The Peculiar Case of Lord Finsbury's Diamonds: A Casebook of Barnaby Adair Short Novel (The Casebook of Barnaby Adair) Read Online Free PDF

ease the speculation, which I’m sure is already rife.”
     Lord Finsbury had to be well aware of the latter. While he clearly didn’t like the notion, he stiffly inclined his head.
     “We’ll also need to interview your staff,” Stokes said. “If you could tell me their names?”
     “My sister Agnes runs the household—she will be able to give you the names.”
     “Is there some private room in which the interviews could be conducted?” Barnaby asked. “Better to keep the experience comfortable and as undisturbing as possible.”
     Lord Finsbury paused, then somewhat grudgingly volunteered, “There’s the estate office. It’s a trifle cramped, but it should suit your purpose.”
     Fleetingly, Barnaby smiled. “Thank you.”
     He and Stokes rose.
     “Thank you, my lord.” Stokes nodded politely. “We’ll do all we can to conduct our investigation with a minimum of fuss.”
     “To which end,” Barnaby said, “with your leave, Stokes and I will briefly address your family and guests, essentially to reassure them that all is in hand, and that at this point our inquiries are merely the customary formalities and they have no reason to be alarmed.”
     Lord Finsbury hesitated, then said, “If you think it best.”
     Barnaby smiled easily. “We do.”
     Lord Finsbury sighed and rose. “In that case, I believe everyone is presently gathered in the drawing room. If you’ll follow me?”
     He led the way from the study. Stokes and Barnaby fell in at his heels.
     
    * * *
    O n entering the drawing room in Lord Finsbury’s wake, Barnaby eschewed studying the furnishings in favor of studying the assembled company.
     Halting in the center of the room, the instant cynosure of all eyes, Lord Finsbury bluntly stated, “As by now you all know, Peter Mitchell was murdered on the path through the wood. This is Inspector Stokes and Mr. Adair, who have been sent by Scotland Yard to investigate Mitchell’s death. They wish to speak with you all.” Finsbury glanced at Stokes. “Inspector?”
     If Finsbury had thought to unsettle Stokes, he’d misjudged; Stokes was experienced in taking command and exerting control in drawing rooms far more exalted than that of Finsbury Court.
     Stepping forward to where he could see all those present—and they could see him—Stokes swept the gathering with his gray gaze, then said, “Peter Mitchell’s death could not have been anything other than murder. I have been charged with the task of identifying and apprehending his murderer. In order to do so, it will be necessary to interview each of you individually to ascertain what you know about Mitchell and all incidents involving him. Such inquiries are routine and should not be viewed as in any way suggesting that those interviewed are suspected of being involved in the crime.”
     Moving to stand by Stokes’s left shoulder, Barnaby added, “It would also be true to say that such interviews are the simplest way of identifying all those not involved.” Assuming his most reassuring mien, he went on, “At this point, there’s really nothing behind our questions beyond a wish to gain information about Mitchell.”
     “Indeed.” Stokes reclaimed the stage. “We’ll be conducting our interviews in the estate office and we’ll ask to see you one by one”—he glanced at his notebook—“commencing with Mr. Frederick Culver.”
     Both Stokes and Barnaby looked across the room in time to see a tall, lean, athletic-looking gentleman with dark brown hair exchange a glance with the young lady who was standing beside him before the bow window.
     The visual connection lingered for too long to be incidental, inconsequential.
     For her part, the young lady appeared momentarily oblivious of everyone else in the room.
     Then the gentleman looked away—toward Barnaby and Stokes. He nodded. “I’m Culver.”
     Gently pressing, then releasing, the young lady’s fingers, which, Barnaby and Stokes saw, he had been