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I snatched up one of the rumpled catalogs and grasped hold of Gage’s arm as we turned once more toward the steps.

As we climbed, we could hear voices—one slightly higher and bickering, and the other lower and placating.

As we rounded the turn in the staircase, I could see that the peevish one belonged to the auctioneer, Mr. Winstanley.

The entire matter had undoubtedly been a nightmare for the gentleman, and he was clearly struggling to stifle his vexation if the manner in which he was speaking to the young assistant we’d met the second day of the auction was any indication.

“You ensured they wore gloves,” Mr. Winstanley demanded.

“Yes,” Mr. Rimmer answered calmly.

“Because I don’t want their grubby handprints all over the frames. You remember what happened to that Lawrence in Stockport.”

“I moved most of the pictures myself, particularly the more valuable ones.”

“The Titian?”

“And the Rubens and Rembrandt.”

“Good. Good,” Mr. Winstanley repeated, but he still seemed agitated.

However, his assistant was no longer giving him his undivided attention, as he’d seen us mounting the stairs. His dark eyes flared wide for a moment, but that was the only indication of his surprise. “Lady Darby. Mr. Gage.” He nodded to us and then Maclean. “Sergeant.”

Winstanley on the other hand merely glanced at us dismissively before scowling at the police officer. “Have I not answered all your questions? My men and I have work to be done.”

“Just a few more,” Maclean replied, unruffled by his querulousness. He gestured to us. “Ye ken her ladyship and Mr. Gage.”

“We met briefly.” His manner was stiff, but he understood it would not do to insult us. Though I intuited that had more to do with our potential as clients and bidders than anything to do with our role as investigators.

“They will be assistin’ wi’ the inquiry.”

Winstanley’s gaze sharpened even as Mr. Rimmer darted a glance at him out of the corner of his eye, though I couldn’t tell the precise motivation behind either reaction.

“As such, they naturally have some questions o’ their own.” Maclean watched the two men closely. “Such as, who hired ye as the auctioneer?”

A pulse of what appeared to be annoyance tightened Mr. Winstanley’s jaw as he arched his chin.

“Lord Eldin himself. He engaged my services approximately five years ago when he was suffering from a bout of ill health. He had done his research, and he wanted to work with an auctioneering firm with the reputation to ensure that his substantial collection was handled with the utmost care.”

A loud thump came from the front drawing room, as if someone had dropped or overset something, and seemed to belie this statement.

He grimaced, and I could tell he was repressing strong words.

Rimmer pivoted toward the noise, but Mr. Winstanley reached out to forestall him before he could move off in that direction, no doubt to scold the offenders.

“He stipulated as such in his will?” I asked the auctioneer.

“Yes.” Mr. Winstanley sniffed. “Or Mr. Clerk would have undoubtedly dispensed with our services.”

The inflection of Gage’s voice deepened with incredulity. “He wished to keep the collection?”

“He wished to rid himself of it however he saw fit.”

I turned to see what Maclean thought of this. “I was under the impression that the collection had been bequeathed to all of Lord Eldin’s brothers and sisters jointly.”

The auctioneer dismissed this with a shake of his balding head. “All I know is that Mr. Clerk has been acting as the family’s representative. I do not concern myself with what they discuss among themselves.”

It was unclear what he meant to imply with these statements. Was he insinuating that Mr. Clerk would have dealt unfairly with his family had the collection been left for him to distribute as he wanted? Or was he simply casting aspersions on the man’s business and artistic acumen?

“As it was, I had to spend considerably more time and effort readying this house and the collection for the auction than should have been required,” Mr. Winstanley groused.

“Mr. Clerk refused to see the necessity in altering the house in any way, or in removing the cats that were living here— six of them, mind you. He’s fortunate they didn’t damage anything of value.

” His thin lips compressed in disapproval.

“In the end, I had to insist that Lord Eldin’s solicitor hire cleaners and furniture movers and the like. ”

I supposed that explained some of the delay in the auction occurring nearly a year after Lord Eldin’s death, but I was curious. “How long did it take you to prepare the collection for sale?”

Mr. Winstanley looked to his apprentice, a crease marring his brow. “There were a number of pictures and items of virtu that required cleaning and repair. But nothing beyond the usual.”

