And Then She Fell(91)

But Royce, Duke of Wolverstone, arguably the one person there most experienced in such intrigues, cut directly to the heart of the matter. “So it didn’t work, but I fancy I know why.”

Devil narrowed his eyes at Royce. “Why?”

Royce’s lips twitched, but he immediately sobered. “Your plan was sound, but it was a plan designed to catch a different type of villain.” Across the room, he met James’s and Henrietta’s gazes. “A different sort of murderer. If our villain in this instance had been a typical ton gentleman who had, for whatever reason, found himself murdering not just Lady Winston but then her dresser as well, and now attempting to kill Henrietta, all out of panic, out of blind fear of his identity becoming known . . . then he would have, almost certainly, approached Henrietta at the gala. Even if he made no move to harm her there, or to remove her, because he hadn’t planned it, nevertheless he would have approached her and spoken with her and assessed his chances, maybe tried to establish himself as someone she might, next time they meet, trust.” Royce set down his cup. “But he didn’t do any such thing.”

“But can we be sure he was there?” Gabriel said.

“Oh, I think so.” Royce steepled his fingers before his face. “I do think the assumption that he would have been there was sound, but you can check that by comparing the guest lists from Marchmain House and tonight.”

“I know Sir Thomas quite well,” Horatia said. “I can ask him for his list.”

Royce inclined his head. “Please do. At this stage, we need every little piece of intelligence we can gather.” He glanced around the room. “Because I have to warn you that the fact the murderer didn’t take the bait tonight does not bode well.”

Silence hovered for several seconds, eventually broken by Lucifer’s growled “How so?”

Royce paused, then said, “Because I don’t think he saw through our plan.” He looked at James and Henrietta, seated on the sofa opposite. “Your charade was”—Royce smiled faintly—“exquisitely gauged. It was not too much, not too obvious. You kept in character. No one who was watching, as I was, would have thought anything other than what you intended them to think—so that wasn’t the reason he didn’t act.”

Letting his gaze travel the room, Royce went on, “And I watched everyone else, too—we all played our roles to perfection. No one gave our game away.”

“So why didn’t he take the bait?” Barnaby asked.

Royce glanced at Devil, then looked at Barnaby. “I believe the reason he didn’t act was because he evaluated the possibility and found it wanting. He walked through it, both in his mind and at least in part in actuality. As you’d theorized, he couldn’t murder Henrietta in the gallery itself—he had to get her to leave with him. But, and you couldn’t have known this before we arrived there tonight, there are only two doors to that room—and because of the valuables stored in the gallery, the doors were manned by museum staff. There were at least six staff at each door throughout the evening. In addition, because of the gala and the peculiar structure of the room with the doors being at either end, none of the guests were going in and out. Hardly any left during the event, only at the end.

“So there was no way our man could have left the room with Henrietta and not have been seen, not have been noted.” Royce paused, then added, “It was too great a risk. He wanted to take the bait, but he resisted because he evaluated the chance and decided the odds weren’t in his favor.”

Once again, Royce looked around the small crowd disposed about the drawing room. “And that,” he continued, “is what’s so disturbing. A murderer who, despite his most desired bait being dangled before him, can resist acting, more, can resist reacting at all, is a very dangerous man.”

“Ah.” Barnaby grimaced. “So we have ourselves an intelligent murderer.”

Royce glanced at Barnaby. “As I said, a profoundly dangerous man.”

If they’d felt deflated before, that realization, one no one could dispute, cast a further dampener on the debriefing.

As no one had any further insights to offer, much less any new and better plan, and it was already late, the gathering soon broke up. The key players agreed to meet, not the next day but the morning after, to plot their next move; Henrietta promised to, in the meantime, take all reasonable care.

Both she and James stood in the front hall to farewell all those who had answered their call, thanking them for their help, unproductive though the evening had been. Her disappointment was somewhat ameliorated by the unwavering resolution universally displayed, reflected in Amanda’s staunch reassurance, “Don’t worry. We’re not going to stop until we catch this blighter.”