It was Sykes.

Having a ground-floor room brings certain disadvantages.

I put down towel and sponge bag and opened the window.

He made as if he had just paused in that particular spot to smoke a cigarette. Keeping his back to me, he said, 'I was sitting round the back on our bench. I thought you would come to find me. What happened in the woods?'

'I saw Joel. He did not kill the maharajah.'

Sykes said. 'Didn't think he had, poor blighter. What ails him?'

'I'll tell you about it later.'

'Anything else?'

'We'll find a moment to speak after supper. I'll walk in the grounds.'

Sykes moved away from the window.

Once more I picked up my sponge bag and the bath salts that Mrs Sugden had thoughtfully packed. As I walked along the corridor to the bathroom, I wondered whether James and the India Office were cleverer than I had given them credit for.

Could the rivalry between Gattiawan and Kalathal have provided a motive for the maharajah's murder? Narayan was young, energetic, emotional, and probably ambitious. The Maharajah of Kalathal may have calculated that with Narayan gone Kalathal would prevail. There could be nothing more designed to knock the stuffing from a man than to take his son and heir from him.

By inviting the maharajahs to the funeral, perhaps the Secretary of State for India hoped to bring matters to a head and discover the culprit.

I ran the water, watching it swirl onto my bath salts. Where was the Gattiawan diamond? It would be so easy to hide, so difficult to find.

An early night was called for. Supper over, no new inspiration as to the murder or the theft of the diamond came to mind. I dealt myself a hand of solitaire, determined not to cheat.

As I pondered about moving a seven of diamonds, there was a knock on the door.

What fresh h.e.l.l is this, I wondered.

The answer to my 'Who is it?' was a murmur; a female voice. I turned the key.

It took a few seconds to realise that it was Mrs Metcalfe, and not Lydia. They are about the same height, and with a family resemblance in the way they hold themselves. It was the quality of the clothing that first told me this could not possibly be Lydia. Mrs Metcalfe was m.u.f.fled up in a brown coat with turned up collar, a navy check scarf tied under her chin.

As I opened the door wider, the light fell on her troubled face and anxious pale blue eyes above a web of fine lines that I had not noticed before.

'Mrs Metcalfe, is something wrong?'

She nodded. 'I came across in the pony and trap.'

'You had better come in.'

'I didn't know who to tell.'

'Tell what?'

'I hope you don't mind my coming straight to your room.'

'How did you know which room I'm in?'

'One of the chambermaids was at school with my youngest daughter, but I don't want to get her into trouble.'

It was probably the same across the whole area. Everyone would have some friendship or kinship with everyone else. Small wonder that Thurston Presthope had been able to attempt fraud by destroying what he thought to be incriminating evidence, and that everyone knew that Joel made a pet of the white doe and had killed the prince, even though he had not.

'What is the matter?'

'Our Lydia has gone.'

'Gone where?'

'I don't know. That's why I've come to you. She went to bed last night, well, early hours of this morning I should say. She plays cards by herself and keeps the fire going till all hours. She'd been marching about, making a racket. She doesn't live by the same clocks as we do. This morning she was up at ten o'clock and had breakfast. She left the house at about eleven, and said she was going out for a drive.'

'What in?'

'That's what I said. I thought she must be coming to see you, since you have a motor. I said would she be in for dinner. No she wouldn't. Would she be in for tea? She might, she might not. Don't wait for her. Well she wasn't back at teatime; she didn't come in for supper. And I'd a lot on my plate today. She'll come back when she's ready, I thought. Only she didn't. I went to her room, and I see all her jewellery is gone and that little bag she had, and her case. Well they weren't in her hands when she went out so she must have stashed them somewhere. How could she go off like that, without a word?'

Very easily, I guessed, probably chuckling to herself at her cleverness. 'The Rolls-Royce is under lock and key.'

'I went to the railway station, made out I was pa.s.sing like. Asked when the trains would be back to normal as I have a relative wanting to visit. Well they would have told me if Lydia had caught a train, mentioned it at least.'

So the bird had flown.

Mrs Metcalfe bit her lip.

And then it dawned on me. Lydia was not one to let a locked door block her route to freedom. 'Come on. We will take a look.'

Sykes had retrieved my satchel from the barn. I picked up my flashlight and put it in my pocket.

We walked along the hall. Mrs Metcalfe led the way to the hotel's side door. 'I don't want to cause a kafuffle.'

A moon was barely visible behind the clouds. In one of the stables, a horse whinnied.

The Rolls had been garaged in an unused stable, but which one? We walked from stable to stable. I shone the torch. A door swung ajar. Inside, a crowbar leaned against the inner wall.

Mrs Metcalfe picked it up. 'That's our crowbar. How did she walk the lane without drawing attention? She must have crossed the fields.'

'Thanks for coming to tell me. At least now you know.'

Mrs Metcalfe held the crowbar, as if weighing it. 'Not so much as a goodbye.'

