Page 29 of The Masterful Mr. Montague

Her question threw Pringle into an even greater fluster. “Ah . . .” Wringing his hands, he looked past Penelope to Adair, then further . . . and recognized Montague. “Oh, sir! Such a thing! It’s Mr. Runcorn, sir—he’s dead.”

“Dead?” All three of them echoed the word.

Adair threw Montague a glance.

“How?” Montague asked, moving forward to face Pringle.

“I’m . . . not sure.” Pringle looked unsteady on his feet. “If I had to guess, I’d say he was knocked on the head and strangled. Oh, my!”

“Here.” Penelope took Pringle’s arm and gently steered him to a chair—the one behind his raised desk, as it happened. “Sit and compose yourself.” She glanced around the small office. “Is there somewhere I could make you some tea?”

Pringle babbled his gratitude and pointed out the small door that led to a cramped service area. Penelope patted his arm and headed that way.

Montague studied Pringle’s face; if anything, the man had paled even more. He gentled his voice. “When did it happen, do you know?”

Pringle gulped. “I left him here as I usually do, about seven o’clock last night. He was still searching through Lady Halstead’s file—he had all the documents spread out on his desk.” Pringle looked toward the inner office. “They’re still there. I saw them when I went in this morning . . . and found him.” His voice broke. “Lying on the floor behind his desk . . . dead.” Pringle looked at Montague. “I knew he was dead right away.”

“Why did you go into the office?” Barnaby quietly asked. “Did something alert you?”

“No, no.” Pringle shook his head. “I went in to return the originals of the documents I’d copied for Mr. Montague. I finished the copies late yesterday afternoon and hadn’t yet returned the originals to the Halstead box. Mr. Runcorn had the box with him and was up to his eyeballs, so to speak, so rather than disturb him, I left the documents I had in my desk. If he’d wanted them, he knew I had them and where they would be. So this morning I thought he’d be finished with the box, and I went in with the documents to put them away . . .” He swallowed. “And that’s when I found him.”

“How very distressing.” Penelope arrived with a mug of strong tea. “Here—drink this, and try not to think about anything for a while.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Pringle accepted the cup, wrapping his thin hands around it. “You’re very kind.”

Barnaby waited for Pringle to take a sip of the tea—highly sugared, he had not a doubt; Penelope knew what was needed—then he asked, still speaking in a gentle tone, “After you found Mr. Runcorn, what did you do?”

Pringle sighed. “Didn’t know what to do, did I? I panicked, dropped the documents on his desk, and rushed out into the street—and there were the two constables on their beat. I dragged them in and showed them.” Without glancing at the inner office, he nodded that way. “They’ve been in there ever since. I think they’ve sent for help from their station.” He sipped, then glanced at the clock. “It hasn’t been that long. I didn’t go into the office until after nine.” He looked down. “I just thought he was in there working.”

Barnaby glanced at Montague, then walked toward the inner office. The door was fully open, but before he reached the doorway, a burly constable hove into view.

“I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t come in here. Murder most foul. We’re waiting for the doctor and our sergeant—can’t let anything be touched until they say.”

“Indeed. I do hope you’ve touched as little as possible.” Barnaby drew out a card case and flicked it open. “I’m a consultant to the Metropolitan Police and am presently working on a case with Inspector Stokes of Scotland Yard. The case concerns a client of Mr. Runcorn. She, too, was recently murdered. It’s therefore highly likely that Runcorn’s murder is linked to Stokes’s case. That connection is why we”—with a wave, he indicated Penelope and Montague—“arrived to consult Mr. Runcorn.” Handing the constable one of Stokes’s cards, Barnaby added one of his own for good measure; there were times when being an “Honorable” could be helpful. “I strongly suggest you send someone to summon Stokes immediately. He’s presently at the Yard in a meeting.” Imagining Stokes’s response, Barnaby hid a wry smile. “I can assure you he’ll want to be disturbed.”

The constable frowned at the cards, then looked up at Barnaby and nodded. “Right. Thank you, sir. I’ll send my partner right away.”

Barnaby inclined his head and drifted back to rejoin the others. “Let’s give them a few minutes to get themselves organized.”

A few minutes was all it took; the burly constable sent his young, gangly partner off with orders to take a hackney to Scotland Yard and report to Inspector Stokes with all speed.

When the door shut behind the younger man, Barnaby arched his brows at Penelope and Montague, then ambled back, the other two following, to the inner office.

The burly constable saw them coming and straightened. “Sir?”

Knowing that the police surgeon for the district, harassed individuals though they always were, was likely to arrive before Stokes, Barnaby thought it wise to push a little. “I wondered, Constable, if I might take a brief look. Our own investigations are pressing, and as what happened here was almost certainly an outcome of the earlier murder, if I could view the body, and even more the desk and the papers on it, we might be able to move matters forward at a better pace.”

From his expression, it was obvious the constable wasn’t sure he should agree but equally wasn’t sure of the wisdom of refusing.

In an understanding tone, Barnaby promised, “I won’t touch anything.”

The constable glanced past him at Penelope and Montague. “Just you?”

Penelope smiled reassuringly at the man. “We’ll wait in the doorway and just watch.”

The constable considered, then glanced at Barnaby. “All right, then. Just as long as you don’t move anything. Worth me job, that would be.”

Barnaby inclined his head and, sliding his hands into his greatcoat pockets, moved into the room. The constable watched from his station to one side of the open door. Penelope edged into the room, taking up position on the other side of the doorway while Montague hovered on the threshold.