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“And now he’s dead,” Gideon said in a cool tone. “Where were you on the evening of the twenty-eighth of July, Mr. Beecham?”

The gentleman pressed his lips together in an almost-smile and waved a hand toward his wall of swords and knives. “Yes, I see. The equation seems quite simple. I have confessed my loathing for Pennington, and you see blades on my wall.”

He fell silent and Electra could feel the tension in Gideon’s posture without even casting a glance his way.

“I did not kill him, Inspector. I shouldn't say this, but if I were going to end the man's life, I wouldn't have dirtied my own hands.”

“Are you saying you hired someone to kill Percival Pennington?”

Beecham huffed and shook his head “Absolutely not. I didn't want the man dead. I was contemplating ruining him, Inspector. I was looking forward to his ruination. Why would I wish to release him to death? Why spare him the shame that I was planning to make him suffer?”

There was a chilling logic in the man’s description.

“Do you have an alibi, sir?” Gideon asked.

“I do. I dined with a longtime friend, Caldwell Eames. I can provide his address if you like, and you may speak to him to confirm that we spent the evening conversing and playing billiards.”

“I will do that.”

Beecham took a moment to take up a pen and jot down the man’s address, then passed it across his desk to Gideon.

“I did not kill Pennington, but from what I know of the man’s dealings, it would not surprise me if many found him odious.”

“Finding a man unlikable is usually not sufficient motive for murder.” Gideon observed the man quietly.

“When was the last time you spoke to Mrs. Devlin?” Electra asked.

Beecham seemed surprised by the question, but then lifted a maroon ledger from the corner of his desk. “Allow me to consult my diary.” The man pored through a few pages, then looked up. “I spoke to her on the twenty-fourth of July. A brief interaction.”

“At Hyde Park.”

Beecham regarded Electra as if he suddenly found her fascinating. “How would you know such a thing? Did Mrs. Devlin tell you?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“My investigator knew her habits,” Beecham said. “She walked in Hyde Park at a certain time each day. I wanted to meet her, talk with her, but she wouldn't speak to me. I don't know if it was out of loyalty for Pennington or fear.”

“What did you say to her?” Gideon asked.

“Merely what I've said to you. That I wanted to speak to her about Pennington.”

Electra didn’t think that was all he had said. “Whatever you said seemed to disturb her, frighten her. She strode away quickly.”

Again, he pinned her with a penetrating stare. “I allowed her to do so, Miss Poole. I would never accost a lady.”

“Do you know Mrs. Devlin’s current location?” Gideon asked.

Beecham rapped his fingers on the blotter again. “She resides at Regent Square, but I suspect that is not news to you.”

“And you only sought her out on that single occasion?” Electra asked.

“Once, yes. One foiled attempt at speaking to the lady. I know nothing more except for a bit of her history collected by my investigator.”

“What were the details of that history?” Gideon interjected.

“She was a widow and was brought low by his death, forced to seek a means of livelihood that would⁠—”

The study door behind them swung open. “Father!”