Page 25 of Murder at the Mayfair Hotel

Neither could recall the gentlemen, and I decided to try Peter. Unfortunately he was busy at the main counter where four guests stood. Goliath and three other porters waited nearby with luggage, and Mr. Armitage and Mr. Hobart spoke to the guests. Peter looked worried as he accepted the key off a gentleman.

“Oh no,” Flossy muttered. “It has started.”

“What has?” I asked.

“The exodus. Father’s fears are being realized. We managed to get through luncheon before word about the murder got out, but it seems it’s out now.”

We headed to the luggage counter to collect umbrellas. “I wouldn’t go outside, Miss Bainbridge,” said Goliath as we passed him. “The newspapermen are like hungry pigs.”

The front door was suddenly pushed open and a cacophony of voices surged through along with a figure drenched from head to toe. The door closed behind him, but not before I saw Frank the doorman trying to urge a cluster of men to move along.

The newcomer’s sharp gaze settled on Flossy and me. He strode towards us, leaving a trail of drips behind on the tiles. “Excuse me, ladies, can I have a word? What can you tell me about the murder that took place here last night? Did you know the victim?” He reached into his inside coat pocket and whipped out a pencil and notepad.

Flossy shrank away from him. “Leave me alone!”

Mr. Armitage approached, his face set hard, dark eyes flashing. “Get out or you’ll be thrown out.”

The man put his hands up in surrender. “I’m just trying to make a living, same as you.”

“You are not the same as me. Leave.”

The towering form of Goliath overshadowed us. “Want help, Mr. Armitage?”

“It’s under control, thank you, Goliath. This man was just leaving.” Mr. Armitage grabbed the lapel of the journalist’s coat and forced him towards the door.

Goliath opened it and Mr. Armitage pushed the man through. He stumbled into the other journalists.

“I think Frank could do with your help,” Mr. Armitage said to Goliath.

Goliath touched his forehead in acknowledgement and joined Frank outside. “Move along!” Frank’s voice boomed.

“Are you all right?” Mr. Armitage asked us. His gaze quickly danced over Flossy and lingered a little longer on me.

I dipped my head, suddenly feeling guilty for thinking him involved in the murder. Surely he couldn’t have done it. He seemed far too honorable. But why had he lied to his own father when he’d questioned him about his movements yesterday afternoon?

“Yes, thank you,” Flossy said with a tilt of her chin at the door. “Horrible people, journalists.”

“They’re just doing their job,” Mr. Armitage said.

Flossy seemed a little put out to have her opinion brushed off, but he didn’t notice. He watched the guests at the counter, his features still set, fists clenched at his sides. The smooth man who’d greeted me the day before was nowhere in sight.

“Are they all due to leave today?” I asked.

“No.”

“They’re frightened,” I said.

Flossy shivered and rubbed her arms. “I don’t blame them.”

I put my arm around her. “We’ll be all right. The killer chose Mrs. Warrick for a reason, and now that she has been silenced, he has no reason to strike again.”

She leaned into me. “Thank you, Cleo. You’re probably right. It must be such a comfort being so sensible all the time.”

I smiled, despite myself. “Some say comforting, others say dull.” I looked up to see Mr. Armitage giving me a strange look. The tightness of his features had softened somewhat, but his eyes were still dark beneath the lowered lids.

He strode off to assist his uncle, attempting to talk the guests out of their early departure.

“I don’t feel like going for a walk now,” Flossy muttered.