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‘What time was this?’ Singh asked.
‘About half past eleven,’ Bradamant answered. ‘The party was in full swing downstairs. I didn’t expect anyone to come up to Wyndham’s study at that point.’
Singh nodded. He turned to Irene. ‘According to our forensic specialists, Lord Wyndham was slaughtered somewhere between midnight and one o’clock. It is difficult to tell with vampires, but the fact that his head was found on the palings outside at one o’clock gives us some idea of the time frame.’
Irene wasn’t sure whether or not that was supposed to be a joke. ‘I see,’ she said neutrally. ‘So in that case, who put the card in the safe? Lord Wyndham himself?’
‘It seems the most likely hypothesis,’ Vale agreed. ‘The man – I apologize, the vampire – was beheaded in his study, at his desk. Some of the other guests at the party said that he went upstairs at midnight, saying that he was going to arrange a surprise.’
Kai nodded. ‘So when he walked in to find the book gone, he determined to preserve Belphegor’s card for future investigation. Though it seems overly careful to put it in the safe rather than simply leave it in a drawer of his desk. But then he was attacked?’
‘That is so,’ Singh said. ‘By members of the Iron Brotherhood. I have information from some of our agents. We believe they must have been masquerading as guests. They simply lopped his head off, walked out normally, and impaled it upon the palings as they left.’
Irene frowned. ‘But then Wyndham’s murder was before the Opera explosion and change in command in the Brotherhood. Is there a connection?’
Singh and Bradamant traded glances. ‘That is a very interesting question, Miss Winters,’ Singh said. ‘But at the moment, I am more interested in knowing the whereabouts of the book which Madame Bradamant stole.’
Bradamant regarded him stonily. ‘It was a fake.’
For a moment everyone was talking, mostly along the lines of What? and Are you certain?
‘And I know it was a fake,’ Bradamant said, cutting through the noise, ‘because when I took it back to my superior, he looked at it and then explained to me that he was not interested in facsimiles. Especially those which were missing certain relevant parts.’
‘Which relevant parts?’ Irene demanded. She was fairly sure who the superior in question must have been. Bradamant answered directly to Kostchei, just as Irene answered directly to Coppelia. The possibility of someone else having been involved, and giving Bradamant orders . . . well, it wasn’t impossible, but it was too unlikely. At the moment the principles of Occam’s Razor, starting with the most obvious answer, seemed the best plan. ‘Did he tell you?’ ‘No,’ Bradamant said bitterly. For a moment her face betrayed genuine emotion: anger, bitterness, and sheer thwarted curiosity. ‘I was given the strong impression that it was better for me not to know.’
Irene worked out times and dates in her head. ‘Then, when you met myself and,’ she almost said Kai, but caught herself in time, ‘Mr Strongrock, on our way to our assignment, this was after you’d discovered the book was a fake?’
‘It was,’ Bradamant agreed. See how honest and forthcoming I’m being, her vague smile said, her expression under control again. ‘I thought that if I could intercept you on the way, then I could try to find the real book without your interference. Pardon my phrasing.’
‘Of course,’ Irene said blandly. She was conscious of the three men listening. ‘So after that, you decided to come through anyhow?’
‘I had the advantage of already knowing this place,’ Bradamant said. ‘I didn’t expect you to work as fast as you did.’
Irene glanced round at the three men. Somehow they shared a similar demeanour, whatever their reaction to this new information. Perhaps it was a kind of aristocratic poise, an inbuilt certainty that the world was going to cooperate with their needs.
She wished she shared it.
‘Wyndham is the obvious candidate to have created the fake, since records show he had the original book,’ Vale said briskly. ‘Inspector Singh, if you would – ’
‘Of course,’ Singh said. He pulled a sheaf of papers from his briefcase. ‘The clerks and difference engines at the Yard have tabulated records of Lord Wyndham’s last few weeks. He only obtained the book two and a half weeks ago, at an auction of the late Mr Bonhomme’s effects. And it was certified as genuine by the auction house at the time, which resulted in a quite remarkable price being set on it.’
Vale nodded. ‘I managed to trace one of the proxy bids to Lord Silver, through the solicitor that he employed. We can be sure of his interest.’
‘There were some threats after the auction, too,’ Singh went on. ‘This all resulted in the book being under tight guard. So if he had the fake made, then it was within that time period.’
‘Could it have been done that quickly?’ Irene asked, startled.
Vale leaned back in his chair. ‘There are precisely three forgers in London at the present moment who could have done it,’ he said. ‘And even they would have taken at least two weeks to do so.’
‘So there are,’ Singh agreed. ‘And a delivery came from one of them—’
Vale held up a hand. ‘Matthias?’
‘No, Levandis,’ Singh said smugly.
‘I thought Matthias was the one he’d dealt with before,’ Vale said.
‘Possibly why he chose not to deal with him this time,’ Singh said. ‘In any case, one of our people was watching Levandis at the time – the Severn matter, you know – and she confirms that he was making daily trips to Wyndham’s house. The servants agree that he called, but they had him down as a workman doing some alterations on the panelling in Wyndham’s study. They can confirm that was where he was spending his time daily. He sent a final delivery to Wyndham three days before Wyndham’s murder, and didn’t visit again after that.’
