Murder at the Mayfair Hotel (Cleopatra Fox Mysteries #1)- C.J. Archer Page 0,61

side now. They could protect me if necessary and capture Mr. Armitage if he tried to flee. It was now or never. “Because I believe you murdered Mrs. Warrick.”

“What!” all four men blurted out at once.

“No, he didn’t!” Mr. Hobart cried.

“Are you sure?” my uncle asked, all the bluster gone now.

“Bloody hell,” Floyd murmured, eyeing Mr. Armitage carefully.

Mr. Armitage merely laughed another of those bitter, humorless laughs. He did not try to flee or stop me from elaborating. Indeed, he said, “I want to hear this. Go on, Miss Fox. Why do you think I’m a murderer?”

I cleared my throat. “Mrs. Warrick knew about your past as a thief and was going to expose you.”

Mr. Hobart suddenly sat on the chair. He covered his mouth with a shaking hand.

“Is that so?” Mr. Armitage’s voice might be calm, but it was edged with the sharpest steel. “And your proof?” He was every inch the policeman’s son at that moment. He might not share Detective Inspector Hobart’s blood, but his manner was as authoritative and direct.

“First of all, she recognized you,” I said, keeping my chin raised. I would not let this man intimidate me. It was much easier to be brave with Floyd beside me, although Mr. Armitage was taller and broader. “I overheard her saying as much in the foyer the day of her murder. She said she knew you when you were younger and that you shouldn’t be here at the hotel.”

“The foyer is busy during the day. She could have been referring to any number of people.”

I didn’t tell them there were two other men in her line of sight when she’d said it. I didn’t want to dilute my argument.

“Secondly, you’ve been sneaking about.” At his raised brows, I added, “I saw you checking Mr. Chapman’s coat pocket in his office this morning. I’ve also seen you coming out of Mrs. Kettering’s private chambers. You later lied about that to your own father when he inquired as to everyone’s whereabouts on the day of the murder.”

Uncle Ronald shook his head sadly. “Once a thief, always a thief.”

“He’s not a thief!” Mr. Hobart cried. “Not anymore,” he added in a mumble.

Mr. Armitage didn’t take his gaze off me. “What does that have to do with Mrs. Warrick’s murder?”

“It proves you aren’t an upstanding fellow,” Floyd shot back.

Mr. Armitage ignored him. His entire attention focused on me. I felt the icy blast of it through to my bones.

I swallowed again. It was becoming increasingly difficult to forge ahead with him looking at me like that. But I had to. There was a lot at stake. “Mrs. Warrick was also overheard having a heated conversation with Mr. Hobart about you on the day of her death. It’s not unreasonable to conclude she’d told him she recognized you and knew you’d been arrested years ago. Not knowing the family connection between you, she probably assumed he would act accordingly, but when he brushed aside the matter, she became cross.”

“In which case she would raise it with Sir Ronald.” Mr. Armitage looked to my uncle.

Uncle Ronald glared back. “I did speak to her that afternoon, but she didn’t mention your background. She only spoke about the footman who’d spilled her hot chocolate and the reparation she expected for the damage he’d caused to her fur coat.”

“That’s what she spoke to me about too,” Mr. Hobart said. “She told me she’d brought it up with Harry but he’d refused to dismiss Danny. She came to me demanding I do it, and I also refused. I suspect that’s when she went to Sir Ronald.”

My heart sank to my stomach.

Mr. Armitage arched his brows higher at me. “That is the sum of your proof, Miss Fox?”

“It may not be enough to convict you of murder,” Floyd said, “but it seems you’ve been thieving from the other senior staff.”

“Harry wasn’t thieving,” Mr. Hobart said on a sigh. “He was trying to uncover a thief. Someone has been stealing the silverware. When one of the waiters brought it to my attention, I asked Harry to investigate.” He appealed to my uncle. “You know this, sir. I brought it to your attention a week ago and told you Harry would find out who was responsible.”

Uncle Ronald gave a single nod.

My heart plunged further, all the way to my toes. I felt sick. I’d accused an innocent man of murder. But it got worse. I’d exposed the lie of a good man who’d simply wanted to give an orphan