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“We’re going to just ask him?”
“Why not?” He plucked his hat from the stand and slapped it on his head. “I believe you saw the ribbon, but the police might assume you made a mistake and dismiss it. My father says not to trust the assigned detective. Forrester claims the investigation is focused on finding the taxicab driver who collected Brown Coat from the venue.”
“That could take some time.” It may not produce a result, either. The brown coat may never have left the estate, or it may have been stuffed in a bag before the wearer climbed into a vehicle. Or he or she may not have left in a cab at all.
We returned the coffee cups to Luigi’s café and took a hansom to the Elms Polo Club. It seemed to take forever to get out of the London traffic and then it felt slow on the open road after traveling in Lord Dunmere’s automobile last time.
“Do you have another engagement?” Harry asked when I checked my watch for the second time.
I slipped it back into my pocket. I’d worn a plain russet-colored jacket and matching skirt over a simple cream blouse for practicality. I suspected it would be warm again and the cotton fabric was lightweight. The outfit had few embellishments, so as not to attract attention if we needed to poke around the club or speak to staff. The modest black boater with a ribbon of the same color as my outfit was chosen for the same reason. It was understated compared to the hats worn by most fashionable ladies.
“Nothing until afternoon tea,” I told Harry. “I suppose I’m just impatient. Yesterday we traveled at twenty miles an hour in Lord Dunmere’s automobile.”
“He finally bought one? Last year when he stayed at the Mayfair, he told me he was thinking about it. What did he buy in the end?”
“A black one.”
“I meant who is the manufacturer?”
“A French company by the name of Peugeot. It seated all four of us quite comfortably, although it was a little tight in the back seat with a picnic basket between Flossy and me. Lord Dunmere’s mechanic drove us.”
He tapped a finger on his knee in thought. “I wonder if Dunmere will let me ride in it. We got along well and had some good conversations about automobiles and engines. He’s quite knowledgeable.”
“You can only ask. He’s staying for a few more days before heading off to the seaside. Be warned that if you do go to the hotel’s stables to look at it, Cobbit is dead against it. He says automobiles upset the horses. I know he’s just worried about them putting him out of work, but he’s stirring up trouble amongst the staff. Frank is on his side.”
“One day, horse-drawn vehicleswillbe obsolete. I sympathize with Cobbit.”
“Sympathy will get him nowhere. He and the other coachmen and grooms need to retrain or risk becoming redundant. I’m worried for them. If Cobbit digs in his heels, he’ll be out of work in a few years.”
Harry sighed. “If there’s one thing I remember about Cobbit, it’s that he’s stubborn.”
We arrived at the entrance to the Elms Polo Club to find the gates closed. I suspected it was to keep the newspaper men out. Journalists and photographers stood out the front, chatting. Our arrival caused a small flurry of activity as they threw questions at us, but soon backed away when Harry told them we had nothing to do with the club or the murder.
I glared at the gates, hands on hips, while Harry inspected the padlock. “How shall we get in?” I asked.
“The fence won’t be this high all the way around. It’ll be highest at the front entrance.”
“How do you know?”
“Because fencing is expensive and this is a sizeable estate. This fence looks quite new, so they probably replaced it recently, making it high near the entrance to deter trespassers looking for an easy way in.” He indicated a faint trail marked in the grass to our right. “Let’s follow that and see if the fence is more climbable further around.”
He was partially right. The fence didn’t become lower, but it was replaced by a tall hedge of yew trees. Most of it was too dense to climb through, but we found a section where one tree was dying, its foliage sparser than the rest.
Harry removed his hat and climbed through, paving the way for me by snapping off brittle twigs as he went. I plunged in after him and emerged on the other side. He removed a twig from my hat and flicked it onto the grass. I reached up and plucked a leaf from his hair. The strands were silky to touch.
He smiled. I smiled back. Then we set off for the stables. We’d decided to begin there before going in search of Major Leavey. If someone threw us out, at least we would have finished looking around.
There were some outdoor staff at work in the gardens but, otherwise, the grounds were empty. The lack of staff could be explained by it being Sunday.
We paused inside the stable block, blinking as our eyes adjusted to the dimmer light after the bright sunshine. Unlike the more ostentatious clubhouse, the stables were the heart of what must have once been a private estate. The thick walls looked as though they’d been there for hundreds of years and would survive for hundreds more, witnessing the birth and death of many horses, and now the death of a famous polo player.
Two grooms were at work in the stalls, one of whom was Bert. I counted six horses, including Hercules, Mr. Broadman’s mount. These must be the only ones permanently stabled at the club.
Bert looked up from his task of mucking out one of the stalls as we passed. When he spotted me, he almost dropped the rake. “Miss Fox!” His voice was a high squeak and his face paled. It made the blemishes stand out more. I’d not taken much notice of him yesterday, but now I began to wonder if he’d gone pale from guilt. He’d certainly looked upset when he saw the body of Vernon Rigg-Lyon.
But I wasn’t being fair. Seeing a dead body for the first time is a distressing business for anyone. I smiled warmly, which seemed to calm his nerves somewhat.
“Good morning, Bert. This is Mr. Armitage from Armitage and Associates, a private detective agency. He’s investigating the murder and wanted to look at the crime scene.”
