The Murders of Richard III - Elizabeth Peters [27]
“The New York Times,” Thomas said, straight-faced. “It does have a moderate circulation.”
Philip gave Thomas an appreciative look.
“Your little local papers,” he said grinning. “Well, we know about Americans, don’t we, Lady Isobel? No taste. Barbarians.”
“I resent the implication,” O’Hagan said suddenly. “You denigrate the valiant efforts of the American branch, under whose auspices I am proud to appear here.”
He was an indignant rabbit. His face was flushed and his white moustache twitched vigorously. The group hastened to make apologies, which were interrupted by another bang on the table from Kent.
“Good gad, are we going to sit here babbling all night? Dick, I move we adjourn normal business until tomorrow morning; we can have an extra session at ten A.M. to hear the papers that were to have been read tonight. At the moment—”
“This is not proper procedure,” said the rector, looking shocked. “You must entertain a motion—”
“To hell with procedure,” Frank said. “Sorry, Mr. Ellis, but I agree with the general, and so do all my scrapes and bruises. This affair may have more serious implications than you realize. If the intruder was not a newspaperman, he may have been after something more important than scandal.”
Surprisingly, few of them had considered this possibility. Weldon was the exception.
“The letter is locked in my safe,” he said. “No one but myself has the combination.”
“Strangways may not know that,” mumbled the doctor.
“But how do we know—”
“Just a minute,” Thomas interrupted in exasperation. “We’re beginning to babble again. First of all we ought to find out whether this business about Strangways is anything more than an idle rumor. One of us must go to the village in the morning and investigate. Is the stranger really Strangways? If so, can he provide an alibi for tonight?”
“I’m sure he’ll be delighted to describe his movements to you,” Liz said sarcastically.
“We needn’t ask him. Discreet questioning of the personnel of the inn—”
“Good thinking,” Kent said approvingly. “I’ll go ’round in the morning.”
“Not you,” Weldon objected. “Every reporter in England knows your face.”
“Humph,” said Kent.
“I’ll go,” Thomas offered. “Jacqueline and I are of no interest to the press.”
“Your faces may not be known,” Philip said, with a cynical smile, “but do you know the face you hope to see? Do any of us know the notorious Strangways by sight?”
A damp silence fell. Finally Jacqueline said mildly, “Would there perhaps be a photograph on the jacket of his book?”
Weldon went trotting out to get the book. When he returned, the others crowded around the head of the table and stared at the small photo on the inside back flap of the jacket.
“No good,” Frank said. “Just a head and shoulders.”
“I like his nose,” Jacqueline said pensively. “Big and bold and Napoleonic. And a good square jaw.”
“This is not a male beauty contest,” Thomas said in exasperation. “The point is that the photo isn’t much use as a means of identification. I’ll bet it’s ten years old. That square jaw you admire may be buried in double chins, and the hair—pardon me, Jacqueline, the thick black hair—may be gone altogether.”
The door burst open. Percy appeared, coated with a blend of cobwebs and crumbs, and followed by the butler. Before Wilkes could speak, Percy announced shrilly, “No one. But we found a window open.”
“That is correct, Sir Richard,” said Wilkes, icily proper. He shot Percy a glance of burning hatred.
“Thank you, Wilkes.”
The butler left. Percy dropped heavily into one of the chairs and his mother exclaimed, “Darling boy, you are absolutely filthy. You must pop straight into a hot tub.”
“No,” Percy said insolently. “I might miss something. What happened while I was gone?”
“Isn’t he amusing?” asked Lady Ponsonby-Jones fondly. “To summarize, darling boy—”
“Do you mind summarizing on your own time?” Jacqueline inquired. “I’m rather tired, and Frank ought to be in bed.