‘To make it look like murder? To frame one of the others?’ suggested Dunn.

  ‘It’s not very . . . effective,’ said Skins. ‘I mean, it’s taken us two days to get this far and we’re the only ones who even began to wonder if it might be murder. If he wanted to set someone up he’d have made it a sight more obvious than that.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right,’ conceded Dunn.

  ‘What if there were a way to hold the bolt back and make it pop out only when the door was shut?’ said Ellie.

  ‘Like a pin or something?’ said Skins. ‘That might do it. But I didn’t see a fresh hole in the cover. Any holes at all, in fact. How would you get the pin out?’

  ‘And you’d still have to be inside the room to pull it out anyway,’ said Dunn.

  Skins frowned. ‘Right. So we’re assuming the whole thing was supposed to be a way of making it look like the door was locked from the inside with the key still in it, but whoever did it wanted to be on the outside.’

  ‘It’s the only thing that makes sense,’ said Ellie.

  ‘Thinking about it, the pin’s a rubbish idea. If it wouldn’t come out, or if the thread broke, they might be fiddle-faddling about for ages trying to get it fixed – they’d not want to get that far and then get caught because their trick lock didn’t work first time. And if it did work exactly as planned but they somehow couldn’t pull the pin back out under the door, they’d leave evidence behind . . .’ He looked thoughtful. ‘They’d leave evidence behind on the floor,’ he said slowly. ‘Ells – tell us again what happened when you broke in on Saturday.’

  ‘We went at it like human battering rams for what seemed like hours, but was probably just a few minutes. The Bilverton girls went first, then me. After about the three hundredth go, the door gave way and I pretty much fell into the room.’

  ‘You fell?’

  ‘No . . . no, actually, I didn’t. I mean, I fell flat on my face, but I slipped. There was the tiniest puddle of rainwater on the floor. Not much, but enough to make me lose my footing.’

  ‘Where had it come from, though?’ said Skins. ‘That door’s well inside the house on the ground floor – it couldn’t be a leak.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Ellie.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Skins.

  ‘Not with you,’ said Dunn.

  ‘Ice,’ said Ellie and Skins together.

  Dunn smiled and nodded. ‘Clever.’

  ‘Push the bolt back against the spring,’ said Skins, ‘and hold it in position with a little chunk of ice. Not too much or it won’t melt in time. Not too little or it’ll get crushed and lock too soon. Put the lock back together, screw it in place, shut the door and go. When the bolt clicks into place, you’re miles away and it looks like the door was locked from the inside the whole time. The only evidence is a little puddle of water.’

  Ellie frowned. ‘How do you know how much ice is just right?’

  ‘I’d bet that’s not the only one of those locks in the house. I’d bet that one’s not the lock that was usually on that door, too. So how about the killer modified another lock and experimented with the ice until it was working just the way they wanted? They could set it up to give themselves enough time to get everything done, with the door locking itself within minutes of them leaving.’

  ‘Well, that’s one part of the puzzle solved,’ she said.

  ‘Probably,’ corrected Skins.

  ‘One part of the puzzle probably solved,’ she agreed. ‘Now, we just need to work out how they got out of the room while the girls and I were standing outside, and how the heck they got to the room and back without getting wet.’

  ‘Before tomorrow,’ said Dunn. ‘And we need to work out what happened to Hetty.’

  ‘Someone slipped her a Mickey Finn – not much of a mystery there.’

  ‘Yes, but who? When? Why?’

  ‘She saw something she shouldn’t have,’ said Skins. ‘It’s the only reason.’

  ‘What, though? She was with us in the chapel when John was killed.’

  ‘Maybe she saw who left,’ suggested Ellie. ‘Maybe she asked them about it and got herself poisoned for her trouble.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Dunn. ‘Maybe.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  While Ellie, Skins and Dunn had been chatting, the rest of the band were setting up.

  Skins walked over. ‘Lovely. A quick session?’

  Puddle looked up from assembling her saxophone. ‘If there’s a chance we could be going home tomorrow, we might still be able to play our date at the Preening Parrot on Wednesday. We thought we ought to run through a few new numbers.’

  ‘I’m in,’ said Eustace.

