“Interesting,” Kellar remarked.
Constance could not quite read the expression that flickered briefly through his veiled eyes. Consternation, perhaps, or guilt. Hoping to keep him off balance, she said, “Why do you keep bothering my mother?”
Kellar blinked. “Bothering her? Dear lady, I happened to wanderinto her shop one day and on another I knocked on her door to call, as one occasionally does upon old friends. Consider yourselves, comfortably calling on me today. And since we are questioning each other—why did you not introduce her when she blundered into your dining room on Friday?”
“I wasn’t sure she wanted to speak to you,” Constance said.
“Neither was I,” Kellar replied. “Hence my brief visits.”
“And what did you learn from those brief visits?” Constance asked frostily.
The hint of a smile tugged at Kellar’s lips. “That she doesn’t seem to be sure either.”
“Then we can take it that is the end of the matter?” Constance said, sounding for all the world like an overprotective parent. Part of her wanted to laugh. Most of her was far too uneasy.
“Probably,” Kellar said vaguely.
“But you still haven’t answered my question,” Constance pointed out. “Why did you go there? You even knewwhereto go, and neither of us told you that. You can’t have expected to find your Miss Silver running a curiosity shop in Covent Garden. And don’t tell me it was an accident, because I wouldn’t believe you.”
Kellar smiled, lifting his wine glass and turning it in his fingers. “Of course it wasn’t an accident. Whywouldn’tI seek her out?”
Constance laid down her spoon, meeting the challenging, yet humorous gaze. “Cards on the table, Mr. Kellar. You know who and what I am. I’m sure you can guess who gave me the idea. Juliet is doing better than she has in twenty-five years, and I won’t have her…bothered.”
She almost saidupset, but that would perhaps have betrayed too much.
“You love your mother,” Kellar observed.
“That is not the point at issue,” Solomon intervened. “What interests us is why a gentleman in pursuit of an important Foreign Officepromotion should start visiting a lady of questionable reputation.”
“Nicely put,” Constance said without taking her gaze from Kellar.
“Thank you,” Solomon returned. “The other thing that concerns us is what Caterina Montague might have known about you that you wish to keep silent. And yes, the two questionsareconnected.”
Kellar caught his breath, his eyes dancing. “Oh my goodness, I have become a suspect! That, I did not foresee.”
“No, you foresaw acquittal,” Constance said coldly, “well before accusation.”
“It seems I was wrong. How did I do it?”
“You could have persuaded her to let you in through the front door. After all, she knew and trusted you. Or you could have climbed up through her window while she slept. You knew where her bedroom was.”
Kellar stood and began to collect the bowls, which he placed on the sideboard with the soup tureen before lifting the lids from the remaining dishes on the table.
“You are very thorough,” he remarked. “I commend you. But in this case, you are quite, quite wrong. I would never have hurt a hair on Caterina’s head because, you see, I hold myself responsible for her parents’ deaths.”
It was simply said, without obvious emotion or urbanity. A simple fact. Either he was telling the truth or he was the best actor never to walk the stage. Constance inclined to the former.
Judging by Solomon’s next remark, so did he. “You will appreciate that we have had dishonest clients before. If you truly want our help, you must tell us the whole truth. Do you want our help?”
“Yes,” Kellar said, resuming his seat. “More than ever, now.”
“Then tell us,” Constance said, “about the last times you saw Caterina alive. From Monday the twenty-seventh of June.”
“Allow me to help you to some cold meats while I try to remember…”
*
“What do youthink?” Constance asked when they had left Kellar’s abode.
