Garden of Lies(76)

“Your friend was playing a very dangerous game, indeed,” Slater said softly.

“I know,” Ursula said. “I can tell you one thing. If Cobb intends to destroy all those herbs in Lady Fulbrook’s special greenhouse before going back to New York, he’s going to have to do something drastic. That room in the conservatory is crammed with those bloody damned ambrosia plants.”

There was a short silence. Ursula continued to munch toast for a few seconds until she realized that both Lilly and Slater were watching her.

“What?” she said around a bite of toast. “Did I say something?”

Lilly chuckled and went back to her salmon.

Slater cleared his throat. “I believe it was the phrase bloody damned ambrosia plants that stopped us for a moment. You sounded somewhat annoyed.”

“I am annoyed.” Ursula swallowed the last of the toast and reached for her coffee cup. “With the slow pace of our investigation.”

Lilly raised her brows. “I thought you and Slater were making excellent progress.”

“Depends on one’s point of view,” Ursula said. She looked at Slater. “As I recall, you were describing what you discovered in Mrs. Wyatt’s financial records. But how does that lead us to the proof we will need to have someone arrested for Anne’s murder?”

Mrs. Webster appeared in the doorway before Slater could respond. She carried a silver salver. A single envelope sat on the tray.

“This telegram was just delivered, sir,” she announced in her carrying voice.

Slater winced a little and took the envelope.

Mrs. Webster departed, stage left, to return to the kitchen.

Ursula and Lilly watched Slater open the envelope. He read it quickly and looked up.

“It’s from the director of the New York museum. I was right, Damian Cobb is known in philanthropic circles. The director says there has been some speculation regarding the source of Cobb’s fortune but no one asks too many questions. That is not the most interesting thing in the telegram, however.”

“For pity’s sake,” Ursula snapped, “don’t keep us in suspense. This is not a melodrama. What is the point of the damned telegram?”

Slater raised a brow at her sharp tones but he did not comment.

“According to the museum director, the staff at Cobb’s New York mansion claim that he left on a business trip ten days ago.”

“The Atlantic crossing takes about a week,” Ursula said. “Sometimes less. You were right, Slater. Cobb has been in London for at least a few days.”

Mrs. Webster reappeared in the doorway.

“Mr. Otford is here to see you, sir,” she said. “Shall I tell him to wait until you’ve finished breakfast?”

“No,” Slater said. “If he’s here at this hour, he must have something interesting for us. Send him in, please.”

“Yes, sir.” Mrs. Webster started to move back out into the hall.

“You’d better set another place for breakfast, Mrs. Webster,” Slater added. “I have a feeling he will be hungry.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mrs. Webster disappeared. Less than a moment later Gilbert Otford scurried into the room. He stopped short and gazed at the heavily laden sideboard with a worshipful expression.

“Good morning, ladies,” he said. He did not take his attention off the array of serving platters. “Mr. Roxton.”

“Good morning, Otford,” Slater said. “Please join us.”

“Delighted, sir. Thank you.”

There was a flutter of activity before Otford sat down across from Ursula. His plate was heaped high with sausages, toast and eggs. He fell to the meal with enthusiasm.

Slater seemed content to wait until Otford had made some inroads on his breakfast before questioning him but Ursula was not in a patient mood.

“Well, Mr. Otford?” She fixed him with a look. “What have you to tell us?”

“Cost me a small fortune to get one of the housemaids and a footman to chat,” Otford said around a mouthful of sausage. “Those who work at the club have been told to keep quiet about what goes on there. Anyone caught gossiping will be turned off without a reference. No one wants to lose a post at the club because the pay and the gratuities are excellent.”

“That’s all you got for Mr. Roxton’s money?” Ursula asked. “The information that the servants are well paid?”

Otford looked at Slater, perplexed. “Is she upset about something?”

Slater was suddenly occupied drinking his coffee.

“Mr. Otford,” Ursula said. “I asked you a question.”

“No, Mrs. Grant—uh—Mrs. Kern,” Otford said hastily. “That was not all I learned. I was just coming to the interesting bits.”

“About time,” Ursula said.

Slater drank a little more coffee and then looked at Otford.

“You were saying?” Slater prompted in a manner that was almost gentle.

“Right.” Otford flipped a page in his notebook. “Here’s the information that made my ears prick up. Evidently there are two levels of membership—the general level and the inside elite known as the Vision Chamber members. Those who belong to the Chamber are provided with more intense forms of the drug and some very exclusive services.”