The Privy Secretary looked at the weapon closely. Then he shook his
head. "Not that I recall, your lordship. It certainly isn't one of the
Count's guns."
"You're certain?"
"Quite certain, your lordship. I'll show you the gun collection if you
want. My lord the Count didn't like tiny guns like that; he preferred
a larger caliber. He would never have owned what he considered a toy."
"Well, we'll have to look into it." He called over Master Sean again
and gave the gun into his keeping. "And keep your eyes open for
anything else of interest, Master Sean. So far, everything of interest
besides the late Count himself has been hiding under beds or behind
arrases. Check everything. Sir Pierre and I are going for a look down
this stairway."
The stairway was gloomy, but enough light came in through the arrow
slits spaced at intervals along the outer way to illuminate the
interior. It spiraled down between the inner and outer walls of the
Great Keep, making four complete circuits before it reached ground
level. Lord Darcy looked carefully at the steps, the walls, and even
the low, arched overhead as he and Sir Pierre went down.
After the first circuit, on the floor beneath the Count's suite, he
stopped. "There was a door here," he said, pointing to a rectangular
area in the inner wall.
"Yes, your lordship. There used to be an opening at every floor, but
they were all sealed off. It's quite solid, as you can see."
"Where would they lead if they were open?"
"The county offices. My own office, the clerk's offices, the
constabulary on the first floor. Below are the dungeons. My lord the
Count was the only one who lived in the Keep itself. The rest of the
household live above the Great Hall."
"What about guests?"
"They're usually housed in the east wing. We only have two house
guests at the moment. Laird and Lady Duncan have been with us for four
days."
"I see." They went down perhaps four more steps before Lord Darcy
asked quietly, "Tell me, Sir Pierre, were you privy to _all_ of Count
D'Evreux's business?"
Another four steps down before Sir Pierre answered. "I understand what
your lordship means," he said. Another two steps. "No, I was not. I
was aware that my lord the Count engaged in certain ... er ... shall
we say, liaisons with members of the opposite sex. However--"
He paused, and in the gloom, Lord Darcy could see his lips tighten.
"However," he continued, "I did not procure for my lord, if that is
what you're driving at. I am not and never have been a pimp."
"I didn't intend to suggest that you had, good knight," said Lord
Darcy in a tone that strongly implied that the thought had actually
never crossed his mind. "Not at all. But certainly there is a
difference between 'aiding and abetting' and simple knowledge of what
is going on."
"Oh. Yes. Yes, of course. Well, one cannot, of course, be the
secretary-in-private of a gentleman such as my lord the Count for
seventeen years without knowing something of what is going on, you're
right. Yes. Yes. Hm-m-m."
* * * * *
Lord Darcy smiled to himself. Not until this moment had Sir Pierre
realized how much he actually _did_ know. In loyalty to his lord, he
had literally kept his eyes shut for seventeen years.
"I realize," Lord Darcy said smoothly, "that a gentleman would never
implicate a lady nor besmirch the reputation of another gentleman
without due cause and careful consideration. However,"--like the
knight, he paused a moment before going on--"although we are aware
that he was not discreet, was he particular?"
"If you mean by that, did he confine his attentions to those of gentle
birth, your lordship, then I can say, no he did not. If you mean did
he confine his attentions to the gentler sex, then I can only say
that, as far as I know, he did."
"I see. That explains the closet full of clothes."
"Beg pardon, your lordship?"
"I mean that if a girl or woman of the lower classes were to come
here, he would have proper clothing for them to wear--in spite of the
sumptuary laws to the contrary."
"Quite likely, your lordship. He was most particular about clothing.
Couldn't stand a woman who was sloppily dressed or poorly dressed."
"In what way?"
"Well. Well, for instance, I recall once that he saw a very pretty
peasant girl. She was dressed in the common style, of course, but she
was dressed neatly and prettily. My lord took a fancy to her. He said,
'Now there's a lass who knows how to wear clothes. Put her in decent
apparel, and she'd pass for a princess.' But a girl, who had a pretty
face and a fine figure, made no impression on him unless she wore her
clothing well, if you see what I mean, your lordship."
