Page 105 of Corpse in the Canal

“Points I hadn’t even thought of,” Owens said. “Well done.”

Ellis nodded in acknowledgment and some relief. He was glad to have done well by everyone.

“I see Harvey took your advice about the London police, Everett,” Ellis said, moving his gaze significantly to the detectives standing on the other side of the room and just watching. It was curiously unnerving.

“I imagine he thought Grey was out of action, since someone shot the poor devil.”

For no obvious reason, Owens’s face turned an angry red. But Ellis’s interest in this development was suddenly wiped out as he glanced again at the policemen to find the Greys with them, talking earnestly.

The older policeman glanced across the room toward Ellis, Everett, and Owens, though it wasn’t clear which of them he focused on, or if it mattered.

Unpleasantness coiled around Thomas’s stomach. It felt like reality, so he pushed it aside. I am a good man. I am.

The younger policeman detached himself from the group and came toward them. The Greys wandered off with the older policeman. Where were they going?

“Mr. Thomas?”

Ellis blinked at the policeman, a good-looking young fellow with friendly features and eyes like flint. “Yes?”

“My name is Flynn. I’m with the Metropolitan Police. I wonder if we might have a word?”

“Why, yes, of course,” Ellis said. “But not now, Mr. Flynn. It is hardly appropriate, and Mr. and Mrs. Harvey are relying upon me.”

“It is for their sakes,” Flynn assured him. “If you please.” He gestured across the room toward the door.

Panic rose and had to be fought. I am a good man. Desperately, Ellis cast around for the Harveys and saw no sign of Richard. Mrs. Harvey was with the Lethbridges still, half hidden from his view, though she was seated now, and he had no excuse to run to her aid.

“I don’t please! Come to the vicarage this evening or tomorrow morning—”

“I must insist.” Flynn’s smile was almost gentle, but his eyes were not. He was about half a minute away from grasping Ellis’s arm and marching him out of the room like a common criminal.

“Just go, old fellow,” Everett advised, patting his arm. “Forgive the bad taste and get it over with. We’ll keep an eye on Mrs. Harvey until you return.”

Ellis felt betrayed, but he could only make the best of it. He walked across the room, looking neither right nor left in case he saw speculation or, worse, accusation in any of the surrounding, mostly familiar faces.

“Where do you wish me to go?” he asked stiffly as he walked into the passage ahead of Flynn.

“Just across the hall to the morning room, if you please.” Flynn ushered him like an attentive host. Ellis would have resented that, if he hadn’t been so ill at ease.

He stalked into the morning room and stopped dead.

Harvey was there. Mr. and Mrs. Grey were there, and so was the older policeman. On the table before them sat a pistol.

Ellis refused to look at it for longer than an instant. It was a mere hallucination brought on by worry…

“My superior, Inspector Harris,” Flynn said. “Sir, Mr. Ellis Thomas, the vicar.”

“Mr. Thomas,” said Harris, fixing him with a stare that made Flynn’s look positively soothing. “I shall be very interested to hear what you have to say about this weapon. Considering you told Constable Wills that you did not possess one.”

“I don’t,” Ellis said haughtily. “That weapon is not mine.”

“It’s Percy’s,” Harvey broke in. “Thomas, how did Percy’s pistol come to be in your hands?”

How the devil was it in police hands? “It is not in my hands! If it is Percy’s, inspector, where did you find it?”

“In your desk drawer,” Grey said.

Ellis met that deceptively soft, dark gaze. He knew who Grey was, much more than an investigator, and no one got to be that rich by being gentle and forgiving. Panic surged again.