“But whoever it was stabbed Haworth in the back at the table while he wrote, so it must have been someone he was intimate with, enough to pay them no attention while they stood behind him. He’d have looked round at someone who’d just come in, wouldn’t he?”

“They might have crept up on him, I suppose, but I think you’re right. He wasn’t writing, though. I didn’t see paper or a pen, and there were playing cards spilled over the desk.” She frowned. “The desk faced the wall so he wasn’t playing opposite anyone. I suppose he was playing Patience.”

“Why would he go to a room in the East Wing to play Patience? Everyone else was retreating to remote parts of the house to get away from him.”

“Maybe he wanted a private conversation,” Pat said. “Possibly with the chap he was blackmailing. Maybe he was playing Patience while he waited, or even while he talked to him. It’s the kind of discourtesy he’d show.”

“That’s it. He arranged a discussion with his victim, or perhaps it was the other way around. ‘I’ll get your money but we need to discuss terms.’ And then whoever it was took the knife off the wall and—ugh. But someone will have seen them, on their way to or from the East Wing, say. We’ll work it out.” She must have read Pat’s uncertainty in her face because she added, “We can certainly try, at least, and you never know, we might find it was a tramp after all. Please don’t fret, darling. Of course you’re worried about your brother, but we might be completely wrong, mightn’t we? We’ve no reason to suppose Haworth had any idea about him and Jimmy.”

“He was good at snouting out secrets, though” Pat said. “He noticed about Preston and Victoria. And he twice said things to me, which...well.”

“That remark about wooing a pretty girl? True. Although he obviously wasn’t that good, or he might have noticed the pretty girl wooing you.”

Pat felt her cheeks flame. “You were not. Were you?”

“Of course I was. Goodness, Pat.” She took Pat’s whisky glass, leaned over to put both on the bedside table, then turned back with a look that blended determination, uncertainty, and a definite glint of wickedness. “You do know I like you awfully, don’t you?”

“I don’t really know what that means.” Pat’s chest felt constricted. “That is—well, I don’t know where it gets us.”

“We’re here,” Fen said. “That’s a good start, isn’t it?”