“St George has to stay,” Tom said, with a look at him, “obviously. But you and Kit?—”
“He already knows we’re involved! We were there the other night. He won’t be surprised to see us.”
“You can’t make us leave,” Christopher added. “This is Sutherland House. We’re—or at least I am—a Sutherland. You’re not making the staff leave, are you?”
Tom shook his head. From his expression, he was chewing his tongue so he wouldn’t say something he might regret later.
“We’ll stay out of the way if you want us to,” Christopher said. And added, with a glance at me, “Pippa ought to, at least. I don’t like putting her and Rivers in a room together. Bad enough that he knows who she is from the other night…”
Crispin nodded. I sniffed. “I can take care of myself!”
“I’m sure Gladys Long thought the same,” Tom said.
Christopher continued, as if neither of us had spoken, “—but I think I ought to be here. Visibly. Just in case he was the one who bludgeoned Gladys?—”
“And Montrose,” Crispin shot in.
“—and he decides to take the fireplace poker to Crispin next.”
None of us had anything to say in response to that. Crispin looked mildly offended, as if he were thinking of claiming, as I had, that he could take care of himself. But at the same time, he seemed gratified that Christopher wanted to go out of his way to ensure his safety, and so he bit his tongue.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, “I don’t think Rivers would quibble about Kit being here. He already knows we’re cousins, and it’s not something we can deny anyway, as much alike as we look. But I hope you don’t imagine that you can sit in on the appointment, Gardiner. No offense, but he’ll peg you for a copper the second he walks through the door.”
“None taken,” Tom said calmly. “I’ll wait in the next room until you hand him the money and he hands you the dope. Then I’ll arrest him. And don’t even think about making use of it while I’m here, because?—”
“I wasn’t.” Crispin rolled his eyes. “I assumed you’d want it for evidence. I’ll just pay for it, shall I, and then hand it over to you?”
“That would be most excellent,” Tom said, ignoring the sarcasm, as a weedy-looking young man around thirty slipped around one of the pillars from the street and stopped next to the Crossley. “There you are, Finch. Cutting it a little close, aren’t you?”
“Ifyou’dbeen here sooner,Iwould have been here sooner,” Detective Sergeant Finchley said as he slid behind the wheel of the Crossley. “I’ll come back once our man is safely inside the premises, shall I?”
Tom nodded. “Get well away from here. If he sees a police car anywhere in the neighborhood he might balk.”
“I’ll make sure I’m a distance away.” Finchley didn’t wait for an answer, just steered the Crossley into the street and away.
“Shall we?” Tom gestured to the front door, which Rogers was holding open.
“My lord. Back so soon?” The butler bowed Crispin inside. “Master Christopher, good to see you again. Miss Darling. Mister…”
“This is Detective Sergeant Gardiner with Scotland Yard,” Crispin said, handing off his hat and gloves. “And we’re expecting a Mr. Dominic Rivers to turn up in the next fifteen minutes. When he arrives, will you show him into the green parlor, Rogers?”
“Yes, my lord.” Rogers took the rest of the hats and gloves, as well. “Is there anything else you require, my lord? Refreshments? Luncheon?”
“I could eat,” Christopher said.
Crispin nodded. “Something simple, Rogers. And enough for everyone. We drove up from Sutherland without stopping for anything but petrol.”
“Yes, my lord.” Rogers bowed himself out, carrying all our hats and gloves.
“In here.” Crispin headed for the green parlor, which wasn’t really green, per se. Its walls were more of a golden yellow damask; it was the furniture that was sage green. He dropped down on one of the hundred-year-old sofas with no respect for its age and kicked his legs out. “This do you, Gardiner?”
“This ought to work just fine,” Tom said, looking around. “You intended for me to go behind the screen, I assume?”
There was a lovely screen painted with scenes of rice paddies over in the corner, hiding the parlor telephone from view—the one we had used to ring up Wiltshire last night. The telephone table was flanked by a chair to make the person making the call comfortable, and which ought now to make Tom equally so.
Crispin nodded. “I thought it might suit.”
“It’ll suit very well,” Tom decreed, after looking at it. “So you two will be in here. I will be behind the screen. Where will Miss Darling be?”
