Giotto's Hand

Instead of a coherent response, he stuck his head out from underneath the blanket, into the dank, cold air and said “Wha?” or something like that, as he tried to orientate himself.

“Coffee’s in the kitchen,” she added brightly before disappearing.

Still fuddled, but doing as he was told, Argyll levered himself out of bed and reached for his clothes. He then wasted several precious minutes while he wondered where his left sock was, discovered it under the bed, along with generations of other debris, then dressed and went downstairs.

Inspector Wilson, with the sour look on his face of a man who has drunk too much coffee and not had enough breakfast, greeted him with a gruff sound that did little except communicate discontent.

Argyll peered at him cautiously. “What’s up?” he asked. “You do not have the air of a man at peace with the world.”

“That’s a way of putting it, Mr. Argyll. I am not. I have a question to ask you.”

“Ask away.”

“Where were you yesterday afternoon?”

Argyll looked puzzled. “I was in London,” he said cautiously. “Why?”

“Can I take it, then, that you have no idea who went into Geoffrey Forster’s house yesterday, broke through the seals, unlocked the door, and took all his papers?”

“This time Argyll was surprised. “Not a clue,” he said. “But it wasn’t me. Who’d want them, anyway?”

“Indeed.”

“When was this?”

“We’re not sure. For once, the villagers were caught unawares. Nobody saw anyone go in or out. Except for police officers.”

“Must have been one of them, then,” he suggested. “Are you sure no one took them away in a fit of diligence?”

Wilson didn’t even answer. Instead, he turned his attention to the door, as a still-yawning Flavia came in. Mary Verney performed the introductions.

“Delighted,” Inspector Wilson said.

“Do I understand that a lot of papers have gone missing?” she asked mildly.

Wilson, slightly shamefaced now that he was confronted with a colleague, even though an unlikely-looking colleague, admitted that this was the case. And, to get it over and done with, also admitted that it did look bad, a load of evidence disappearing just like that from the house of someone who was possibly a victim of murder.

“I was hoping that Mr. Argyll was going to tell me he’d taken all the papers so that he could study them at leisure here,” he said. “Unfortunately, that’s not the case.”

“Have you asked Forster’s wife?” Mary chipped in. “I suppose that she inherits whatever he may have had. So she would have an interest in them. Maybe she took them off to an accountant, or something.”

Wilson agreed that this was a possibility, but they had managed to think of this already and Jessica Forster had denied doing anything of the sort.

“Would you mind if I walked down and had a look around?” Flavia asked as he prepared to go. “I’m sure I won’t be able to contribute anything useful. But it would come in useful for my report.”

Wilson said that would be fine by him. But he’d be grateful if she didn’t touch anything without his permission.

After a brief breakfast, therefore, the three of them wrapped themselves up in the warm clothing necessary for coping with an English summer morning, and set off on the short walk to Forster’s house.

“This place used to belong to you, is that right?” Flavia asked as she and Mary walked in step and Argyll was distracted by the dog. “Why did your cousin sell those cottages to him?”

“A good question. I thought of trying to get it overturned on grounds of undue influence, but the lawyers all told me I was wasting my time. Who knows, I might manage something now. I hope you don’t decide I killed him just to get my property back.”

“I’ll try not to. Was the Weller estate big once?”

“Oh, yes. It dwindled slowly. On the few occasions that I came here as a child, there were still half a dozen farms working like crazy to keep us in the style to which we were accustomed. But Uncle Godfrey was hopeless at business, and Veronica was too potty to care. Very big on family position, but not much use at providing the wherewithal to underpin it. Or so I found out when she died. She used to live very well and I never understood how. After she died I discovered it was basically by selling off the family silver. But, if it’s good enough for the government, why not for Veronica, eh?”

“And more death duties when she died?”

She nodded. “Not many. She transferred the place to my name some time ago. She had a turn, thought she was going to die and got frightened the taxman would get it. That was when I was asked to visit. We managed to avoid quite a lot of taxes, but there are still enough to keep me worried. The revenue men are beginning to nip at my heels a little. This is the house, by the way.”

She opened the door and then said that she’d leave Flavia to wander around at will. She’d walk around the grounds and see if anything needed doing.

“Perils of owning things,” she said. “You’re constantly eyeing up holes in fences and worrying about how much they’ll cost to repair.”

“Shall I come with you?” Argyll asked.

“By all means.”