Page 53 of The Case of the Curate

“What?” Kate said, temporarily baffled. “Oh. Yes, indeed I do. But what I wanted to ask you was about Tuesday evening. The night we arrived. Did you happen to see anyone wandering around the house?”

“What, during the night? Of course not!”

Kate smiled. “I mean earlier. Before or just after Lord Chadbon was called away from the drawing room.”

“About the collapsed maid,” Otteridge said, nodding wisely.

“That’s right. So…did you?”

“Did I what, my dear?”

“See anyone wandering about the house at the time?”

“Bless you, I only went to the retiring room.”

“Really? What a shame. The footman told me you went downstairs.”

“So I did. Went to the retiring room there.”

“Oh.”

Perhaps she sounded doubtful rather than disappointed, for Otteridge added with a hint of anxiety, “Newman kept edging toward the drawing room door, as if he were heading for the same place, and then I lost sight of him. I assumed he was in the retiring room, and to be honest, I wanted to avoid him. Can’t abide a damned toady. I know the fellow wants to get ahead, but it won’t be on my coattails.”

“Indeed not, sir,” Kate soothed. According to Lewis and Miss Nye, Newman had left the drawing room after Otteridge. Was the man making excuses? “Did you pass the orangery then?”

“Must have done.” He frowned. “Actually, I think there was somebody in there. Heard voices talking very quietly.”

Kate tried not to look guilty. “What about elsewhere on the ground floor? Any servants around?”

“Didn’t see them, though I heard them well enough, clattering away behind the baize door. Chadbon wants to re-cover that door. Terrible racket.”

“What about the passage to the east wing?” Kate asked casually. “Did you see or hear anyone there?”

“Can’t say I did,” Otteridge replied. “But then, wasn’t really paying attention.”

“Was there a footman at the front door?”

“No, don’t think so. Not at that time of night.”

So Otteridge could easily have gone through the baize door, or the side door, and found his way around to the courtyard garden, while Kate had been talking to Rupert in the orangery. By the time she left, Otteridge could have hidden himself behind the tree, lying in wait for Dinah.

Only…why?

Kate moved on. “Have you seen Lord Chadbon’s collection of antique weapons, sir?”

“Oh yes. Poor things, if you ask me. His Lordship is not a serious collector like some. And it’s getting smaller.”

“Smaller?” Kate repeated.

“Well, yes. He used to have a pretty dagger. No jewels or anything ostentatious like that, but very finely wrought steel hilt, glinted like silver. Very fine, sharp blade, too. Florentine renaissance. Best thing he had.”

“You didn’t see it on this visit?” Kate asked, trying to control the beating of her heart.

“I did not. Nothing in its place, either.”

“When was this, sir? Before dinner?”

“Well before. Before tea, actually. Had a conference with Chadbon when I first arrived. How to best deal with Nye, how to keep Newman—and his wife—in line. That sort of thing.”