Cork smoothed his mustache, which did little to tame its wiry strands. If only he would apply a bit of wax . . . “Seems that everyone there last night had an unhealthy interest in poisons,” he went on, apparently willing to talk to Phyllida about the investigation after all.

She smiled kindly at him. “They’re murder writers, Inspector. That’s what they spend their time doing—devising ways to kill people.”

Cork nodded. “That’s what is going to make this investigation even more difficult. Any of them could’ve had the knowledge.”

By now they’d made their way to the dining room and stood just outside the door.

“Quite,” Phyllida replied, hiding a smile.

After all, the inspector had no idea he was about to enter a room with a group of people who all thought they were better detectives than Scotland Yard.

She almost felt sorry for him.

* * *

Phyllida was about to follow Inspector Cork into the dining room when she heard rapid footsteps coming from the hall accompanied by a strange coughing, choking sound.

It was Ginny, the first parlourmaid, and she was carrying a duster whose feathers drooped sadly. The maid’s normally pristine and starched white apron was covered with something that even from a distance Phyllida identified as great streaks of ash and soot. The dove-gray dress beneath Ginny’s apron was also covered with detritus.

Phyllida hurried down the hall to meet her and, more importantly, forestall the maid from being seen by the guests and her employer. As she drew nearer, Phyllida saw that Ginny’s lacy coronet cap and face were also covered with ashy streaks. Her eyes and nose were red, and she saw that the maid was sobbing and coughing.

“What on earth!” Phyllida said, already directing her back down the hall whilst offering her a handkerchief.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Bright, I’m sorry I am, but it all came bursting out! It’s everywhere in the sitting room.” Ginny was beside herself, shedding ash and soot as she spoke. She wiped ineffectually at her face.

“Good heavens, get behind the door straightaway!” Phyllida said, taking the maid’s arm to direct her to the green baize door that separated the back halls and stairs for the servants from the front of the house. “What were you thinking coming up this way? What if Mrs. Agatha or her guests had seen you?”

“I’m s-sorry, I’m sorry,” Ginny went on, still coughing as they passed into relative safety behind the green upholstered door. “I couldn’t see where I was and I got my directions mixed up, Mrs. Bright.”

Phyllida sighed as she realized ash and soot were now settling on her own frock due to Ginny’s agitations. “Go on now, clean yourself up. I’ll send Freddie in to sweep it up. How on earth did this happen?”