn’t I?”
“But of course, sir,” she said briskly. She realized he needed a bit of a confidence boost here. The dear mansometimes took it into his head that he wasn’t up to the task at hand. “I’m sure that even as we speak there’s a corner of your mind that’s sorting through everything you’ve learned today. Why, you’re sure to be cataloging and analyzing all of it, sir. Now, what happened, sir?”
Her words made him smile. She was, of course, correct. Even though he couldn’t sort things out yet, he was certain his “inner voice” was doing its job properly. Eventually he’d clear the muddle up. He always did. “A fellow named Roland Ashbury was shot this afternoon,” he replied. “While he was having tea, of all things.”
“How awful, sir.” She didn’t have to force the note of disgust in her voice. Mrs. Jeffries thought murder was the worst of all crimes. “When did it happen?”
“As near as we can tell, it must have been around half-past three,” he continued.
“Do you have a witness that heard the shot?” she asked hopefully. To be able to pinpoint the time precisely would give them an excellent starting point.
“Unfortunately, no. That’s actually quite a puzzle too. No one seems to have heard the shot at all. It must have been quite loud too.”
“Then how do you know what time it happened?”
“One of the neighbors saw him going into his house at about ten minutes to three. Maisie Donovan, the maid, discovered the body at around four o’clock. If you factor in the time it must have taken him to make tea and exchange some pleasantries with his guest, we venture to assume the shooting probably took place around three forty-five,” he said proudly. He and Barnes had worked out that particular timetable. He was quite pleased with it.
“Why do you think he entertained his guest?” she asked curiously. “Maybe the killer murdered him as soon as he arrived at the house.”
“He couldn’t have.” Witherspoon smiled with pride. “He ate the cake. Both of them did. We found their empty plates
“Here you are, sir,” she said, handing him his cup. She sat down on the chair opposite him and waited patiently for him to begin. Mrs. Jeffries had no doubt he’d tell her everything. He always did.
“It’s very good of you to have tea waiting for me,” he began after he’d taken a nice long sip. “I’m going to become spoiled and expect it.”
“You deserve it, sir,” she said truthfully. He was the best of employers. He’d inherited this house and his fortune from a rather eccentric aunt, and having not been born to wealth, he’d never learned to treat servants badly. Unlike most men of his position, he actually treated the staff like human beings and not objects put on this earth for his pleasure and amusement. Even if he hadn’t been a police inspector and hadn’t given Mrs. Jeffries a chance to do what she most loved doing, solving mysteries, she thought she still might wait up for him when he came in late. “Now, sir, do tell me all about this case of yours.”
“It’s going to be one of those dreadful ones, Mrs. Jeffries.” He sighed. “I just know it. Why, already I’ve learned so much that I can’t quite keep everything straight in my mind. Does that ever happen to you?”
“Of course,” she answered promptly. “It happens to everyone, but I’m sure it must be especially difficult for you, sir. After all, your mind is quite different from the rest of us. Your mind, sir, is always on the hunt, so to speak.”
He gazed at her blankly, as though he couldn’t quite decide whether she was complimenting him or insulting him. “Yes,” he said slowly, “I suppose it is…I mean, I suppose I am a bit different. Well, I must be, mustn’t I?”
“But of course, sir,” she said briskly. She realized he needed a bit of a confidence boost here. The dear mansometimes took it into his head that he wasn’t up to the task at hand. “I’m sure that even as we speak there’s a corner of your mind that’s sorting through everything you’ve learned today. Why, you’re sure to be cataloging and analyzing all of it, sir. Now, what happened, sir?”
Her words made him smile. She was, of course, correct. Even though he couldn’t sort things out yet, he was certain his “inner voice” was doing its job properly. Eventually he’d clear the muddle up. He always did. “A fellow named Roland Ashbury was shot this afternoon,” he replied. “While he was having tea, of all things.”
“How awful, sir.” She didn’t have to force the note of disgust in her voice. Mrs. Jeffries thought murder was the worst of all crimes. “When did it happen?”
“As near as we can tell, it must have been around half-past three,” he continued.
“Do you have a witness that heard the shot?” she asked hopefully. To be able to pinpoint the time precisely would give them an excellent starting point.
“Unfortunately, no. That’s actually quite a puzzle too. No one seems to have heard the shot at all. It must have been quite loud too.”
“Then how do you know what time it happened?”
“One of the neighbors saw him going into his house at about ten minutes to three. Maisie Donovan, the maid, discovered the body at around four o’clock. If you factor in the time it must have taken him to make tea and exchange some pleasantries with his guest, we venture to assume the shooting probably took place around three forty-five,” he said proudly. He and Barnes had worked out that particular timetable. He was quite pleased with it.
“Why do you think he entertained his guest?” she asked curiously. “Maybe the killer murdered him as soon as he arrived at the house.”
“He couldn’t have.” Witherspoon smiled with pride. “He ate the cake. Both of them did. We found their empty plates
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