  ‘This is such a great place to play,’ said Dunn, taking his bass from its case. ‘You know, we should all chip in and buy a deconsecrated church somewhere.’

  ‘I thought we were starting a club,’ said Vera.

  ‘With Mickey as chef,’ agreed Elk.

  ‘Why not a club in an abandoned church?’ said Dunn. ‘Tables in the main bit, stage where the altar used to be, bar along the back wall. Kitchens in a side room. Lavs in the vestry.’

  ‘I’d love to run a nightclub,’ said Katy. ‘It’d be no good if it were as out of the way as this place, though – no passing trade.’

  ‘No, but we’d make it a “destination”,’ said Dunn. ‘People will travel miles to get to the hottest clubs.’

  ‘We’ve already got a decent reputation,’ agreed Mickey. ‘I reckon it would work.’

  ‘There you go, then, Katy,’ said Puddle. ‘Your next job as manager is to get us a deal on an abandoned church, get planning permission to convert it to a nightclub, raise the money for the conversion, get all the licences, book the bands, source the food, sort out the publicity and plan a whizzo opening night.’

  ‘Well, that’s Wednesday sorted out,’ said Katy. ‘What do you want me to do for the rest of the week?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ said Dunn. ‘I know. It’s a pipe dream, but at least I have a dream.’

  ‘It’s a lovely dream, honey,’ said Ellie. ‘Don’t let them crush it.’

  ‘I still think it’s a pretty good idea,’ said Mickey.

  ‘Me too,’ said Skins. ‘But for now, how about “Ostrich Walk”? I’ll give you one bar for nothing. Watch the tempo in the stops. Everybody ready?’

  They launched into the song they’d learned from a gramophone record by the Original Dixieland Jass Band, and Ellie joined Katy on the comfy chairs at the end of the chapel by the giant – now dormant – tea urn.

  ‘How goes the Sherlocking?’ asked Katy as Ellie sat down. ‘Oh, or are you more like Tommy and Tuppence?’

  ‘You read Agatha Christie?’ asked Ellie.

  ‘All four. There’s supposed to be a new one out but I’ve not seen it yet. I’m terribly excited.’

  Ellie laughed. ‘And you’re the one who’s been pooh-poohing our efforts as amateur sleuths. I should have thought you’d be all for it.’

  ‘Oh, I love to read about it, but I’m well aware it’s all just fantasy. I don’t actually believe normal people stumble on crimes and solve them. Well, mostly. I was a bit surprised to hear about you lot and the diamonds, I must say. Izzie’s told me all the gory details.’

  ‘Izzie? Oh, of course. Sorry. You know I’ve never called her anything but Puddle.’

  ‘Isabella managed to make a feature of our ghastly family name. You know, one of the many, many delights of my short marriage to Roger was being able to change my name to Cannon. I’m not sure I could have gone on much longer as a Puddephatt.’

  ‘Puddle suits her.’

  ‘I’ve grown accustomed to it. Mother and Father aren’t so enthusiastic. But I was saying . . . I didn’t mean any offence. I just never really believed it was something the likes of us could or should be getting ourselves involved in. As much as I love mystery books, I do often think, “Oh, just leave it to the police, for heaven’s sake.” You know?’

  ‘I do. And we shall. But in this case we still think the police will just write the two deaths off as a suicide and an accident if we don’t find out what really went on.’

  ‘You’re still certain John Bilverton didn’t commit suicide, then.’

  ‘Even more so now. Ivor figured out how the killer got away and left the door locked from the inside.’

  ‘I say, well done, Skins. What was it? Trapdoor? Trick lock?’

  ‘It was a trick lock. You do read a lot of mysteries, don’t you?’

  ‘Not so many as all that. It just seems like the easiest way to do it.’

  ‘It wasn’t you, was it?’

  ‘I was in the chapel the whole time, guv.’

  ‘That’s the problem,’ said Ellie. ‘So was everyone else.’

  ‘Except someone wasn’t, were they? Unless it was one of the servants.’

