Featherstonehaugh had already walked his horse out; he brought his gelding to join the other three and swung up to the saddle.
Sebastian looked at Hadley. “Featherstonehaugh, on the evening that Ennis was murdered, when you and Parrish came upon Boyne reading in the library, how long was it between the time you set eyes on Boyne in the chair at the end of the library and the clocks striking ten?”
Hadley met Sebastian’s gaze, then he frowned, and his expression grew distant. “More than one minute. Two? Probably.” He refocused on Sebastian. “We came into the library and saw Boyne at the end. Parrish and I exchanged glances, then we ambled down the room—it’s a long room—and then started chatting with Boyne. So all in all, I would say between two and three minutes passed before the clocks struck. I doubt it was longer.”
Sebastian looked at the inspector. “When you considered Connell’s alibi, did you take into account the second door into the library—the one in the corridor wall directly opposite the billiards room door?”
Crawford’s expression drained. “What?”
Sebastian went on, “It’s not a concealed door, but it fits so well into the paneling it would be easy to miss seeing it. Connell would have known about that door. It’s at the end of the library where he was found sitting, and it’s only a few paces from the study door. He didn’t need to go around into the front hall to enter the library through the main door. If Connell left the study at the same time as Featherstonehaugh and Parrish left the dining room, they wouldn’t have seen him, and he would have been in that chair when they entered the library.”
“Good God.” Crawford’s expression was a medley of surprise, chagrin, and delight. “Damn—that’s how he did it.”
“Indeed.” Sebastian gathered his reins and mounted. He settled in the saddle. “But there’s something else that seemed contrived.” He looked at Worthington, Filbury, and Wilson. “Did Connell read much?”
“Good God, no!” came from all three throats.
Then all three looked struck.
After a moment, Worthington slowly said, “I’ve never seen him with a book in his hand in all the time I’ve known him. And I’ve known him for a good ten years, ever since coming on the town.”
“Well, that’s that thread tied off.” Crawford glanced around, noted McGibbin and Parrish trotting up, gathered his reins, and mounted. “Connell Boyne is our murderer.”
“If you want a rationale for how and why he killed Cecilia,” Antonia coolly said, “we’ve told you she was worried—even fearful—on that last night. She’d started to suspect something of what was behind Ennis’s murder. I think she turned to Connell. He was Ennis’s brother, and she trusted him—why wouldn’t she? Her husband had. I think she might well have asked Connell to come to her room. When he did, she poured out her suspicions.” Antonia looked at Filbury and Wilson. “Possibly, courtesy of that conversation you two had with her in the conservatory, she misinterpreted your concerns and suspected one or both of you. But Connell couldn’t have Cecilia raising such concerns with the inspector or Sir Humphrey.”
“So he killed her.” Sir Humphrey’s tone suggested there was no longer any question about that. The magistrate heaved himself into the saddle.
“All in cold blood.” Crawford shook his head. “This is a bad business all around.”
Sir Humphrey settled in his saddle and looked over the assembled company. “Right, then. We’re all here.” He swung his horse’s head toward the stable arch. “So let’s get after the blighter.”
They clattered out of the stable yard and set course for Canterbury. When they reached the fields, Sir Humphrey directed them to spread out, and they galloped steadily on in pursuit of Connell Boyne.
* * *
Antonia galloped on, holding the mare in position in the grim line between Sebastian and Hadley. The ground was damp, soft enough to hold tracks, and the inspector, Filbury, and Sebastian were all exceedingly good at picking them out.
That said, the afternoon light was waning, fading by degrees, and an autumnal mist was springing up, hanging low over the fields. Consequently, Sir Humphrey had ordered them to spread out in case Boyne swerved abruptly. The pace they were maintaining was moving them through the fields quickly, yet with little chance of missing any sudden diversion Boyne might have made.
They were still well within the estate when a riderless horse came galloping toward them.
Wilson—who had an excellent seat and hands and rode with instinctive confidence—diverted to intercept the beast, and Worthington and Parrish broke from the line and followed.