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be out asking questions as well?”
    “No, I’ll be right here,” Mrs. Jeffries replied firmly. “Holding down the fort as it were.”

    “Should we start here, sir?” Barnes pointed to the door of the house next to the Tavistock residence. Number six was much like its neighbor. As a matter of fact, it, along with virtually every other house in the square was almost identical. All of them had freshly painted white doors, and all of them were of the same uniform light gray color. The only difference between the Tavistock home and the one the constable pointed at was the color of the curtains. The ones in the windows of number six were a dark midnight blue.
    Witherspoon nodded. “I suppose this is as good a place as any.” He started up the pavement toward the short set of stairs leading to the front door. “This is going to be quitetedious, Constable. We’re going to have to talk to every household on the square.”
    “Yes, sir,” Barnes replied glumly. “I know.”
    The door to number six was opened before they even knocked by a cheery-faced maid. “Good morning, gentlemen,” she said chattily. “You’re the police, aren’t you?”
    “Good day, miss. You’re quite correct, we are the police,” Witherspoon replied. “We’d like to speak with the head of your household if we could.”
    “That’d be Mr. Prosper,” the maid replied, “and he ain’t here. He’s in Edinburgh on business. Will Mrs. Prosper do?”
    “That will be fine.”
    The maid nodded and ushered them inside. “Just go on into the drawing room, sir,” she instructed, pointing to an open doorway down the hall, “and I’ll get the mistress.”
    “Thank you,” the inspector replied. He blinked in surprise as he entered the drawing room.
    “Blimey, sir,” Barnes muttered with a quick look over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t overheard, “there’s enough in here to open a shop.”
    Settees, overstuffed chairs, ottomans, bookcases and cabinets crowded the huge room. Along the walls, portraits, hunting and pastoral scenes and boldly garish wall sconces competed for attention. Along the tops of the cabinets and bookcases there were knickknacks of porcelain and silver. Chinese vases, fringed shawls and elegantly draped midnight-blue curtains gave the room an air of oriental mystery. Witherspoon shook his head. “You’re quite right, Constable. I do believe one could easily stock a shop, and it appears that the stock would be quite expensive too. None of this looks cheap.”
    The constable pointed to a pair of ceramic shepherds sitting atop a small cherry wood table in the corner. “The missus saw just one of them in a shop window a few weeks back, wanted a pretty penny for it too.”
    “I understand you want to see me?” A cool female voice said from behind them.
    Witherspoon, blushing to the roots of his thinning hair,whirled about. “I’m dreadfully sorry, madam,” he said to the tall, elegantly dressed woman standing in the doorway. “I didn’t hear you come in. We were just admiring your porcelain. It’s quite lovely.”
    “Thank you.” She nodded regally. She was a woman who was in her early thirties. Her hair was a light brown, her eyes blue and her face dun and fine boned. Slender and tall, she wore a morning dress of brilliant blue with white lace flounces along the neck and wrists. “I’m Annabelle Prosper. The maid said you wished to speak with me.”
    “Yes ma’am,” Witherspoon introduced himself and the constable. “We do hate to disturb you,” he continued, “but we’re in the position that we must get statements from all the households in the square.”
    “Please sit down.” She nodded toward the nearest settee while she took a seat on the one opposite. “What is this about?”
    “I’m afraid something rather unfortunate has happened in your garden,” the inspector said. “There’s been a murder.”
    She started in surprise. “A murder. In our garden? But that’s absurd. It’s