Ronnie swallowed hard. “I’ll go and put through a call to Jimmy at the gate, make sure he’s all right and tell him not to let anybody in or out until the police get here. And I suppose we ought to have the groundsmen drive around the perimeter to check if the fence has been cut. Oh God. And someone will have to go and tell Mrs. Goldman.”

“I’ll do it, honey.” Barbara patted his arm. “It should be someone she knows and trusts.”

“Are you sure?” Relief flooded Ronnie’s face. “And she’d better get dressed and come down right away if the police are going to be here.”

One by one they staggered out, stepping over the suit of armor.

Stella paused at the doorway and looked back. “It’s like a bad dream,” she said. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”

Darcy remained standing behind the body, and, fighting back my revulsion I went to join him. He was staring down at Mr. Goldman with a sort of horrified fascination. “And to think we were in here with him less than half an hour ago. It doesn’t seem possible.”

I put a hand on his arm. “It’s horrible,” I said.

“If it were any other young lady, I’d have you escorted from the room instantly before you swooned over the evidence,” he said, “but you’re probably more familiar with this sort of thing than I am.”

“I don’t go looking for dead bodies,” I said. “They just sort of happen to me. But we should take this opportunity to think things through before the police get here.”

“You realize what this means, don’t you?” Darcy said, dropping his voice so that he couldn’t be overheard. “It had to be one of us.”

“Oh crikey,” I said. “I suppose you’re right. What a horrid thought. Unless . . .” He looked up at me. “Unless it really was your cat burglar from London. You had a hunch he might be here, didn’t you? If anyone could find a way in here, it sounds as if he could.”

Darcy nodded. “Or she,” he said. “But this doesn’t fit with what we know of him or her. The burglar takes enormous risks, we know that. He’s walked along ledges and gained access from rooftops, so he might have been able to find a way into the estate. I don’t think the front door was locked, so he could have waited until we were all at dinner and slipped into the house and waited to take his chance. But the manner of death doesn’t seem right. At home they refer to him at Scotland Yard as the gentleman thief. It’s always been suspected that he is an aristocrat, or at least moves in their circles.”

“And you don’t think aristocrats kill people?”