“That we took him by surprise, both by finding his home and by our discoveries about Caterina.”
Despite the calm neutrality of his voice, she knew he was troubled, and she shared that unease. “Why would he be surprised?” she wondered aloud. “He was the one who suspected murder in the first place. Whatever his reasons—and I do mostly believe in his guilt over her parents—did he expect us to be such poor investigators?”
“Perhaps he did,” Solomon said slowly. “Perhaps, as we thought, he really did employ us to find nothing. Which means there must be something to find.”
“Insulting.” Catching sight of the carriage ambling toward them, she halted. “But why would he think so little of us? He knows we found the killer in Venice.”
“I have no idea. The trouble is, I still like the man. I don’t believe he lies to us. He just keeps things back, probably from habit.”
“Are you ruling him out as Caterina’s killer?”
Solomon made a frustrated gesture with one hand as the carriage came to a halt beside them. “We have no evidence one way or the other. But if he killed Caterina to keep her quiet and preserve his reputation, why would he then go anywhere near Juliet, whose company could ruin him at least as effectively?”
Constance shivered. “He could have hurt her, in the flat. He had the time. She’s used to taking care of herself, but…”
“But he left when she bade him. Which implies he is indeed a man of honor.”
“But we have no proof. Montague is still our likeliest suspect. Where now?”
“The Royal Academy of Music,” Solomon said, “as we originallyplanned. We have been neglecting Darrow.”
Perhaps, but it didn’t take two people to talk to his teachers at the academy. Not when everything was pointing toward Montague as the culprit. “Why don’t I let you off at the academy,” Constance suggested, “while I go and speak to the Worthingtons about their daughter’s death?”
*
Solomon had somesympathy with Constance’s eager pursuit of Montague. He did indeed seem the likeliest suspect. But his own tidy nature required a closer look at all suspects, and they knew considerably less about Darrow than about the other two. Of course, he was much younger and there would be less to find, but a school was bound to be less biased in its opinions than friends.
The Royal Academy of Music was just off Hanover Square. Made from three old houses knocked into one, it appeared to be a maze of low doorways and passages that resembled tunnels more than hallways or corridors.
Solomon discovered the administrative office more by luck than anything else, and explained to the elderly gentleman he found there that he would like the opportunity to speak to the teachers of the violinist Carl Darrow.
The man’s eyes widened. “Darrow? I have heard him play. A most promising young talent. But I don’t believe he was one of our students. I would surely have recalled him, being a violinist myself.”
The old gentleman might well have been a violinist, but he also resembled most people’s idea of an absent-minded academic at best. At worst, an aging old man whose memory had wandered off with the years.
“Could you possibly check your records?” Solomon asked politely, just as a younger man entered the office.
The old fellow beamed. “Of course! Mr. Vallance here will help you. The gentleman is looking for Carl Darrow’s instructors. He isn’t one of ours, of course, but best to be sure. He might have come for a few lessons…”
The younger man marched over to a formidable array of cabinets. “What year do you believe he left the academy?”
“I’m not sure. 1852 at the latest, I would say, possibly a year or so before that.”
The clerk, if such he was, looked irritated, but opened the second drawer from the top of the last cabinet in the row. After a moment of rummaging, he shut the drawer again, moved to the next cabinet, and repeated the process.
This went on for some time, without explanation. Eventually, the young man strode across the office to more ancient-looking cabinets and carried on.
Eventually, he swung around to face Solomon. “I have looked back over ten years, and there is no Darrow in our records at all.”
Solomon, who had begun to suspect as much, said hopefully, “Could some member of staff have removed them temporarily? Perhaps to write a character reference or some such?”
“His registration would remain. He never matriculated here, and was never taught here, even on short courses.” The faintest of smiles dawned, and the young man cast an almost affectionate look at his ancient colleague. “Besides, if Mr. Laurel doesn’t recall him, he never stepped through our door.”
