I paused then shook my head. “As I said before, I really didn’t know the Duke of Eynsford.”

He frowned as he stared at me. “And where might the duke have written this letter—do you know that?”

“In his study. I heard his valet saying that his master had risen early and asked for a cup of coffee to be sent to his study. Then he told the footman Frederick that he wanted to catch the early post.”

Chief Inspector Fairbotham was looking at me with interest now. “And can you take me to this study? I’d like to take a look around for myself.”

“All right,” I said. “It’s just down this hallway.”

I took him out of the library and tried to remember which door they had opened to look into Cedric’s study. I was glad when I found the right one. The room was stuffy and smelled of cigarette smoke and old books. In its center was a large mahogany desk, and papers were untidily heaped on top of it. Among them I spotted rough designs for what looked like his amphitheater, and I remembered that a footman had been given the sack because he had touched the papers—the same footman who had stormed up to the front door when he discovered that Cedric was planning to tear down his parents’ cottage. A half-full coffee cup sat beside the blotter with a half-smoked cigarette resting on the ashtray.

“There’s a possibility he might have blotted the letter and left us a hint on the blotting paper as to what all this might be about,” the chief inspector said, peering down at the desk. But the blotting pad was pristine.

I pointed at the pen that lay beside the pad. “These latest fountain pens don’t really need blotting, do they?” I said.

“I’ll need time to go through all this stuff,” he said. “There may be lots of things you don’t know about him—you say he liked young men. Maybe he was being blackmailed and refused to pay up.”

“Do blackmailers usually kill the goose that lays the golden egg?” I asked.

He looked up at me. “You’re a sharp one, aren’t you? I thought all you young society ladies would be removed from the sordid side of life. Aren’t you raised in convents and finishing schools?”

“You’d be surprised what one learns in a finishing school, Chief Inspector,” I said, stifling a grin. “You ask my friend Belinda when you interview her.”

“He was lucky he got that letter to the post,” he said. “He must have used the last envelope. There’s plenty of notepaper here, but no more envelopes.”

“I expect he has more in one of the drawers,” I said.