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Tingles washed over my skin, leaving gooseflesh in their wake.
He cleared his throat and sat again. “Who else was there when you arrived on the scene?”
I returned to the other side of the desk with a sigh. “Nobody. Flossy and I were first after Mr. Broadman. A few moments later, one of the grooms came. Bert. Also the club manager, Major Leavey, formerly of the 12thLancers. He claims to have been working in his office during the time of the murder. I assumed he would be seeing to the players or chatting to special guests after an important match, not retreating to his office.” I shrugged. “Then Mr. Liddicoat arrived.”
“Why was he still there?”
“Waiting to speak to his cousin, I suppose. He claimed to have seen a man wearing a brown coat in the vicinity. Given the warm day, the coat seemed out of place. The prevailing opinion when I left was that Brown Coat was the killer. Shortly after Mr. Liddicoat’s arrival, the vice-captain of the Polo and Gun Club team entered the stables. He was very upset to learn of Mr. Rigg-Lyon’s death and claimed they were good friends as well as teammates. Barnaby Hardwick is his name.”
He wrote that down. “Claimed? You think they weren’t close?”
“I have no reason to doubt him, but…” I shook my head.
Harry looked up, frowning. “Go on.”
“I don’t think it has any bearing on the case.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“All right. In his victory speech, Vernon Rigg-Lyon said he wasn’t going to retire, after all, but Hardwick was. The change of heart seemed to come as a surprise to the vice-captain. He looked angry.”
“Anger seems like an over-the-top reaction,” he said as he made notes beside Mr. Hardwick’s name.
“When he arrived in the stables, he wasn’t wearing a hat or jacket. Perhaps he removed them because they were splattered with blood.”
“Or perhaps he removed a brown coat that was splattered with blood,” he said as he wrote. “Anything else from the day’s events that could be a clue?”
“No. Wait, yes, there is something else. I found a ribbon in the victim’s pocket.”
One side of his mouth lifted with his smirk. “Those gentlemen really were distracted when you got near the body. Did the ribbon match any worn by the ladies watching the match?”
I arched my brows at him. “There must have been five hundred people there, half of whom were women either wearing ribbons in their hair, on their hats or somewhere on their dress.”
“Point taken. I didn’t know the polo attracted so many.” He pulled the telephone closer. “I’m going to call Detective Forrester to see what the police have.”
“That’s if he’ll talk to you. He might not even be assigned to the case.”
“He’s not.”
“You’ve already discussed this with your father, haven’t you? And he telephoned Detective Forrester last night.”
He nodded. “Forrester told me he’ll look into it and to telephone him this morning.” He lifted the receiver and spoke to the operator. Once connected to Scotland Yard, he asked for Detective Forrester.
I listened to Harry’s half of the conversation and gathered something was amiss when he repeated the question about the ribbon, twice.
“There was no ribbon,” he said after he hung the receiver on the hook.
“Yes, there was. I pulled it out of Rigg-Lyon’s pocket.”
“Did you put it back?”
“Of course!”
“It wasn’t there when the police searched. The report noted that the pocket of his riding breeches was empty. It’s unlikely they removed evidence.”
“The major must have removed it. He remained behind to guard the scene of the crime until the police arrived. Why would he take it?”
Harry stood. “That’s what we need to find out.”
