“Mrs. McCreedy, isn’t it?” Chief Prescott said. “I believe you’re the housekeeper here?”
“Have been since Mr. Hannan first had the place built thirteen years ago, God rest his poor soul.”
“So maybe you can shed some light on the events of last night,” Prescott said. “Did you see Mr. Hannan when he arrived?”
“No, sir. I did not,” she said firmly. “I was concerned if you want to know because he had told me that the family would all be here in time for dinner, and he was very particular about punctuality for meals. They all waited for him last night but by eight o’clock the food was spoiling, so finally they sat down to eat without him. And then when I locked up for the night and he still hadn’t come, I started to get worried. I felt sure he would have let us know, you see.”
“There’s a telephone in the house, isn’t there?” Prescott asked. “Did you expect him to telephone you?”
“Oh, no, sir.” Mrs. McCreedy shook her head vehemently. “There would be no sense in telephoning me. I don’t hold with contraptions like that. I’d never get up the nerve to answer it. It don’t seem natural, does it? I wasn’t even happy when they had electricity installed a few years back. I don’t trust this tampering with nature and when they’re not in the house the lamps and candles are good enough for me.”
“So Mr. Hannan would not have telephoned even if he was running late, you think?” Prescott continued.
“My brother had the line installed primarily so that he could stay in touch with our business in New York when we are here. I am rarely in the main house and as Mrs. McCreedy has just said, the servants are unlikely to answer it, Joseph Hannan said.”
“So you’d have had no way of knowing if Mr. Hannan was expecting to arrive that evening or not.”
“He’d have let us know one way or another. He’d have sent a telegram, sir, if he wasn’t planning to come,” Mrs. McCreedy said. “He was considerate in matters like that. This whole thing was odd, very odd indeed. Bringing the family here for a weekend in October—it’s never happened before. And then these people arriving out of the blue.” She pointed at us. “I’d like to know what it was all about.”
“So would we all,” Joseph said. “Unfortunately Brian kept us all in the dark, Mrs. McCreedy.”
“And it may have cost him his life,” Daniel said.
Mrs. McCreedy frowned at us. “What does he mean?” she asked.
“Nothing. We’ll go through to breakfast now,” Joseph said. “Come along, everyone.” He ushered them out of the room, like a large sheepdog rounding up sheep.
As we left the room I heard Mrs. McCreedy saying in a low voice to Chief Prescott, “If I were you, I’d find out more about those Sullivans and what they are really doing here.”
I grabbed Daniel’s arm and drew him into an alcove near the door. It was dark and half hidden by a velvet drape. Daniel looked at me as if I had gone crazy but I put my finger to my lips. The police chief and housekeeper were still standing just on the other side of that door. Daniel stifled a cough, pressing his handkerchief to his mouth.
“They’ve been acting peculiar and snooping around,” Mrs. McCreedy went on in a voice that was little more than a whisper.
“But you were expecting them? Your master did notify you that they were coming?”
“Well, yes. I got one letter from the master to say that the family was coming for a few days and to have everything ready for them, just like in the summer. And then a separate letter arrived to say that Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan would be occupying the guest cottage at the same time, so please make sure that it was well stocked and comfortable for them.”
“And it was written by Mr, Hannan?”
“Oh, no, sir. He very rarely wrote his own letters. It was written by a secretary. It said Alderman Hannan wishes me to inform you that … And I can’t say I recognized the signature.”
“So anybody could have written it,” Chief Prescott said.
“My thoughts exactly,” she muttered in a low voice. “I was waiting for the alderman to arrive to see what he’d have to say about the couple in the guest cottage. Clearly Mr. Joseph knew nothing about them and was quite upset, since he likes to stay there himself.”
“Interesting,” Chief Prescott said. “Thank you for letting me know about this, Mrs. McCreedy. I’ll certainly have my men look into it.”
And they came out into the hallway, walking right past us without seeing us standing half hidden in the shadows of the alcove.
“Bates,” Chief Prescott called out as he approached a constable standing at the far end of the hallway.
“Bates, I want you to send a telegram to the police headquarters in New York City,” he said. “The message should say, ‘Verify whereabouts of Captain Sullivan.’”