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“I wonder why,” she murmured into her coffee cup.
We went our separate ways after tidying up my suite. Harmony pushed her cart along the corridor while I headed downstairs. The senior staff of Mr. Chapman, Mrs. Short, Mrs. Poole and Peter emerged from Mr. Hobart’s office, followed by Mr. Hobart himself. They must have just finished their morning meeting. I greeted them individually and received greetings in return, some of them warmer than others. Mrs. Short’s was the curtest of all, but that was simply her nature rather than anything personal.
“You’re in a good mood this morning, Miss Fox,” Mr. Hobart said, smiling.
“Am I? Yes, I suppose I am.”
“The ball must have been enjoyable.”
“It was as expected.”
Frank opened the front door for Goliath, who was pushing a trolley full of luggage. The doorman scowled at the porter then at us before returning to his post outside.
Peter nodded in Frank’s direction. “Don’t linger to talk to him or your good mood will be extinguished faster than a candle in a storm.”
“Wise words,” I said as I waved goodbye.
I couldn’t resist giving Frank the cheeriest of greetings but wasn’t surprised when I received a grunt in return. His mood was grimmer than usual.
Harry wasn’t himself either. He was cool rather than grim, however, when I met him at his office. We exchanged the briefest of pleasantries then he got straight to business.
“Even if we can’t locate John S, Mrs. Rigg-Lyon’s diary proves that Rosa Rivera wasn’t lying. He exists. If he is her lover, he’s a suspect.”
“We’ll know more after following her tomorrow morning,” I said.
“There’s another polo match tomorrow afternoon at the Elms Club. It’ll be worth attending and observing some of our suspects.”
“I’ll see if Floyd can acquire some vouchers. Speaking of Floyd, he gave me names of automobile owners who currently have their vehicles stabled in London. Harmony will find out if any of their mechanics collected Rosa Rivera from the Royal Albert Hall. What did Cobbit say? Does he think it’s possible for a horse and carriage to get from the hall to the club in under thirty minutes?”
“He offered to run a little experiment this morning.” He checked his watch. “We’d better go downstairs to meet him.”
I stood and waited while he put on his jacket. “Doesn’t he have work to do?”
He plucked his hat off the stand. “Either he doesn’t or he’s on strike already.”
The thought left me unsettled. Uncle Ronald would be furious if Cobbit went on strike. Perhaps furious enough to dismiss him. If Frank and other staff joined Cobbit, it would severely impact the smooth running of the hotel.
The coachman was in no mood for talking, however. He greeted us with nods and ordered us into the cabin. Harry gave him final instructions before joining me.
He closed the door and we both checked our watches for the time then tucked them away. Harry peered out of the window as we lurched forward. His profile gave nothing away, but his silence was unlike him.
“Harry, is something the matter?”
He turned to me with a smile. “Not at all.”
I didn’t believe him. That smile was too benign, and his eyes lacked their usual spark. An investigation always ignited something within him, but this morning he seemed distant, distracted.
“I was just thinking about the case,” he went on. “I telephoned Detective Forrester before you arrived this morning. He says the investigating detective has been searching for more witnesses who saw the brown-coated man leaving the Elms. They’ve found none.”
“They couldn’t possibly have questioned every cab driver in London.”
“True, but they’ve made it known they’re looking for someone. This morning’s newspapers have published Scotland Yard’s request for anyone who saw a man dressed in a brown coat at the polo to come forward. They’ve also questioned ground staff at the Elms. Nothing. We have to consider the possibility that Liddicoat is lying to protect his cousin.”
Perhaps Harry’s gloomy demeanor was because he wanted Mr. Liddicoat to be innocent for Miss Hessing’s sake. What I was about to tell him wouldn’t improve his mood, but it had to be said.
“I think Mr. Liddicoat did lie. I spoke to him at the ball last night and he claimed he was walking among the trees near the clubhouse at the time of the murder. But from what I remember of the estate’s layout, the stables aren’t visible from the woods.”
“So he couldn’t have seen anyone in the vicinity of the murder.” He frowned. “You didn’t confront him, did you?”
