“No.” Mr. Billdop sounded disappointed.

“Very well. Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?”

The vicar shook his head. “It is simply horrible,” he went on, flapping a hand in front of his face. “A man of the cloth is dead, and it makes one wonder who might be next! After all, if a Catholic priest could be struck down, so also could an Anglican vicar!”

“Right,” said the inspector, forbearing to point out that it appeared the Catholic priest had not actually been the target of the poison, and therefore it didn’t follow that a vicar might be the next in line. “Thank you, Mr. Billdop. If I need to speak with you again, I can find you at St. Thurston’s, correct?”

“Yes, indeed,” replied the vicar. “Except on Sunday mornings, when I am leading the service and preaching,” he added with a forced laugh. “We don’t have a handy, roofless orphanage for me to visit, you know.”

“Right, then,” said Cork, looking at him oddly. Then he closed his eyes for a moment as if to assimilate all he’d heard.

Mr. Billdop took the opportunity to leave the sitting room, closing the door behind him.

“Is that everyone, then? Everyone from the local writing club?” Cork seemed to be asking the room at large—which included only himself and Phyllida—and so she responded.

“Yes, Inspector. Miss Crowley, Mr. Billdop, Mr. Genevan, Mrs. Rollingbroke, and Dr. Bhatt. Other than Mr. Whittlesby, from whom I expect you heard quite a bit earlier.”

“Unfortunately, yes,” he said, opening his eyes.

“Did Dr. Bhatt mention the altercation with Mr. Whittlesby? His was the only interview I missed,” Phyllida said.

“Yes, I am fully aware of that, Mrs. Bright,” replied the inspector. “I don’t believe I’ve ever had such excellent household service and attention during a crime investigation.”

“Quite,” replied Phyllida, taking the compliment as her due—and the understanding that he wasn’t going to fill her in on what she’d missed. Nevertheless, she’d find out. “Now I suppose you’ll want to travel up to Mallowan Hall to interview all of the witnesses up there.”

“Witnesses and potential suspects,” he said, pulling himself up from his chair. Giving a little groan, he said, “I suppose there’s a loo somewhere in this place?”

“Potential suspects?” Phyllida replied. “Surely you’re not speaking of Mr. and Mrs. Mallowan or their guests?”

“Perhaps,” replied Cork. “But I was mostly thinking about interfering housekeepers and how easily they have access to the ingredients at the bar.”

Phyllida scoffed as she collected the cups and saucers. “Indeed, Inspector, I do believe your brain is coffee soaked. It’s far more likely that the butler did it than a mere housekeeper.”

And with that parting comment, she picked up the tray and swept from the room, leaving the detective to find his own way to the loo.

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 6