Page 91 of Murder in a Mayfair Flat

“It would make them wonder who had talked,” Tom said. “And if they felt threatened enough, they might decide to go after whoever they thought was to blame. The way they—or one of them—went after Miss Long.”

“And again I ask, would that be a bad thing?”

“I know what you’re doing, Pippa,” Christopher shot in. “You’re trying to set yourself up as bait. It didn’t work out so well the last time you did it, remember.”

“I wasn’t the one who got hurt then,” I pointed out. “It was you.”

“That’s what I meant. I’d rather not get hurt again because you’ve decided to play heroine.”

Crispin sniggered. “I’ll take the brunt this time, Kit. If anyone gives Darling a poisoned drink, I’ll take it.”

“These people seem more inclined towards crushing skulls,” Tom said dryly. “It’s harder to come back from that.”

“Yes.” I nodded fervently. “Let’s try to make sure that no one here gets hit over the head with anything. I don’t want that to happen to either of you. Or myself.”

“Then perhaps what we should do—” Crispin began, and stopped speaking again when there was the sound of a knock on the front door. “Now who on earth could that be?”

We all exchanged a speculative glance before Tom jumped to his feet.

“Get the door, Finch. Hit the light switch on your way out. Kit, St George, back into the parlor. Miss Darling…”

“Behind the screen?” I suggested, as everyone scurried to obey.

Tom shook his head. “This time, just stay in here with me. We have to make it look as much as possible as it did when they left. If it’s one of them coming back, they’ll expect that.”

“And if it isn’t?”

It was Crispin who asked, on his way through the door into the green parlor.

“Do your best,” Tom said. “And be ready to duck.”

Crispin made a face, but followed Christopher into the parlor. The sitting room plunged into darkness as Finchley turned the light off before opening the door to the hallway. We could hear his steps proceeding regally toward the foyer. From the room next door came the sounds of Christopher and Crispin dropping back into the chairs they’d been sitting in earlier.

“If he prowls,” Christopher said, “make sure he doesn’t get access to the back of your head. Between everything on the bar and the fireplace poker, there are plenty of things someone could use to brain someone else in here.”

“With both of us in here and Finchley in the foyer, I don’t think anyone would dare try,” Crispin responded, “but we’ll both be careful.”

Out in the foyer, Finchley’s steps came to a stop and we heard the sound of the door being unlocked. “Sir,” Finchley said.

“Good evening again. Is Lord St George still up?”

That was Hutchison’s voice, wasn’t it? I exchanged a look with the dark shadow that was Tom. All I could see of him was the gleam of his eyeballs when he moved his head and the light from next door hit them.

“His lordship is in the green parlor,” Finchley said. “May I take your hat, Mr. Hutchison?”

“I’ll keep it,” Hutchison said. “I don’t imagine I’ll be staying long.”

Well, that could either sound very ominous or like no big thing, couldn’t it?

There were footsteps across the foyer floor and then Finchley’s voice. “Mr. Hutchison to see you, my lord.”

“Thank you, Finchley. You can go back to the silver.”

Crispin waited for the door to close between the foyer and parlor before he added, “Back so soon, Hutchie? Did you forget something?”

“I wanted to talk to you without the others present,” Hutchison said.

There was a pause, and then Christopher said, “Oh!” Hutchison must have been eyeing him expectantly, I suppose. “You mean me too. Crispin?”