I inserted the knife into the crack and kept jiggling until the latch gave and the door swung open. I took big gulps of air as I stepped out into the room, then I stood examining the knife in my hand. It was designed like a miniature sword, with an ornate handle. Very pretty, but also quite deadly. Did Irmtraut feel she needed such a hidden weapon for protection? Or something more sinister? But then Bobo had been drugged, then suffocated. The autopsy had not mentioned her having been stabbed with a stiletto-like blade. I went to return the knife to the pocket and realized I had no idea which pocket it had come from. An overcoat and two boiled wool jackets had pockets. I tried to remember the feel of the fabric as I searched pockets. Not rough. Probably boiled wool. But which of them? Irmtraut would know. If I put it back in the wrong one, she’d realize that someone had been through her things.

I strained my ears for the sound of approaching feet, afraid she’d come back and catch me with the knife in my hand. At least I’d have the weapon, I thought, and giggled nervously. I have been known to giggle in moments of extreme stress. I examined the two jackets and noticed something—the slight odor of wet sheep coming from one of them. The dark blue one. I picked it up and sniffed. This jacket had been out in the rain in the not too distant past. I put the knife back into what I hoped was the correct pocket and made my way hastily out of the room.

A stupid exercise for nothing, I told myself as made my way along the corridor. Or was it? I knew that the blue jacket had been out in the rain. And Irmtraut had a knife in her pocket. Perhaps she had taken it with her, just in case, but had not needed to use it. I still wasn’t ready to cross Countess Irmtraut from my suspect list.

I went back downstairs and found Irmtraut alone with the remains of the tea.

“Marina went up to change for the theater,” she said. “It will be a dramatic play tonight? Your Mr. Shakespeare, perhaps?”

“Oh dear no,” I said. “Quite the opposite. A musical comedy by Mr. Noel Coward.”

“With many English jokes?”

“I’m afraid so.” I smiled at her face. “At least it will be more cheerful for you than last night, eating your toad in the hole all alone,” I said. “And with the major also gone, I presume you had no visitors all evening?”

“Nobody.” She sniffed. “But I am used to being alone.”

“So nobody even came to the front door?” I asked. “You didn’t hear a knock, perhaps? Or see someone moving around outside?”