"No. Please do not keep interrupting me, Mr. Rathbone - it is not something you might reasonably guess." She ignored his look of slight surprise at her presumption. "It is too ridiculous. He fell onto the suit of armor and was apparently speared to death by the halberd it was holding. Only the police said it could not have happened by chance. He was speared deliberately after he had fallen and was lying senseless on the floor."
"I see." He was outwardly contrite. "So it was murder; that, I presume, I may safely deduce?"
"You may. The police enquired into the matter for several days, in fact two weeks. It occurred on the evening of April twentieth. Now the widow, Mrs. Alexandra Carlyon, has confessed to the crime."
"That I might reasonably have guessed, Miss Latterly. It is regrettably not an unusual circumstance, and not absurd, except as all human relationships have an element of humor or ridiculousness in them." He did not go on to guess for what reason she had come to see him, but he remained sitting very upright in his chair, giving her his total attention.
With an effort she refrained from smiling, although a certain amusement had touched her, albeit laced with tragedy.
"She may well be guilty," she said instead. "But my interest in the matter is that Edith Sobell, the sister of General Carlyon, feels most strongly that she is not. Edith is convinced that Alexandra has confessed in order to protect her daughter, Sabella Pole, who is very lightly balanced, and hated her father."
"And was present on the occasion?"
"Yes - and according to what I can learn of the affair from Damaris Erskine, the general's other sister, who was also at the ill-fated dinner party, there were several people who had the opportunity to have pushed him over the banister."
"I cannot act for Mrs. Carlyon unless she wishes it," he pointed out. "No doubt the Carlyon family will have their own legal counsel."
"Peverell Erskine, Damaris's husband, is their solicitor, and Edith assures me he would not be averse to engaging the best banister available."
His fine mouth twitched in the ghost of a smile.
"Thank you for the implied compliment."
She ignored it, because she did not know what to say.
"Will you please see Alexandra Carlyon and at least consider the matter?" she asked him earnestly, self-consciousness overridden by the urgency of the matter. "I fear she may otherwise be shuffled away into an asylum for the criminally insane, to protect the family name, and remain there until she dies." She leaned towards him. "Such places are the nearest we have to hell in this life - and for someone who is quite sane, simply trying to defend a daughter, it would be immeasurably worse than death."
All the humor and light vanished from his face as if washed away. Knowledge of appalling pain filled his eyes, and there was no hesitation in him.
"I will certainly keep my mind open in the matter," he promised. "If you ask Mr. Erskine to instruct me, and engage my services so that I may apply to speak with Mrs. Carlyon, then I will give you my word that I will do so. Although of course whether I can persuade her to tell me the truth is another thing entirely."
"Perhaps you could engage Mr. Monk to carry out investigations, should you - " She stopped.
"I shall certainly consider it. You have not told me what was her motive in murdering her husband. Did she give one?"
She was caught off guard. She had not thought to ask.
"I have no idea," she answered, wide-eyed in amazement at her own omission.
"It can hardly have been self-defense." He pursed his lips. "And we would find it most difficult to argue a crime of passion, not that that is considered an excuse - for a woman, and a jury would find it most . . . unbecoming." Again the black humor flickered across his face, as if he were conscious of the irony of it. It was a quality unusual in a man, and one of the many reasons she liked him.
"I believe the whole evening was disastrous," she continued, watching his face. "Apparently Alexandra was upset, even before she arrived, as though she and the general had quarreled over something. And I gather from Damaris that Mrs. Furnival, the hostess, flirted with him quite openly. But that is something which I have observed quite often, and very few people are foolish enough to take exception to