"Did you ever know him to fancy a girl who dressed in an offhand
manner?" Lord Darcy asked.
"Only among the gently born, your lordship. He'd say, 'Look at Lady
So-and-so! Nice wench, if she'd let me teach her how to dress.' You
might say, your lordship, that a woman could be dressed commonly or
sloppily, but not both."
"Judging by the stuff in that closet," Lord Darcy said, "I should say
that the late Count had excellent taste in feminine dress."
Sir Pierre considered. "Hm-m-m. Well, now, I wouldn't exactly say so,
your lordship. He knew _how_ clothes should be worn, yes. But he
couldn't pick out a woman's gown of his own accord. He could choose
his own clothing with impeccable taste, but he'd not any real notion
of how a woman's clothing should go, if you see what I mean. All he
knew was how good clothing should be worn. But he knew nothing about
design for women's clothing."
"Then how did he get that closet full of clothes?" Lord Darcy asked,
puzzled.
Sir Pierre chuckled. "Very simply, your lordship. He knew that the
Lady Alice had good taste, so he secretly instructed that each piece
that Lady Alice ordered should be made in duplicate. With small
variations, of course. I'm certain my lady wouldn't like it if she
knew."
"I dare say not," said Lord Darcy thoughtfully.
"Here is the door to the courtyard," said Sir Pierre. "I doubt that it
has been opened in broad daylight for many years." He selected a key
from the ring of the late Count and inserted it into the keyhole. The
door swung back, revealing a large crucifix attached to its outer
surface. Lord Darcy crossed himself. "Lord in Heaven," he said softly,
"what is this?"
He looked out into a small shrine. It was walled off from the
courtyard and had a single small entrance some ten feet from the
doorway. There were four _prie-dieus_--small kneeling benches--ranged
in front of the doorway.
"If I may explain, your lordship--" Sir Pierre began.
"No need to," Lord Darcy said in a hard voice. "It's rather obvious.
My lord the Count was quite ingenious. This is a relatively
newly-built shrine. Four walls and a crucifix against the castle wall.
Anyone could come in here, day or night, for prayer. No one who came
in would be suspected." He stepped out into the small enclosure and
swung around to look at the door. "And when that door is closed, there
is no sign that there is a door behind the crucifix. If a woman came
in here, it would be assumed that she came for prayer. But if she knew
of that door--" His voice trailed off.
"Yes, your lordship," said Sir Pierre. "I did not approve, but I was
in no position to disapprove."
"I understand." Lord Darcy stepped out to the doorway of the little
shrine and took a quick glance about. "Then anyone within the castle
walls could come in here," he said.
"Yes, your lordship."
"Very well. Let's go back up."
* * * * *
In the small office which Lord Darcy and his staff had been assigned
while conducting the investigation, three men watched while a fourth
conducted a demonstration on a table in the center of the room.
Master Sean O Lochlainn held up an intricately engraved gold button
with an Arabesque pattern and a diamond set in the center.
He looked at the other three. "Now, my lord, your Reverence, and
colleague Doctor, I call your attention to this button."
Dr. Pateley smiled and Father Bright looked stern. Lord Darcy merely
stuffed tobacco--imported from the southern New England counties on
the Gulf--into a German-made porcelain pipe. He allowed Master Sean a
certain amount of flamboyance; good sorcerers were hard to come by.
"Will you hold the robe, Dr. Pateley? Thank you. Now, stand back.
That's it. Thank you. Now, I place the button on the table, a good ten
feet from the robe." Then he muttered something under his breath and
dusted a bit of powder on the button. He made a few passes over it
with his hands, paused, and looked up at Father Bright. "If you will,
Reverend Sir?"
Father Bright solemnly raised his right hand, and, as he made the Sign
of the Cross, said: "May this demonstration, O God, be in strict
accord with the truth, and may the Evil One not in any way deceive us
who are witnesses thereto. In the Name of the Father and of the Son
and of the Holy Spirit. Amen."
"Amen," the other three chorused.
Master Sean crossed himself, then muttered something under his breath.
