“—Maria Conyngham, I suspect,” Lord Harold offered complacently.

“Indeed?” Mr. Elliot’s black eyes widened. “I perceive you are before me in this, my lord, as in so many things. But to proceed — I next travelled into London and adventured St. James. The cunning insertion into Fortescue House, of a designing male — in short, a constable by the name of Warren I carried in my train — through excessive flattery of the under-housemaid, elicited the information that his lordship has been absent from London some weeks. Since Saturday a fortnight since, to be exact. Early Wednesday last the Earl sent for the Lady Fortescues from Bristol, without so much as a by-your-leave, and bid them all to travel down to Bath without delay; and quite indignant the under-housemaid was, too, at the disarray this occasioned in the household. All on account of the master’s ill-consideration, and his sisters in quite a taking. And so, perceiving as how I should never find my murderer in Town, I left Warren in possession of the cunning pin, and charged him with enquiring as to its origins among the principal London jewellers; and myself ambled along to Bristol. I have been enquiring of the inns these two hours at least.”

“Then you know, I assume, what we have recently learned.”

“That the Earl had occasion to hire an open carriage? Aye — though it took me a deal of trouble to get it out of old Twinkling,” Mr. Elliot complained. “Not to mention the publicans of the Hart and Dove, the Merry Milkmaid, and the Rose and Crown. There’s a deal of inns in Bristol, my lord, and only one of them had the lodging of the Earl. I’ll warrant any publican worth his ale can spy the Law from a mile off, and turn mute and deaf in an instant, though he’d shift to be of service to yourselves.”

“You know, then, that he is supposed to have gone to Portsmouth Tuesday.”

“And that I shall next be coaching that way myself,” Mr. Elliot rejoined with resignation. “It seems the Earl refused a driver, being intent upon handling the ribbons himself. I see how your thoughts are forming in that quarter. You think to find his lordship never went to Portsmouth at all. But tell me, my lord, your reasons for suspecting Miss Conyngham.”

Lord Harold was engrossed in consuming a very fine portion of ham, and seemed entirely given over to enjoyment; but after an instant, he reached into his coat and pulled out a sheaf of papers. “I believe you will find a few of your answers here, Mr. Elliot.”

The magistrate seized them immediately. “Letters, my lord?”

“Taken inadvertently from Mr. Portal’s theatre office. I might suggest, in future, that you search a fellow’s place of business as well as his lodgings, my good sir.”

Elliot perused the papers swiftly, his brow furrowed in an effort to make out the hand, and then raised his eyes to Lord Harold.

“Well, I’m blessed,” he said succinctly. “The girl and Swithin hand-in-glove. I shall take them up immediately upon returning to Bath.”

“Stay, Mr. Elliot,” Lord Harold enjoined swiftly, and to me, “Pray pour out the tea, Miss Austen, and I should be very much obliged.”

I did so, and offered a cup to the magistrate; but he declined it with an air of impatience. “And why should I leave these malefactors at liberty?” he demanded.

“In deference to a most interesting matter that is as yet in abeyance,” Lord Harold replied. “I must confess a grievous sin, Mr. Elliot, on the part of my nephew Kinsfell. You will remember, I am sure, that he discovered the unfortunate Mr. Portal.”

“Yes, yes—”

“But you are not aware, I think, that he discovered something else on Mr. Portal’s person. A most intriguing miniature pendant, showing the likeness of an eye, and probably set upon Portal’s breast by the same hand that drove home the knife.”

Mr. Elliot turned to me in confusion. I smiled at him benignly.

“My nephew, from dubious motives, secured the portrait of the eye about his neck. He gave it into my keeping the following day.”

“The Marquis made away with evidence?” Mr. Elliot exclaimed. “Why, the cunning rogue! I’ll have his head for it.” The uttering of this natural sentiment must immediately have struck him as being in poor taste, and he averted his glittering black eyes from Lord Harold’s face.

“I applaud your feelings,” his lordship observed. “They are commendable, if somewhat ill-phrased. But however reprehensible the act, my nephew feared it could not be undone; and I think it just possible that he acted from the noblest of motives — the desire to shield his sister. She is possessed of grey eyes; and the portrait revealed a similar orb. Poor Kinsfell feared for her implication an Portal’s death, and attempted to prevent it.”

I doubted the extent of this statement’s truth, and thought it more likely Lord Kinsfell had hoped to shield Maria Conyngham, whose name Portal had spoken as he breathed his last; but I knew that Miss Conyngham’s eye was brown, and so forbore from disputing with one of his lordship’s experience and perspicacity.

“I undertook to consult an artist of Miss Austen’s acquaintance, an acknowledged expert in these things; and he, in turn, has applied for information to a quarter that might hopefully yield it. The token was left deliberately as a sign, and I cannot think Mr. Portal’s murder unconnected to the identity of the portrait’s subject. It is that subject’s name we seek, Mr. Elliot, and until we possess it we cannot hope to comprehend the depths of this affair. The letters you now hold, and the fact of the Earl’s presence in Bristol, are the merest fraction of your case.”

“That can be of little account,” Mr. Elliot retorted. “Far better to seize the pair and learn the whole from them at the Assizes.”

“But having acted precipitately once” his lordship countered, “and taken up an innocent man, you should hesitate to do so a second time. It cannot inspire confidence on the part of the public, or ease in the breasts of your benefactors.”[66]

There was a feeling silence. Mr. Elliot availed himself of the Stilton, and chewed it ruminatively. At last he said, “And when do you expect the portrait’s subject to be exposed?”

“I am daily in expectation of intelligence. Having received it, I should not hesitate to impart it to yourself.”

“You must understand how irregular the business is,” Mr. Elliot said. “That portrait should have been turned over to me. As should these letters. You have been grossly behindhand, my lord, in your dealings with the Law.”

“I regret and acknowledge the whole. But you might admit, my good sir,” Lord Harold observed with a smile, “that you gave me little reason to confide in your sense and benevolence. You seemed most easy at the prospect of hanging my nephew, and but for the word of a chairman or two, should still be deaf to reason. I cannot be dissatisfied with my conduct of the affair, and must trust the healing effect of time to do away with your injury.”

Mr. Elliot sighed. “I suppose I must lose not a moment on the Portsmouth road, then.”

“It would seem the logical course,” Lord Harold said comfortably. “Stilton, Jane?”