‘And yet Constable Webber’s report made no mention of Victor’s “log”? Perhaps he was too proud to admit the assistance of a child?’

‘I wouldn’t care to speculate.’

‘No.’ Another flick of the page. ‘But you did dismiss Mrs Harsson, Jan’s mother, following the incident.’

‘That was a shame. We had grown quite fond of Mrs Harsson over the years. But, as I’m sure you can imagine, the situation was untenable.’

‘Did Mrs Harsson cause any problems following the arrest?’

‘Not that I’m aware of. But it was the situation, you understand.’

‘The gossip,’ Christophor said flatly.

‘As you say.’ She picked up the servant’s bell. ‘Now, is that all, Inspector?’

‘For the time being, though I would like to speak with your staff. One at a time, if you please.’

‘Of course.’ She rang for the butler. ‘Perhaps you would be more comfortable conducting your interviews in the servants’ quarters.’

It wasn’t a question, and soon Christophor found himself being led back through the corridors to a room he would rather not have known. An empty bathtub stood in one corner, and two low stools were in the centre of the otherwise bare room. He made sure to position himself with his back to the bath. I believe he was blushing somewhat, until the first of the servants was ushered in.

The whole business of it felt unnatural to me. At times the conversations had the stilted air of bad theatre. The majority of the servants were meek as mice and unable to meet Christophor’s gaze. The men answered in monosyllabic mutters, the women in squeaks. Every one of them looked grateful to be dismissed. Christophor’s notebook stayed in his pocket.

That was, until the head chef strode into the room.

A large woman, but none of her gone to fat. She sat heavily on the stool and leaned forward, one arm resting on each leg. She stared Christophor right in the face. Stains speckled her rolled-up sleeves, some of which were undoubtedly blood.

‘You’ve got until the dinner service needs readyin’,’ she said by way of greeting.

Christophor cleared his throat. ‘Did you know Gregory Harsson, or his day-brother Jan?’

‘Yes, I knew ’em.’

‘Personally, or simply professionally?’

‘Both.’

‘Do you believe Jan was guilty?’

‘They said he was.’

‘Do you say he was?’

The woman glanced to the door. ‘That, and between them more, I’d say.’

‘More?’

‘There’s other things to be stealin’ in a house like this, if you catch my meanin’.’

‘I’m afraid I don’t.’

‘Things that don’t need carryin’ out under a coat or the like,’ she said.

He pondered that little riddle for a moment. ‘Might those things be more willing to walk themselves out?’

‘I’d say so, and on more than one occasion.’ She straightened a little. ‘I didn’t like it. I told Gregory so. Told him to think of his day-brother, of what he might lose. I didn’t like it one bit, and the mother knew, too.’

‘Mrs Harsson?’

‘Oh yes, she knew, nothin’ got by her. But I was meanin’ Mrs Eder. The young ’uns made a poor secret of it. But I s’pose that’s the way, when you’re that age.’