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They say Stoddart had it put in the safe at the inn when he first arrived, then late yesterday afternoon he took it out. He didn’t leave the money in his room, for McAdam searched it from top to bottom and there wasn’t a sou in it.”
    “Were there guests staying at the inn?”
    “No one suspicious. They say there was a cockfight in an abandoned barn last night and Stoddart was there, along with half the men from the neighborhood. He might have lost the money on a bet. But it’s only a rumor, mind. Oh, and there’s been a stranger spotted about town. A tall, dark gentleman. Someone says he was seen talking to Stoddart.” Such vague on-dits were only to be expected. I paid little heed to them.
    We were so engrossed in our conversation, we nearly missed Maitland. It was Addie who spotted him first, heading toward the drapery shop. We knew he would not enter that female den and began primping our hair. We managed to be leaving the shop just as he passed by.
    “Ladies,” he said, lifting his curled beaver and bowing.
    Morris Maitland is so marvelous a creature, I can never quite make up my mind what part of him to admire first. The sun glinted off a golden wave of hair that fell forward when he removed his hat. His blue eyes shone like sapphires; his teeth sparkled. Maitland in the flesh always outdid memory. His blue superfine jacket hugged his broad shoulders. His buckskins were spotless, and little gold tassels bobbed on his gleaming topboots.
    Addie overcame her breathlessness first. “Miss Talbot was just telling me you know Mr. Stoddart, the man who was murdered,” she said.
    Maitland gave me a mock frown. “So it is you I have to thank for McAdam’s call,” he said. “I would hardly say I know him. I caught him trespassing on my property yesterday morning. He explained that he was out walking and lost his way. We shared a cheroot and he told me about a boxing match he’d seen in Winchester.” This jibed with what Stoddart had told us.
    “He didn’t mention that he was looking for his relatives’ graves?” I asked.
    After a frowning pause, Maitland said, “I believe he did ask the way to the graveyard. He mentioned he was from Bath. I have relatives there myself, but he didn’t happen to know any of them.”
    “That would be because he wasn’t from Bath,” I informed him.
    Maitland’s eyebrows rose. “Is he not? I’m sure he said Bath....”
    “Oh, yes, he said Bath, but I doubt he’d ever been there. He knew nothing of the place.”
    “Where was he from?” Maitland asked.
    “I have no idea.”
    “Did you hear about the money?” Addie asked him.
    He hadn’t, and she had the pleasure of telling him. Not to be outdone, I told him about the note. He displayed a suitable degree of interest in both stories. Addie mentioned her theory regarding the cockfight. Maitland admitted he had been there and said he had not seen Stoddart.
    Altogether, we monopolized Maitland for quite ten minutes, to the consternation of the other village maidens. Before leaving, he inquired if we planned to attend the spring assembly and asked us both to save him a dance.
    We returned to the drapery shop in a state of high elation and bought new ribbons to impress Maitland at the next assembly. Mrs. Davis invited Auntie and myself for tea again and we accepted this time. As we were to meet Lollie at four-thirty, we could not remain long.
    We were home by five. We neither had company nor went out that evening. I did some painting and went to bed early. As I lay in the dark, I thought of Stoddart, who would soon be moldering in the ground. He hadn’t seemed like a spy or an evil man. Pretending he was from Bath wasn’t reason enough to be murdered.
    I knew Lollie planned to involve himself in the case, and I decided that I’d do anything I could to help him.
     

Chapter Four
     
    With a murderer in our midst, I decided to do my sketching close to home the next morning. Lollie was busy about the estate and we