  ‘We’ve discounted the servants – they have nothing to gain. But we did wonder if it could have been one of the party guests – you know, the ones who stayed overnight. They could have remained hidden upstairs for quite a while, but when we moved into the guest rooms on the second floor they had nowhere to hide. We’d have seen evidence of them by now.’

  ‘True, true. You need to get your Ivor to apply his mighty brain to the matter of how to get to and from the house without anyone noticing.’

  ‘Don’t let him hear you describing his brain like that – we’d never hear the end of it. He was convinced it was a secret passage, but we found the hidden door and it just led to a room full of French postcards.’

  ‘Mucky ones?’

  ‘The muckiest. Worth a few bucks, the boys think, but no actual help to us.’

  ‘I’ll have to give it some thought. Do you want to listen to this?’

  ‘The rehearsal? I always enjoy listening to them, but I’m happy to miss it. Why?’

  ‘I could murder a cup of tea and this thing will take an age. Shall we go back to the house?’

  They left the Dizzies to their rehearsal and went off in search of tea.

  With cups of tea in hand, Ellie and Katy found their way to the garden parlour where they sat enjoying the sunshine and the view of the garden.

  ‘You don’t mind my coming in and taking over running the band?’ asked Katy.

  ‘Mind? Why on earth would I?’

  ‘Well, Izzie said you were managing them before I came along. I felt like I was ousting you.’

  ‘Lord, no. That was just a ruse to get me into the gentlemen’s club where they were working. I’ve never had anything to do with running the band. The most I’ve ever done is to make sure Ivor has remembered to put on a clean shirt before he goes out to play.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I got completely the wrong end of the stick.’

  ‘Easily done. They’ve never had a manager. They talked about it – endlessly – but they never did anything about it. Instead they just muddled along as best they could. Their idea of managing their own affairs was to complain about having to manage their own affairs. They’d moan about how tiresome it was to make their own bookings. Then they’d grouse about the dressing room. Then they’d grumble about getting the wrong beer in the dressing room. Essentially, there was a lot of bellyaching but very little actual managing. You’re a godsend.’

  ‘Well, that’s a relief. I blame Izzie, of course. She said I’d be saving you from a job you hated, and that it would all be fine, but I still couldn’t get it out of my head that you might not be so pleased to have someone coming in and shoving you aside. If she’d explained it properly I’d have known the score. Sisters, eh?’

  ‘I’m an only child, I’m afraid. I have a cousin I could cheerfully kill, mind you, so I sort of understand what you mean.’

  Katy laughed.

  Ellie was about to ask what it had been like growing up with Puddle, but she was interrupted by a familiar, yet unexpected, sound.

  A telephone was ringing.

  Ellie and Katy stood up to investigate. Once out in the Grand Hall, they could hear that the ringing was coming from more than one place, but the nearest was John Bilverton’s study. They waited for a moment, expecting the butler to arrive to answer it, but when it became obvious that he wasn’t coming, they hurried into the study where Ellie picked up the receiver.

  ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Bilverton House.’

  There was a pause. The line crackled. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Yes, hello. This is Bilverton House.’

  ‘To whom am I speaking?’ said a distorted woman’s voice.

  ‘This is Ellie Maloney. I’m a guest here.’

  ‘But you’re American.’

  ‘I am, but it’s not entirely my fault. Is there someone you wish to speak to?’

  ‘This is the operator from the exchange at South Barlington. I’m calling to inform you that the telephone line to your property has been restored.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you. Would you like to speak to a member of the family?’

  ‘There’ll be no need. Thank you.’

  The line went dead.

  ‘Well, the phone’s working,’ said Ellie. ‘That was the GPO. We should tell the family. I’ll call Dunsworth – he must be getting sick of me by now.’

  Before she could even find the bell push, though, Dunsworth appeared at the study door.

  ‘Did I hear the telephone ringing, madam?’

  ‘You most certainly did, Dunsworth. That was the GPO calling to tell us that the line “has been restored”.’

  ‘My apologies, madam. I would have answered it but I was decanting some claret for this evening’s dinner and I couldn’t get to an instrument in time.’

  ‘Please don’t worry. I enjoy answering the phone occasionally.’

  ‘You’re very kind to say so, madam. I shall inform Mr Bilverton at once.’

