I broke off as I said this as a picture flashed into my head—Algie standing in the hallway with the suit of armor scattered around him. Right before we found the body of Cy Goldman. Was it possible that hiding the candlestick was exactly what Algie was trying to do, only he knocked over the armor and had to play the fool instead when we all came running? I couldn’t wait to draw Darcy aside and tell him this. I looked around for Algie and he wasn’t with us at the top of the stairs. I wondered if anyone was guarding the front door.

Before we could go downstairs another of the deputies came running up toward us. “That fingerprint, Sheriff,” he said. “I just tested it.”

“And?”

The silence was palpable.

“No go, I’m afraid. The person was wearing a glove. A leather glove.”

Chapter 25

LATE AT NIGHT ON AUGUST 3

“Damn,” the sheriff muttered. “Then that’s what we’re looking for next. A bloody glove, and its mate. No other fingerprints?”

“Plenty,” the deputy said. “All over the candlestick, but then I gather it was passed around everyone here to take a look at.”

“That fingerprint was on the window frame,” the sheriff went on. “So we have to conclude that either someone exited that way, or wants us to think they did. No sense in poking around in the dark, but as soon as it’s light I want that outside area searched. Who would have thought it could be Stella Brightwell, of all people? My wife idolizes her. But don’t they always say Cherchez la femme?”

“It would need someone with rope to have climbed down from the window,” Ronnie said dryly. “In case you haven’t looked out of the library windows, there is a sheer drop below. This house is built on a bluff, you know.”

“Then we’ll be looking for rope as well as a glove,” the sheriff said.

“Now really, Sheriff,” Mummy’s lovely voice echoed up the stairwell, “can anything else really be accomplished tonight? We’re all utterly exhausted and I’m sure you’d get more out of us in the morning. I’m equally sure you’d like a rest now and there are plenty of rooms all over the place. Help yourself.”

He looked down at her, looking petite, frail and languid as only Mummy can. Then he said, “Oh, very well. I suppose you can all go to bed, but I want everyone back here at eight o’clock sharp and don’t get any funny ideas about leaving during the night. One of my men is staying in the gatehouse until this is over and that gate doesn’t get opened unless I say so.”