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I returned home but paused to speak to Frank at the door. He was patrolling the pavement outside the hotel, as he liked to do when he wasn’t greeting guests. He spared a glare for the decorators leaving the construction site next door, tin lunch boxes in hand.
“You can’t possibly be annoyed with them,” I said as the foreman locked up. “Papering walls makes very little noise.”
Frank’s features folded along well-worn lines. “They talk too much, and sing. I can hear one of them every time the door opens. Sings all day, he does. Sounds like a howling dog.”
I’d heard the man singing and thought he was quite good. His co-workers obviously didn’t mind. Frank was the sort of person who found fault in anything. He’d once complained the sky was the wrong shade of blue. It hurt his eyes.
I showed him the names on Lady Quorne’s guest list. “Do you know any of these people? Have any stayed here?”
He shook his head. “None look familiar. Are you investigating the murder of that gentleman from last night’s ball?”
“Yes, but keep it between us.”
“If I help, will I get paid?”
“No one is getting paid. Not even me.”
He screwed up his nose. “Then why are you investigating?”
“I have nothing better to do.”
He scrunched his face even more.
Before he could rattle off a list of things that were more interesting to him than investigating, I added, “If my family ask, tell them I was at a museum today.”
“I don’t like lying to Sir Ronald or Lady Bainbridge.”
“Very well. Tell them you don’t know where I went.”
“Right you are, Miss Fox.”
Inside, Peter told me Harmony was waiting in the staff parlor. He glanced around then leaned closer. “Miss Bainbridge said you were at a museum today, but we wondered if you’d been investigating the murder.”
“I have. In fact, perhaps you can help.” I showed him the list. “Do you recognize any of these names?”
He pointed to a couple, lower down. “They came to the New Year’s Eve ball one year.”
“What are they like? Is there any gossip about them?”
“I just know the name. Sorry. Ask Mr. Hobart. You should catch him now before he leaves for the day.”
I headed to the senior staff offices, passing the post desk where Terence was sorting newspapers into piles. They must be the evening editions, just arrived. Mr. Chapman stood to one side, reading an article on the front page ofThe Evening News. I picked up another copy. “Footman arrested for murder at society ball,” the headline read. I skimmed the article, but it contained nothing I didn’t already know, and returned it to Terence.
I found Mr. Hobart locking the top drawer of his desk as he prepared to leave for the evening. He looked up at my entry and smiled.
“There you are, Miss Fox. How did your meeting go with my brother and Harry?”
“Very well, thank you. D.I. Hobart wants us to investigate the murder. He’s worried due process wasn’t followed and the wrong fellow was arrested.”
“Does he think Lord Bunbury is exerting some influence over the situation to avoid scandal, as he did last time?”
“He does. Mr. Hobart, do you know any of these people?” I handed him the list. “They were guests at Lady Quorne’s dinner only a few days before her painting was stolen.”
He scanned the list. “You think one of them may have been involved in both art thefts?”
“It’s a possibility. The arrested footman admitted to stealing the Bunburys’ painting, but your brother is quite sure he has an alibi for the night the Quornes’ Grandjean was taken, although he’s being rather secretive about who he was with.”
“Perhaps someone encouraged him to take the Bunburys’ painting last night. The same someone who’d already stolen the Quornes’ picture.”
