“What do we do? I suppose he is definitely dead?”

“Definitely,” I said.

“Then we shouldn’t linger here. The murderer could well be lurking behind one of those rocks.”

“Only if he doesn’t mind getting really wet,” I said. “Come on, Mr. Smedley. We have to go back to the house and call the police.”

“Should we move him?” Smedley asked. “He’s getting awfully wet there.”

“I don’t think he minds anymore.” I looked down at Cedric, feeling a wave of pity. True, he hadn’t been the most pleasant of men, but nobody deserved to end up like this. I picked up his jacket and covered him again. “The police will want to see the crime scene exactly as we found it,” I said.

We started back up the path with Mr. Smedley hurrying so fast he was almost running.

“Oh, dear,” he said. “Do you think my name will have to come into it? So bad for business anytime one’s name is mixed up with the police.”

“I’d have thought it would be wonderful publicity for your firm. The papers will be full of the murder of a duke. As an eyewitness, you’ll be invited to dinner parties all over London.”

“Oh, but I don’t think I could bear to talk about it,” he said. “I don’t think I’ll ever get that horrid sight from my mind. Who could have done it? There must be a madman loose in the neighborhood.”

Who could have done it? I asked myself as we trudged back up the hill and came out onto the gravel forecourt. Was it possible that Irene’s overdose of sleeping medicine was not an attempt at suicide but another attempt at murder? Could the same person be responsible for both? But that didn’t make sense—one was so sneaky, and one was so obvious and violent. And I wondered if I should leave it to one of the family members to identify Jack’s knife. Where was he, I wondered. It would not look good for him if he had disappeared at this very moment. Surely he couldn’t have done this. Not easygoing, affable Jack. But then I realized how very little I knew about him—how little any of us knew.

As we reached the house, Huxstep came out to meet us, carrying a huge umbrella. He looked around. “Did you not find His Grace down there?”

“We found His Grace all right,” Mr. Smedley blurted out. “He’s dead.”

“Dead? His Grace is dead? He had an accident?”

“He was murdered,” I said. “You should call the police immediately.”