The button leaped from the table, slammed itself against the robe
which Dr. Pateley held before him, and stuck there as though it had
been sewed on by an expert.
"Ha!" said Master Sean. "As I thought!" He gave the other three men a
broad, beaming smile. "The two were definitely connected!"
Lord Darcy looked bored. "Time?" he asked.
[Illustration]
"In a moment, my lord," Master Sean said apologetically. "In a
moment." While the other three watched, the sorcerer went through more
spells with the button and the robe, although none were quite so
spectacular as the first demonstration. Finally, Master Sean said:
"About eleven thirty last night they were torn apart, my lord. But I
shouldn't like to make it any more definite than to say between
eleven and midnight. The speed with which it returned to its place
shows that it was ripped off very rapidly, however."
"Very good," said Lord Darcy. "Now the bullet, if you please."
"Yes, my lord. This will have to be a bit different." He took more
paraphernalia out of his large, symbol-decorated carpet bag. "The Law
of Contagion, gently-born sirs, is a tricky thing to work with. If a
man doesn't know how to handle it, he can get himself killed. We had
an apprentice o' the guild back in Cork who might have made a good
sorcerer in time. He had the talent--unfortunately, he didn't have the
good sense to go with it. According to the Law of Contagion any two
objects which have ever been in contact with each other have an
affinity for each other which is directly proportional to the product
of the degree of relevancy of the contact and the length of time they
were in contact and inversely proportional to the length of time since
they have ceased to be in contact." He gave a smiling glance to the
priest. "That doesn't apply strictly to relics of the saints, Reverend
Sir; there's another factor enters in there, as you know."
As he spoke, the sorcerer was carefully clamping the little handgun
into the padded vise so that its barrel was parallel to the surface of
the table.
"Anyhow," he went on, "this apprentice, all on his own, decided to get
rid of the cockroaches in his house--a simple thing, if one knows how
to go about it. So he collected dust from various cracks and crannies
about the house, dust which contained, of course, the droppings of the
pests. The dust, with the appropriate spells and ingredients, he
boiled. It worked fine. The roaches all came down with a raging fever
and died. Unfortunately, the clumsy lad had poor laboratory technique.
He allowed three drops of his own perspiration to fall into the
steaming pot over which he was working, and the resulting fever killed
him, too."
By this time, he had put the bullet which Dr. Pateley had removed from
the Count's body on a small pedestal so that it was exactly in line
with the muzzle of the gun. "There now," he said softly.
Then he repeated the incantation, and the powdering that he had used
on the button. As the last syllable was formed by his lips, the bullet
vanished with a _ping_! In its vise, the little gun vibrated.
"Ah!" said Master Sean. "No question there, eh? That's the death
weapon, all right, my lord. Yes. Time's almost exactly the same as
that of the removal of the button. Not more than a few seconds later.
Forms a picture, don't it, my lord? His lordship the Count jerks a
button off the girl's gown, she outs with a gun and plugs him."
Lord Darcy's handsome face scowled. "Let's not jump to any hasty
conclusions, my good Sean. There is no evidence whatever that he was
killed by a woman."
"Would a man be wearing that gown, my lord?"
"Possibly," said Lord Darcy. "But who says that anyone was wearing it
when the button was removed?"
"Oh." Master Sean subsided into silence. Using a small ramrod, he
forced the bullet out of the chamber of the little pistol.
"Father Bright," said Lord Darcy, "will the Countess be serving tea
this afternoon?"
The priest looked suddenly contrite. "Good heavens! None of you has
eaten yet! I'll see that something is sent up right away, Lord Darcy.
In the confusion--"
Lord Darcy held up a hand. "I beg your pardon, Father; that wasn't
what I meant. I'm sure Master Sean and Dr. Pateley would appreciate a
little something, but I can wait until tea time. What I was thinking
was that perhaps the Countess would ask her guests to tea. Does she
know Laird and Lady Duncan well enough to ask for their sympathetic
presence on such an afternoon as this?"
Father Bright's eyes narrowed a trifle. "I dare say it could be
arranged, Lord Darcy. You will be there?"
"Yes--but I may be a trifle late. That will hardly matter at an
informal tea."