“Tilly, get Mr. Corcoran a drink. I don’t think he’s seen that much naked female flesh before.”
“I haven’t,” he admitted. “Oh, and I don’t drink alcohol,” he added, just as Tilly was about to pour a brandy.
“I’ll get you a hot chocolate,” Tilly said. She stopped before the inspector, enveloping him in lavender, and looked him up and down. “A policeman who doesn’t drink and blushes more often than any man I have ever met. Have you ever been in a brothel before?” she wondered.
“Never,” he admitted.
She looked at him with something like awe. “Are you sure you’re a real policeman?”
“Don’t tease, Tilly,” Katherine said. “Get the inspector his hot chocolate and I will have a coffee. Inspector, come sit with me by the fire.” She moved away from the card table and took a deep wing-backed leather chair set at an angle to the glowing fire. Dermot settled into the facing chair.
“I know there’s really no need of a fire in the middle of summer,” Katherine said quietly, “but I love the light, don’t you?”
“I do. But I usually don’t light a fire in July.”
“Why not?”
“By the time I’m finished for the day and get back to Drumcondra, where I live, it’s close to nine and too late to light one. And, I couldn’t afford it on my salary.”
Katherine sat back into the chair, until she was almost lost in shadow. Firelight danced red and golden in her eyes. “If it is difficult for you to survive on your salary, then how will your young lady cope? Would you be able to tell her not to light a fire, to scrimp and save her pennies? She is obviously used to better things?”
“She is, and yes, it will be difficult.”
“You can see how so many of your colleagues begin the slide into taking little donations to supplement their wage.”
“I don’t judge them. I did, when I was a lot younger, but no more. They do what they have to survive. But it certainly makes my job harder,” he added.
Tilly returned with two cups on a silver tray. The room immediately filled with the odor of hot chocolate and rich coffee.
Katherine lifted the coffee off the tray. “Tilly, lower the lights and make sure we’re not disturbed. We do not want a repetition of last week’s adventure.”
“I’ve two men on the stairs and another outside the door.”
“What happened last week?” Dermot asked when Tilly had left. “Or is that an impertinent question?”
Katherine smiled. “A young man somehow found his way into this room. He presumed I was one of the girls and made a very crude suggestion.”
Dermot sipped the chocolate. “What happened?”
“I shot him.”
The inspector sat bolt upright. “You shot him!”
“A flesh wound in the thigh only, I assure you.”
“I didn’t see any reports of a shooting in your file.”
Katherine laughed. “Oh, it is not in my file.”
“You sound confident.”
“I have a copy delivered to me every week.”
Dermot wrapped both hands around the cup and sipped. “Somehow that does not surprise me.”
Katherine brought the coffee cup to her lips to hide her smile. “What did you discover today?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Nobody knows anything. The last time the jewels were seen was on the eleventh of June, when Sir Arthur Vicars showed them to some visiting librarian. What is extraordinary, however, is how casually he is taking it. It is almost as if he expects the stones to turn up.”
“I believe he does,” she said enigmatically, and waved away his next question. “Suspects?” she asked.
“No one. Everyone associated with the jewels are gentlemen of impeccable character.”
Katherine laughed softly. She raised her chin slightly to the noise from the rooms above. “This house is filled with gentlemen of impeccable character.”
“I did discover something odd—amusing too.”
“Tell me.”
“When the jewels were moved into the Bedford Tower four years ago, a special strong room was constructed. An impregnable Radcliffe and Horner safe was purchased to hold the jewels.” Dermot started to smile. “The only problem was that when the safe arrived, it was discovered that the door to the strong room was too narrow to admit it. So the safe was temporarily moved to the library. It’s been there ever since.”
“Who holds the keys to the safe?” Katherine asked.
“There are two keys. Both are in the possession of Sir Arthur Vicars.” He stopped and sipped the chocolate. “Perhaps a duplicate key . . .”
Katherine shook her head. “Mickey checked with all the locksmiths today. No one has been approached to make a duplicate. What does that tell us?” she asked.
“That one of the original keys was used.”
She nodded. “So someone close to Sir Arthur.”
“Or Sir Arthur himself.”
Katherine shook her head. “He has too much to lose: pension, reputation, position.”
“Then I am at a loss. Perhaps it is a joke?”
Katherine remained silent.
“You do not think so?”