it in the inner pocket of his jacket.
Alkmene rubbed her clammy palms. ‘So do you want anything to drink? I can ring for coffee. I think Cook also made ginger cookies.’
Jake shook his head. ‘I had a big dinner.’ He nodded in the direction of her half full dessert bowl. ‘Yours wasn’t any good?’
She flushed. ‘I meant to finish it, but I got sidetracked by the rigor mortis.’
‘And?’
She shrugged. ‘Doesn’t seem to say all that much. I guess we would be better off if we knew exactly what the room looked like in which the dead man was found.’
‘Et voila.’ Jake reached into his pocket and produced a folded piece of paper for her. ‘I had that big dinner I just mentioned with Norwhich’s manservant who found the body in the morning. On his night off he didn’t mind me treating him to something nice while he dug in his memory for worthy details of the fatal night. I drew the map myself while we were talking and had him correct me if I was wrong.’
Alkmene accepted the paper and looked over it. It represented a square room, with the door on the upper long side. On the lower long side two windows were indicated. ‘Were the curtains closed that night?’ she asked.
Jake nodded. ‘There were even blinds on the inside, which were always closed at night. Not much light got to the outside, let alone a glimpse of what was happening inside that room.’
‘All right. So we cannot hope for a passer-by who caught a look or even a snooper who is prepared to accept money in exchange for what he saw. We could have advertised, you know, to ask for information. But with the blinds that would be no use. Now there is the desk…’ Alkmene trailed her finger over the square on the left hand short side. ‘The back of his chair was to the wall?’
‘Yes, he faced out to the room when he was sitting behind it.’
‘So not likely someone sneaked up from behind and clubbed him while he was sitting there. The visitor coming in would have entered here and walked to here.’
She followed the intended path with her finger from the door on the top of the sheet to the desk on the lower left. ‘And where is the fatal fireplace?’
‘To the right. It is in the same wall as the fireplace on the other side in the drawing room. The manservant said it had a solid rim with a sharp edge. A maid who was cleaning had once hurt her hand on it, he recalled. It cut a gash right through her skin.’
‘I see.’ She tried to put herself in the room, see all the details. ‘Walls covered with bookcases?’
‘Yes. I asked if anything seemed to be missing. He said some books had been pulled off the shelves and were lying on the desk, but more like the master himself had been doing work, research or something, sooner than someone overturning the room. He often worked late at night in that very room.’
‘I see. What about paperwork on the desk?’
‘The usual. It seems Mr Silas Norwhich was interested in the history of Dartmoor. He had many books on it, also with folktales, and was writing up some notes on it. That explains the ink on his fingers.’
‘Dartmoor?’ Alkmene said with a frown. She had expected him to work on accounts or something, a businesslike thing. They had even speculated that he might have been writing a cheque because he had been blackmailed. And now it was notes on folktales from Dartmoor?
Jake nodded. He aligned the poker that he had put back in place after stirring up the fire. ‘The manservant said his master had always been fascinated by Dartmoor. It seems he regularly travelled to a small village there. Cunningham. The last time he came back he was very excited. The servant didn’t know what for.’
Alkmene frowned. It might have been nothing, or it could be a vital lead. ‘He might have told his niece. Evelyn Steinbeck should know more about it.’
Jake nodded. ‘She should be our focus now.’
‘And the birth certificate?’
‘I intend to find out whose it was of course. I think Silas Norwhich might have gone through his lawyer Mr Pemboldt to get it, so I also need to see him as soon as I can.’
The jangle of the doorbell shocked Alkmene into full alertness.
‘Expecting somebody?’ Jake asked with an innocent look that lit her fire.
‘Nobody,’ she retorted and walked to the door to listen as the butler opened up. It would be unfortunate if it was Freddie or another of her acquaintances. The visitor would have to be introduced to Jake and she was not quite sure how to explain knowing a reporter. In their circles reporters were considered to be like jackals after prey, to be avoided at all costs. Not received inside your home, especially with your father far away.
A high-pitched voice talked excitedly, in Russian.
Alkmene smiled in relief and stepped into the hallway. ‘It is all right, Brookes. That is just Oksana Matejevna, the countess of Veveine’s companion. Please come in.’
She gestured at the open door behind her.
Oksana Matejevna was dressed in a shapeless coat with one of the shawls the countess had referred to wrapped round her shoulders and neck. Of a blue material, it was richly embroidered with peacocks, every tail feather glittering with small sequins. She carried herself with her head held high as she walked in.
Jake rose from his stool to greet her. Oksana Matejevna barely gave him a glance.
Alkmene directed her to sit on the sofa and asked, ‘Has the countess sent you?’
The Russian maid shook her head. She looked at the door. ‘Do your servants…how do you say? Drop eaves?’
‘Not at all,’ Alkmene assured her, but she went to check anyway. Blessed with too much curiosity, she knew better than most how tempting a little snippet of illegally obtained information could be.
The hallway was empty, and when she took a couple of steps in the direction of the corridor to the kitchens, she heard Cook’s loud voice and the butler’s laughter. She bet poor Oksana Matejevna was the object of a foreigner joke right now.
She returned and closed the door. ‘The coast is clear.’
Oksana Matejevna gave her a blank stare.
‘You can tell us the news,’ Jake translated.
‘Oh. I saw the bellboy at the hotel. He came out of the servants’ entrance at the back. He didn’t want to be seen with me, so we stood under an archway. There was a terrible draught there. My neck hurts.’
Oksana Matejevna huddled deeper into her peacocks, rubbing her hands as if it was deep winter outside.
Alkmene waited for her to go on and convey the bellboy’s big news, but nothing came out any more.
‘I think you would feel much better with a little something invigorating to drink.’ Jake gave Alkmene a pointed look. ‘Perhaps some uh – ’
‘Gin?’ Oksana Matejevna smiled at her. ‘I