Mr. Rimmer didn’t object to this assessment, but after these remarks and the ones he himself had made the second day of the auction when we’d met, I began to wonder if the younger man was not the one better trained in the art-dealer side of the business.

At least, in terms of the restoration and valuation of the art itself.

Perhaps this also explained how he’d known about the paintings I was currently working on. I’d not yet had a chance to ask him.

“Then Mr. Clerk was upset by the auction?” Maclean interjected, returning us to the matter at hand.

Mr. Winstanley’s glower was answer enough. “Though he had no reason to be. Everything has been handled with the utmost professionalism, and he stands to turn a tidy profit once it’s finished. Even despite the fact the auction will now have to be conducted at a different location.”

I wondered if Mr. Clerk might actually turn an even bigger profit given the notoriety surrounding the auction. If they all might. This might be seen as a motive, but an unlikely one in my estimation. There were far more guaranteed and less destructive ways to court notoriety, if that was the goal.

“Was Mr. Clerk here the day of the collapse?” Gage asked. I searched my memory, trying to recall whether I’d seen him.

“No. And it was the first day he’d missed,” Mr. Winstanley said darkly.

It had been only the third day of the auction, so I didn’t see how any sort of pattern could have been established or that suspicion could arise from the breaking of it.

“Mr. Clerk is a court clerk,” Maclean informed us before we could ask. “And we’ve confirmed he was employed that day.”

“You were both there,” I remarked, turning back to the auctioneer and his assistant. They had both been in the back drawing room when the calamity occurred. I scrutinized their faces for any evidence of injury. “How did you fare?”

Mr. Winstanley cleared his throat. “I was standing near where the floor collapsed but did not go down.”

I looked to Mr. Rimmer, who appeared somewhat nonplussed by my interest. “I…I narrowly escaped going over. I managed to grasp hold of the crossbars on the grate over the fireplace and scale the chimney. Some gentlemen extended a plank of wood so that I could cross to the more stable floor.”

“What of the rest of your staff?” Gage glanced toward the entrance to the room where coins had been displayed and then the one leading to the front drawing room.

Noises could be heard coming from both. Meanwhile the door leading to the back drawing room directly in front of us had been sealed with a board hammered across it from one side of the frame to the other.

I found it mildly alarming to know that if I opened it, I would be staring down into the pit where the floor had given way. “Were they all accounted for that day?”

“Yes.” Mr. Rimmer glanced at his employer, but Mr. Winstanley seemed content to allow him to answer this question.

“They all reported here that morning and, as far as I know, were positioned where they were supposed to be, ready to assist and answer questions. That is, until the floor collapsed. Then it became more imperative to help the victims.”

Gage nodded in understanding. “Are they all here today?”

“All but Matthew Fletcher, Mr. Winstanley’s other assistant.

His hand was sliced open the day before and became infected, and he suffered a number of contusions in the fall.

” This seemed to distress Mr. Rimmer, for he scraped a hand back through his dark curls and then glanced at the auctioneer again.

“Mr. Winstanley insisted he rest for another day before returning to work.”

This spoke well of Mr. Winstanley, especially when he didn’t seek to expound on this kindness.

“We’ll want to speak with them all. But first, the study downstairs.” Gage looked intently from one man to the other. “Who was the last person to enter it?”

“Mr. Fletcher and I,” Mr. Rimmer replied. “We removed about a dozen paintings we’d stored there. Carried them up to the front drawing room for the next day’s auction, made sure everything was prepared as usual, and then locked all the doors and left.”

“So you were the last people to leave?”

“Yes. And…the first to arrive the next morning.” The hesitation in his voice and the glimmer of wariness in his eyes told me he wasn’t entirely ignorant of why we were asking these questions or the suspicion that might fall on him.

“You and Mr. Fletcher arrived together?” Gage clarified.

“Yes.”

“As was customary,” Mr. Winstanley added, lest we take issue with this.

Gage acknowledged this with a dip of his head before turning back to the assistant. “And you didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary about the study?”

“No, sir.”

“Nor did you see anyone enter or leave the study the following day?”

“No, sir.”

“Would you have?”