“Yes, as you see.” I took out the papers concerning the children’s passage. “The thing is, Gertrude, Eliot, I’m here because Benjie has had a delivery of documents concerning the sailing from Liverpool of a number of children. I told him I wanted to talk to you and he asked would I bring the papers.”

“What papers?”

“It’s some sort of bureaucratic nicety—something to be signed. Apparently, there’s a delay in the sailing and the need for a longer stay in Liverpool.”

Gertrude took the papers from me and went to the window. In her long dark coat, against the pale light, looking down at the papers, she became a silhouette from a Beardsley drawing.

“I’m signing nothing. The children were in the care of Stonegate. I expect they can be sent back there.” She tossed the papers onto the billiard table. “Honestly, I don’t know what this country is coming to.”

Eliot said, “I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted journey.”

“Please think again, Gertrude. Let’s save something from this tragic mess.”

She closed the shutters. “What tragic mess?”

It was a mistake, but I was tired of her games. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Two murders, on the same evening, in the same place.”

Mrs. Sugden had reported Valerie Pennington’s words: “Mr. Brockman wasn’t there.” Now I knew what was behind those words. Mr. Brockman was not there. Mrs. Brockman was.

Mrs. Brockman had blood on the cuff of her coat.

Eliot shook his head. “You say that as if you are about to make some sort of accusation.”

Gertrude came very close, and put her hand on my shoulder. “It would have been so good to have had you on our side. You’d be surprised how many people are coming to our meetings, ready to part with their cash. We would have let you in with first investor, privileges.”

“Free coal for life?” I asked.

Eliot closed the shutters. “Some people never learn.”

It is not difficult to give a withering look in the dark, but no one sees it. “You’ve tried to silence me once, Eliot. It would be foolish to try again.”

“How can someone so very charming also be so deeply annoying?”

I stepped away from them. “In the same way you were so very clever, and so very stupid.”

He grabbed my wrist. I let out a cry of pain.

“Oh dear,” Eliot said with mock sympathy, “I hurt her bad wrist, just as she was going to be even more annoying.”

I had rattled them and was not about to stop now. If I didn’t come out soon, Sykes would come looking for me. I pushed for an admission.

“Which of you killed Harry Aspinall? I’m sure his widow would like to know.”