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“Not willingly,” Harry said. “Can you recall any times Bert seemed distressed after being in Panther’s stall?”
Robbie shrugged. “I don’t know…” His gaze slipped past us. “I’ve got to get back to work.” Instead of continuing on his way to the clubhouse, he turned and hurried back to the stables.
“You two!” came a shout from behind us. “What are you doing here?”
I glanced over my shoulder to see Major Leavey striding towards us, pointing a stick in our direction. With bushy brows and stern features, all that was missing to complete the military cliché was the uniform.
“You can still escape,” I told Harry. “I’ll stop him going after you.”
“I’m not leaving you to face him alone. Besides, what can he do to me? Forbid me from obtaining another guest voucher? I’m hardly going to be sad about being barred from match days.”
“He could throw you out now.” Going by the way the major’s eyebrows had drawn together to form one thick line, he was angry enough to do it.
Harry merely smiled. “Good afternoon, Major. A pleasant day for the polo.”
The major tucked his stick under his arm, conforming even more to the stereotype. I pressed my lips together to stop my smile. “I see that smirk, Miss Fox. And you, Armitage. Don’t move.”
Harry put his hands in the air. “As you wish.”
“Don’t play games with me. How did you get in?”
“I gave my guest voucher at the gate, like everyone else.”
“How did you obtain one in the first place? Well?” When we didn’t answer, he shook his finger at us. “I’ve asked around about you two. I know Miss Fox is related to the Bainbridges, and that’s how she obtained her voucher, but you, Armitage…you’re merely an employee of the Mayfair Hotel. You shouldn’t be here.”
“Former employee,” Harry countered.
He seemed quite unconcerned to be the object of Major Leavey’s ire. Perhaps, like me, he suddenly found the major a little ridiculous with his military pomposity and the wiggling of his eyebrows as if they were attached to puppet strings. I couldn’t see how anyone under his command would take him seriously.
The major set his feet apart and jutted his chin at me. “Do Sir Ronald and Lady Bainbridge know you sneak about with their former staff?”
“They do,” I said coolly. “And we were simply taking a walk, not sneaking.”
The major grunted. “Kindly return to your chaperone, Miss Fox. And you, Armitage, get going.”
“Where to?” I asked.
“The gate. He’s leaving.”
“But he had a guest voucher!”
He looked up at Harry. “Don’t make a scene or I’ll have you thrown out.”
Harry put up his hands again. “It’s all right, Cleo. I’ve realized the polo doesn’t interest me, after all.”
He walked off. The major looked torn between following him and making sure he left, or following me and making sure I didn’t do any more sleuthing. I took advantage of his hesitation.
“Why did you remove the ribbon from Vernon Rigg-Lyon’s pocket? And why did you lie about it?”
Harry wouldn’t have liked me asking questions now. If the major was the murderer, it might place me in danger if he felt threatened by my knowledge. But I couldn’t help it. Sometimes when I was angry, emotions spilled out of me and I said things I later regretted. And I wasfurious. The way he spoke to Harry was rude and condescending. At least Floyd was polite to Harry’s face.
I didn’t regret letting my emotions rule me this time. I was glad I accused the major of stealing the ribbon. For one thing, some of my anger was released when I voiced my question, and for another, it got a result. Instead of trying to deny it as an innocent man would, the major flushed scarlet and stormed off.
Harryand I hadn’t made an arrangement to meet, but I assumed we would. I stood in the hotel foyer as I considered whether to telephone him first or just show up with coffee at his office when Mr. Miller greeted me. I shouldn’t have stalled in such a visible space without checking my surroundings first. He’d been standing near one of the large vases of flowers with his uncle and mine. He broke away from them when he saw me, much to the delight of the two uncles who exchanged knowing smiles.
“Miss Fox, I’m so glad to see you this morning.” Mr. Miller reached inside his jacket and removed a small leather-bound book from his pocket. “I’ve been carrying this with me since yesterday. I saw it in a bookshop and thought of you.” He handed it to me with an air of expectation.
I read the title. “Poems and Essaysby Walt Whitman. A dead man made you think of me? How flattering.”