We walked together to her pony and trap.

'Try not to worry.'

'I'm past worrying about Lydia. It's how her dad's going to rant and rave about her just up and offing.'

'Do you have any idea where she may have gone?'

'Where else but London?' She sighed and placed the crowbar on the seat. 'Well I'll know what to do if I'm set upon by highwaymen on the way home.'

I watched her turn around the trap. The pony trotted steadily out of the stable yard and along the road.

At times like these, I am glad that my father is chief superintendent of the West Riding Constabulary. I preferred to have more definite information before putting James in the picture.

Back in the hotel, I noticed that Mr Sergeant's office door was ajar. He had been avoiding me since the embarra.s.sing moment when he admitted having pa.s.sed my photographic negatives to the constable.

I tapped on his door. Acting as though there was no rancour between us, I asked for the use of his telephone.

Of course, he could not do enough for me. 'Please feel free, Mrs Shackleton.'

He tactfully exited the office, but before he had time to disappear, I took advantage of his contrite att.i.tude. 'I would much appreciate it, Mr Sergeant, if you could send a message to Mr James Rodpen at the Hall and ask if he will find time to call on me as soon as convenient.'

He agreed and straight away summoned c.u.mmings.

I closed the office door, and placed my call.

After a waiting time that seemed like an eternity, the call came through.

Mother answered. 'Kate! Mrs Sugden tells me you are still at Bolton Abbey. How lovely! Will you be staying long?'

I knew that tone. It was a prelude to her saying that she might just consider joining me.

'Not much longer. In fact I may be going to London.'

'Then you must visit Aunt Berta. I had a letter today. She tells me James is in Yorkshire.'

'Actually James and I are collaborating on something to do with his work, and I'd like to speak to Dad about it if he is there.'

The penny dropped. 'I see, yes. Well I am glad to hear James is with you.' She tried to hide her disappointment and almost managed it. 'Your father is at my shoulder. Goodbye, dear.'

'Bye.' Now I felt bad. I would have to arrange some pleasurable mother and daughter outing soon.

My father listened to my request. 'That should not be too difficult, Kate. A red-haired woman driving a white Rolls-Royce along the Great North Road is bound to have attracted attention. And you have the number plate?'

I did, and gave it to him.

'Stay by the telephone. I will see what I can do.'

For thirty-five minutes, I sat by the office telephone. Finally, it rang.

'Do you have a pencil?' He wastes no time in coming to the point.

'Yes.'

James burst in. 'What is it? I came straight away...'

He saw that I was on the telephone, and stood over me, trying to listen. I pushed him away as I jotted down details.

'I have sightings in Doncaster, where she stopped for petrol at 1700 hours, and at Retford, where she was cautioned for driving too fast. She has now stopped for the night in Grantham, registered at the hotel as Miss Lydia Metcalfe.'

'So she is using her own name. And what hotel?'

'I'm coming to that. It's the Angel and Royal. Apparently, it is where Richard III signed the Duke of Buckingham's death warrant.'

James peered over my shoulder as I wrote.

'Is there anything else I can do, Kate?'

James heard the comment. 'Have her arrested!'

'Shut up, James. Thanks, Dad. I'll call you back if we need any more help. Oh, just one thing. If she makes any telephones calls, it would be useful to know whom she contacts.'

'I'll do what I can.'

I put down the telephone. James was practically hopping from one foot to the other. 'We must stop her.'

'We have no grounds for her arrest. We know where she is going...'

'Where?'

'London of course. You could have someone from Scotland Yard waiting at the hotel, with a court order. There may be time for one of the maharajah's representatives to catch a night train, and to search her luggage.'

James is never happy until he has had a good grumble. 'How could they be so careless as to not keep a proper eye on the stables? I gave strict instructions.'

'Osbert Hannon and Isaac Withers were the mainstay of the stables. Don't forget how many men have been commandeered to deal with everything that is going on at the Hall. No one expected Lydia Metcalfe to turn up with a crowbar...'

'A crowbar?'

'And break in.'

James lit a cigarette. 'Why did no one see her here, or on the road? All this in broad daylight.'

'Everyone was caught up with Osbert Hannon's inquest, or the cremation. And you have seen what people are like round here. They play their cards close to their chest.'

'Once she gets to London, she will be able to lose herself and pa.s.s on the diamond.'

'a.s.suming she has the diamond.'

'Why else would she disappear without a word?' James drummed his fingers on the manager's desk. 'With her protector gone, she took one last gamble by stealing the diamond.' He snapped his fingers in an unfamiliar gesture of decisiveness. 'We will do this together, you, me, Chana and Scotland Yard. How fast do you reckon Lydia Metcalfe will drive?'

'About twenty-five miles an hour?'

'There must be an overnight train.'

A sudden thought struck me. Earlier in the day I had pa.s.sed the aeroplane, looking lonely and out of place in a nearby field. 'How long did it take the duke and maharajah to fly from Croydon?'