  ‘Right you are. We’ll tell the band.’

  Dunsworth disappeared as silently as he had arrived.

  ‘Some good news, at last,’ said Katy as they returned to the garden parlour.

  ‘Good and bad,’ said Ellie. ‘I’m hoping to be able to call home and check on the children, to let Nanny and the housekeeper know what’s happened, so that’s a relief. But it also means the Bilvertons will be calling the doctor about John’s “suicide” and Hetty’s “sudden illness”. And that means we’re running out of time to prove they were both murdered.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of it like that. You see why I’d be no use as a sleuth? But if there’s anything I can do, just let me know.’

  ‘Thank you. As soon as we work out what we’re doing next, we’ll know how much help we need.’

  News of the repaired telephone line spread rapidly. Ellie and Katy went down to the chapel to tell the band, and by the time they all returned to the house, the Bilverton clan were also aware that their watery incarceration might soon be at an end. An impromptu afternoon tea party had broken out in the dining room and there was a buzz of excitement. It was like the end of the school term.

  ‘Ah, there you are,’ said Veronica. ‘Have you heard? The telephone is back on.’

  Ellie smiled. ‘I took the first call – an operator telling us the line was restored.’

  ‘Oh, that was you, was it? Stupid Gordon was a bit vague. More interested in when he’d be able to get back to his precious biscuit factory, I bet.’

  ‘I don’t suppose there’s any news on the roads?’

  ‘Gordon telephoned the doctor in Partlow’s Ford and he agrees with Howie – he thinks the road should be passable by tomorrow morning. So then Howie put in a call to the motor coach company and they’re going to try to get your charabanc here after lunch. If all’s well, we should be able to get you fellows on your way tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘Oh, that’s wonderful. Do you think anyone would mind if I telephoned our nanny? She must be frantic by now. And I’m sure the married boys in the band would appreciate being able to try to get messages home.’

  ‘It’s already in hand – Betty has taken charge as usual. She’ll make a list of all the trunk calls so she can try to book them all at once.’

  ‘I’ll spread the word.’

  While Ellie was telling the band about the plans for calling home, Skins helped himself to a ham sandwich.

  ‘Have you solved it yet?’ asked Veronica.

  He hurriedly swallowed a mouthful. ‘Not quite, but we’re getting there. How do you feel about finally finding the priest hole?’

  ‘I’m thrilled to have found it at last, but a bit disappointed by what we found inside.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, it’s all a bit sordid, isn’t it? One doesn’t like to imagine one’s own dear papa collecting mucky postcards in secret.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that, though. I mean, as treasure goes, it doesn’t have the glamour of a ruby-encrusted golden platter or a religious statue set with emeralds and diamonds, but if you’re just talking about its value . . . Well, a collection like that would be worth a mint. I mean, you’d have to be canny about how you flog them – you can’t just go down the local auction house with a stash of illegal postcards – but one of the boys in the band knows a few dodgy geezers who could get a good price. And if you’re happy to go to a bit more trouble, you’d get even more if you broke the collection up and sold it off in smaller lots.’

  She laughed. ‘You really have been thinking about it, haven’t you?’

  ‘It’s what you said about wanting to get out that made me wonder. There’s no guarantee you or Howard will get anything from the will, but a stash like that could see you both right. I mean it about getting help from one of the lads. Mickey knows some right shady characters – I’m sure he’d make the introductions.’

  ‘We have our very own shady character, don’t forget. Mr Valentine Baisley, gangster of this parish.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I’d forgotten him – the money behind Bilver-Tone Records.’

  ‘You know about that?’

  ‘Peter told Barty the other day. He might know some likely people if he moves in the right circles, but he might cheat your boys. He sounds like the sort.’

  ‘And Mickey’s dodgy friends wouldn’t?’

  ‘It’s a risk, I grant you, but the ones I’m thinking of have been his mates for years. They met in the army. There’s loyalty, there, you know? Like there’s a sort of honesty to their dishonesty – they’d certainly not rook one of their mates. I’d trust them to get the best deal and pass it on. I mean, don’t get me wrong, they’d want a cut, but it would be a fair one. You’d pay any middleman a percentage, after all.’