The Peculiar Case of Lord Finsbury's Diamonds: A Casebook of Barnaby Adair Short Novel (The Casebook of Barnaby Adair) by Stephanie Laurens Page A

foot-trap, and fell face down. He must have tried to turn to see if he could release the trap, and the murderer stepped forward and struck him repeatedly in the face with the croquet hoop-hammer.”
     Penelope blew out a breath; she wasn’t normally squeamish, but… “No matter how much of a cad Mitchell was, that was a very nasty way to die. He would have seen it coming.” She paused, frowning.
     Barnaby said, “The mechanics of the murder raises several questions. Given the path was used by staff as well as guests, and by villagers bringing anything to the house, the murderer took a risk in placing the foot-trap on the path as he did—what if someone else had come along?”
     “He would have had to have been there, keeping watch,” Stokes said. “Which strongly suggests that he—the murderer—knew that Mitchell was coming by the afternoon coach.”
     “As far as we know,” Barnaby said, “only four people knew that he was coming specifically in the afternoon—Gwen, Culver, and Agnes and Lord Finsbury, both of whom had asked and had been shown the note. However, someone else might have overheard any of them mentioning it.”
     “But,” Griselda said, “the murderer was keeping watch anyway. The foot-trap was just to incapacitate Mitchell. It was never intended to be the murder weapon—the hoop-hammer was.”
     “Yes! Exactly!” Penelope’s face cleared. She looked from one to the other. “That’s what’s been bothering me—Mitchell’s face was bashed in. Not the back of his skull, but his face. And from what you’ve said, he was struck many more times than necessary to simply kill him.”
     “His features were pulp,” Barnaby flatly said.
     Meeting his eyes, Penelope nodded. “That’s my point—why? He was known at the house, and was known to be on his way, so it wasn’t to hide his identity. Why else obliterate a man’s face?”
     Stokes blinked. “It was personal. The murderer hated Mitchell that much.”
     Penelope spread her hands. “You both saw the result—didn’t it appear more like a crime of passion? If you hadn’t found the diamonds in Mitchell’s pocket, wouldn’t you be focusing on his personal life to find the motive for his murder?”
     Barnaby nodded. “You’re right. Mitchell’s murder might have absolutely nothing to do with the diamonds.”
     “Or,” Griselda said, her tone dry, “it might.” She met Penelope’s gaze. “Diamonds can inspire strong passions, too, just not of the same sort. And as we know nothing about how Mitchell came to have the diamonds, there might, indeed, be some highly charged personal relationship involved.”
     Penelope slumped back and heaved a sigh. “So we’re back to an overwhelming plethora of facts, none of which link together in any sensible or indicative way.”
     “Perhaps.” Stokes sat up. “But we now have some idea of what we need to learn—the holes in our knowledge that we need to fill—in order to make sense out of said facts. In order to string them together into a cohesive whole. Or wholes, as the case may be.”
     “For instance,” Barnaby said, “we need to find out whether anyone else knew that Mitchell was expected by the afternoon coach specifically. At present we have alibis for all the house guests over that time, and as we know the murderer had to have been at the scene for at least half an hour if not more, allowing for time to set the foot-trap, then we’re left with Lord Finsbury, Agnes, and Culver and Gwen—assuming the latter two were acting together—plus all the staff, although at present we don’t know if any of the staff knew when in the day Mitchell planned to return.”
     Penelope nodded. “I think we can assume that the murderer had to have had knowledge of the time as well as the opportunity. No one at the house could have disappeared for longer than an hour or so throughout the day.”
     “And there’s something else he or she had to have,” Stokes said.