Traitors Gate - Anne Perry [176]
“Well, Mr. Standish was in and out that day, sir,” Guyler said with a flush of pleasure at being praised so heartily. “Can’t say that I have seen him since then. But if you would care for me to find him, sir, I am sure Mr. Hathaway is in the club today. He does occasionally come in for luncheon.”
“Ah …” Eustace was momentarily caught. “Well …” His brain raced. “Er, before you trouble Mr. Hathaway, was Mr. Standish in this room on that day, would you know?”
Guyler hesitated.
“Rather a difficult question, I know,” Eustace apologized. “Long time ago now. Hate to press you. Asking rather a lot.”
“Not at all, sir,” Guyler denied it instantly. His memory for gentlemen’s faces was part of his stock in trade. “Difficult day to forget, sir, with poor Sir Arthur being found dead, like. I was the one who found him, sir. Dreadful experience.”
“It must have been,” Eustace sympathized. “Most unnerving for you. Amazing you recovered yourself so rapidly.”
“Thank you, sir.” Guyler squared his shoulders.
“Er … was he? Standish, I mean?” Eustace pressed.
“No sir, I rather think he played a game of billiards with Mr. Rowntree, and then left and went home to dinner,” Guyler said with concentration.
“But he was here in the late afternoon?” Eustace tried to keep the excitement out of his voice, and felt he failed.
“Yes sir, I remember that, because of poor Sir Arthur. Mr. Standish was here at the time. Saw him in the hall as he was leaving, just as the doctor arrived. I recall that plainly now you mention it.”
“But he didn’t come into this room?” Eustace was disappointed. For a moment it had looked as if he had the answer he was seeking.
“No sir,” Guyler replied with increasing certainty. “No sir, he didn’t. It must have been Mr. Hathaway you spoke to, sir, and you must have been mistaken about the place, if you will forgive me saying so. There is a corner of the green room not unlike this, the arrangement of the chairs and so on. Could it have been there that you had your discussion?”
“Well …” Eustace wanted to leave himself open for a rapid redeployment if necessary. “I daresay you could be right. I’ll try to clarify my memory. Thank you so much for your help.” He fished out a crown and offered it to a delighted Guyler.
“And the whiskey, sir? I’ll fetch it immediately,” Guyler said.
“Thank you … yes, thank you.” Eustace had no choice but to wait until the whiskey came, and then drink it without indecent haste. To do anything else would draw attention to himself as a man without taste or breeding, a man who did not belong. And that he could not bear. All the same, he was bursting to go and tell Charlotte what he had learned, and in such a remarkably short time. He felt very pleased with himself. It had been accomplished completely, and without raising the least suspicion.
He finished the whiskey, rose to his feet and sauntered out.
Charlotte was on the steps in the sun and quite a sharp breeze.
“Well?” she demanded as soon as he was out of the door and before he was halfway down to the street. “Did you learn anything?”
“I learned a great deal.” He grasped her arm and linked it to his, then half dragged her to walk side by side with him up the pavement, so to a passerby they would look like a respectable couple taking a stroll. There was no point whatever in making a spectacle of oneself. After all, he was a member of the Morton Club and would wish to return one day.
“What?” Charlotte said urgently, threatening to stop.
“Keep walking, my dear lady,” he insisted out of the corner of his mouth. “We do not wish to be observed as out of the ordinary.”
To his surprise the argument seemed to sway her. She fell into step beside him.
“Well?” she whispered.
Glancing at the expression on her face, he decided to be brief.
“Mr. Standish was present that afternoon, and at the appropriate time, but the steward is positive he did not go into the room where Sir Arthur was seated.”
“Are you sure it was Standish?”
“Beyond doubt. Kreisler was also there, but left too early, as