Page 64 of Corpse in the Canal

“Our apologies to Mrs. Harvey,” Constance said. In fact, they’d had tea at the inn with David. “We didn’t realize she expected us.”

“Oh, she didn’t,” Harvey admitted. “I persuaded her to go for an afternoon nap and she slept through teatime. I expect she will come down for supper. No, I’m afraid it’s my own impatience that speaks. Have you learned anything new? Discovered the weapon?”

“Not yet,” Solomon replied. They obliged their host by preceding him into the study away from prying ears. “Not yet. I don’t believe Wills found it in the canal, either. Did Percy own a pistol, by any chance?”

“Percy?” Harvey repeated blankly. He gazed at Solomon, his lips parting. “You think he might have been shot with his own pistol?”

“Is he likely to have been carrying one?” Solomon asked, evading the question.

“Probably, for his own safety when he was traveling alone…”

“Would you mind if we looked around his bedchamber?”

Harvey swallowed. “Not if you think it will help. Only…”

“Only?” Constance prompted him when he trailed off.

He gave a weary smile. “Try not to let my wife see what you are about. She is distressed enough.”

“Of course,” Constance said.

Solomon delved into his coat pocket and fished out his folded, extremely dirty handkerchief, from which he unwrapped the two little keys Mrs. Harvey had dropped. “I don’t suppose you have any idea what these are for?”

“They look like keys for travel bags,” Harvey replied without noticeable interest. “Why, where did you find them?”

“I suppose they’re small enough to have fallen out of anyone’s pocket,” Constance said, as though dismissing them from their collective thoughts. “If you don’t mind, we’ll have a quick look at Percy’s room just now, while your wife is resting.” If she is even home yet.

“Could you direct us to his room?” Solomon asked.

“The third one to the left of the staircase,” Harvey said. “No one has felt able to approach it yet, though there are things which will have to be done…”

“We’ll be discreet,” Constance promised, leading the way to the door.

For a moment, she feared Harvey would accompany them, but he stayed in the study, brooding out of the window, hands behind his straight, stiff back. There was something terribly vulnerable about that very uprightness, as though it could collapse momentarily, now that the center of his life had gone.

Percy’s room was rather as she expected it to be. It was a large, well-appointed apartment with two looking glasses and several silver-backed brushes on his dressing table for hair and clothes. His clothing was all hung up neatly, no doubt because the servants did such things for him, but his desk was an untidy mess of letters and bills, ink bottles—one of which had clearly spilled—and pens. There were no books, even by his bedside.

“We should have looked at his rooms in London,” Solomon said.

“We can get Janey to go. I’m sure Harvey will give us a letter of permission for her and Lenny.” Constance began to look through the papers while Solomon went to the closet and started going through the dead man’s pockets.

They worked quietly and efficiently, examining the remnants of a young man’s life. Constance found unpaid bills, a few cards of invitation to parties in London, and a couple of scrawled notes from friends, including those they had already spoken to.

Buried in a drawer, she found a half-composed letter to Lady Phoebe Styles. It was dated the previous week, and began with stilted formality before lapsing into what sounded like genuine friendliness. As if he had been pressured into writing the letter in the first place, but actually rather liked the intended recipient. Had Percy wanted to marry Lady Phoebe? Was he courting her for money, love, or the beginnings of a desire to settle down? Or had he just begun the letter under the parental eye, then stuffed it in a drawer and bolted to London and back to his own life? He certainly hadn’t taken it with him.

Had Phoebe and her mother been honest during the interview in London? Constance could think of no reason for them to lie, and yet she was conscious of an urge to speak to them again. Surely this could not be so important? She could hardly imagine Lady Phoebe or the earl, her father, sending assassins after Percy.

An assassin did not need to have stayed at the Duke’s Arms or any other hostelry. Channing was not so far from London. He could have followed Percy, killed him, and been returned to Town the same day. More questions for more inns on the London road.

Having finished with Percy’s desk, Constance moved on to the bed. It had clearly been changed since Percy’s departure for London, so she didn’t expect to find anything under his pillows. Instead, she pushed her hand under the mattress as far as it would go and swept it around. After repeating the action several times from different angles, she gave up and looked under the bed.

This was better. Two trunks lurked there. She drew them out. Whether from use or diligent housekeeping, there was very little dust on them.

“Solomon, do you have those keys?”

He brought them over to her, giving her one, while he crouched and tried the other. It didn’t fit the lock. Neither did Constance’s. They swapped keys and tried again, with the same result.

“This one isn’t locked,” Solomon said, opening the lid to reveal empty space. He felt inside anyway, searching for any false bottoms or secret compartments.