Page 65 of The Murder of Thomas Cardwell
This time, with Stokes and Jordan accompanying Barnaby and Penelope, they were shown directly into Sir Ulysses’s study. Mrs. Moubray was not present nor was she summoned to join them, and it was very clear from the first curt word of greeting that Sir Ulysses was not at all happy to see them.
Good manners, however, prevented him from saying so.
Barnaby performed the introductions, and after waiting until Penelope subsided into the armchair the butler set for her, Sir Ulysses waved the gentlemen to the remaining chairs before his desk and resumed his seat behind it.
Sir Ulysses regarded Stokes from beneath beetling brows. “Inspector.” The word was all but barked. “What can I do for you, sir?”
Ignoring the hostility Sir Ulysses was directing his way, Stokes explained that they were, they believed, closing in on Thomas Cardwell’s murderer. “However,” Stokes continued, “as part of our investigation, it’s become necessary to eliminate every gentleman potentially connected with Thomas Cardwell. Consequently, we need to inquire as to your whereaboutsbetween the hours of seven-thirty and eight-thirty last Tuesday morning.”
Sir Ulysses huffed in a disbelieving fashion. “You expect me to give an account of my movements?” His tone suggested the request was the height of inappropriate rudeness.
Imperturbably, Stokes inclined his head. “If you would, sir.”
Sir Ulysses huffed again, even more incensed. He turned his gaze to Barnaby. “Surely, Adair, this isn’t necessary?”
His expression impassive, Barnaby replied, “I assure you, Moubray, that answering the inspector’s question is the fastest route to seeing the back of us.”
Penelope leaned forward and assured the man, “Truly, Sir Ulysses, we have no wish to cause the slightest difficulty. However, the inquiry is a valid one and will likely be judged as crucial to the outcome of the inquest.”
Barnaby hid a grin as his wife artfully paused to allow the specter of a public hearing to fully bloom in Sir Ulysses’s mind before she added, “The simplest way to avoid any unnecessary attention is to tell us and the inspector where you were at that specific time.”
Sir Ulysses’s demeanor had undergone several subtle changes during Penelope’s speech, denoting, Barnaby suspected, a horrified cringe at the thought of being called to the dock at Thomas Cardwell’s inquest. After staring at Penelope for several seconds, Sir Ulysses huffed again, but this time in defeat. He shifted his gaze to Stokes and gruffly stated, “At that time on Tuesday morning, I was out walking. Taking my constitutional, as I do every morning, weather permitting.”
After showing them in, the butler had remained in the room, unobtrusively standing back against the bookshelves. Barnaby thought Sir Ulysses had forgotten the man was even there. However, in this instance, that proved helpful, as the butler wasnodding in ready and instinctive confirmation of his master’s statement.
Penelope couldn’t see the butler, so asked, “I take it, sir, that your staff will vouch for that being your habit?”
“Of course they will.” Sir Ulysses’s color heightened. “Because it is.”
That Sir Ulysses didn’t glance at the butler confirmed Barnaby’s supposition that the master had forgotten the servant was there.
Stokes had been jotting in his ever-present notebook. “As I recall, last Tuesday morning was reasonably fine.”
Sir Ulysses replied, “If it was, then I was out strolling the streets, and before you ask, I didn’t encounter anyone I know who might vouch for that. At that hour, I rarely meet any acquaintances.”
That’s likely why you walk so early, Barnaby thought.
It was clear that Sir Ulysses was no one’s fool, and his prickliness over accounting for his movements on the fateful morning was because he understood why the investigators had asked their question, and by being out of the house and unable to offer any corroborating testimony as to his actual whereabouts, he would, inevitably, remain on their suspect list.
Penelope smiled on Sir Ulysses as if congratulating him on being so forthcoming. “Can you recall where you strolled on your constitutional last Tuesday?”
Sir Ulysses primmed his lips, then consented to reveal, “If you must know, I always take a turn around Regent’s Square. It’s not far—a few blocks away—and I pause and take note of the trees there.” On seeing Penelope’s brows rise, he gruffly added, “I grew up in the country, and the trees in the square remind me of the trees around my old home in Shropshire.”
“I see. How lovely.” Penelope flashed the old soldier an understanding smile, then looked brightly at Stokes. “Do we have any further questions?”
Stokes shut his notebook and stated, “For the moment, that will do.”
They rose, and Penelope voiced her hope that Sir Ulysses would remember her to his lovely wife, then Stokes and Jordan exchanged nods with their host, and Barnaby shook his hand, and they allowed themselves to be ushered by the butler out of the study and out of the house.
They paused on the pavement beyond the gate.
“I don’t think it’s him,” Penelope stated. “He didn’t want to tell us where he was at the critical time because he feels the revelation is too personal. That it reveals too much about him emotionally in that he still misses his childhood home.”
Stokes was nodding. “I agree, but to my mind, even more telling is that he made no attempt to concoct an alibi. If he was the murderer, he would have fabricated something believable by now.”
His hands in his trouser pockets, Jordan stated, “Making up something to deflect police interest is an instinct that’s extremely difficult for a guilty person to ignore.”
Stokes shot Jordan a grin. “Just so.”
