The William Monk Mysteries_ The First Three Novels - Anne Perry [272]
“Yes we have,” Monk replied. “We found Mrs. Boden’s missing knife and a peignoir belonging to Mrs. Haslett. It appears to have been the knife used to kill her.”
Phillips looked very white and Monk was afraid for a moment he was going to collapse, but he stood rigid like a soldier on parade.
“May I ask where you found it?” There was no “sir.” Phillips was a butler, and considered himself socially very superior to a policeman. Even these desperate circumstances did not alter that.
“I think it would be better at the moment if that were a confidential matter,” Monk replied coolly. “It is indicative of who hid them there, but not conclusive.”
“I see.” Phillips felt the rebuff; it was there in his pale face and rigid manner. He was in charge of the servants, used to command, and he resented a mere policeman intruding upon his field of responsibility. Everything beyond the green baize door was his preserve. “And what is it you wish of me? I shall be pleased to assist, of course.” It was a formality; he had no choice, but he would keep up the charade.
“I’m obliged,” Monk said, hiding his flash of humor. Phillips would not appreciate being laughed at. “I would like to see the menservants one at a time—beginning with Harold, and then Rhodes the valet, then Percival.”
“Of course. You may use Mrs. Willis’s sitting room if you wish to.”
“Thank you, that would be convenient.”
He had nothing to say to either Harold or Rhodes, but to keep up appearances he asked them about their whereabouts during the day and if their rooms were locked. Their answers told him nothing he did not already know.
When Percival came he already knew something was deeply wrong. He had far more intelligence than either of the other two, and perhaps something in Phillips’s manner forewarned him, as did the knowledge that something had been found in the servants’ rooms. He knew the family members were increasingly frightened. He saw them every day, heard the sharpened tempers, saw the suspicion in their eyes, the altered relationships, the crumbling belief. Indeed he had tried to turn Monk towards Myles Kellard himself. He must know they would be doing the same thing, feeding every scrap of information they could to turn the police to the servants’ hall. He came in with the air of fear about him, his body tense, his eyes wide, a small nerve ticking in the side of his face.
Evan moved silently to stand between him and the door.
“Yes sir?” Percival said without waiting for Monk to speak, although his eyes flickered as he became aware of Evan’s change of position—and its meaning.
Monk had been holding the silk and the knife behind him. Now he brought them forward and held them up, the knife in his left hand, the peignoir hanging, the spattered blood dark and ugly. He watched Percival’s face minutely, every shade of expression. He saw surprise, a shadow of puzzlement as if it were confusing to him, but no blanching of new fear. In fact there was even a quick lift of hope, as if a moment of sun had shone through clouds. It was not the reaction he had expected from a guilty man. At that instant he believed Percival did not know where they had been found.
“Have you seen these before?” he said. The answer would be of little value to him, but he had to begin somewhere.
Percival was very pale, but more composed than when he came in. He thought he knew what the threat was now, and it disturbed him less than the unknown.
“Maybe. The knife looks like several in the kitchen. The silk could be any of those I’ve passed in the laundry. But I certainly haven’t seen them like that. Is that what killed Mrs. Haslett?”
“It certainly looks like it, doesn’t it?”
“Yes sir.”
“Don’t you want to know where we found them?” Monk glanced past him to Evan and saw the doubt in his face also, an exact reflection of what he was feeling himself. If Percival knew they had found these things in his room, he was a superb actor and a man of self-control worthy of anyone’s admiration—and an incredible fool not to have found some way of disposing of them before now.
Percival