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answered Augusta. “But as you saw, she is dreadfully ill. Her doctor has been forced to commit her to the provincial lunatic asylum. I doubt she would be aware if Beelzebub himself visited us.”
    Her tone was sharp. No love lost there, Murdoch thought.
    “Do you have other servants?” he asked.
    “Only Janet, the girl you saw. We hire extra help as we need.”
    Murdoch felt a twinge of pity for the young servant. He could imagine the amount of work that was foisted on her.
    “I assume your husband has spoken to you about the tragedy I am investigating, Mrs. Curran?”
    “My brother told me. But I thought the coroner declared him a suicide.”
    “We won’t know anything for certain until after the inquest. That is why I am conducting this investigation.”
    “’Scuse me.” Frank got up and went to the fire. He grabbed the poker and gave a recalcitrant piece of coal a couple of good thwacks. Flames leaped out. He stayed where he was, watching the fire.
    “I am interested in any information you can give me,” said Murdoch. “We think the constable died some time between midnight and one o’clock. Did any of you hear anything?”
    “I for one am a very sound sleeper,” said Augusta. “I heard nothing at all.”
    “Where is your bedroom, ma’am?”
    “On the third floor. My husband and I have a suite there.”
    Murdoch nodded at Curran. “What about you, sir?”
    “Not a peep. I sleep like the dead.”
    “You were on the third floor as well?”
    Augusta looked at Murdoch as if he had said something quite rude but his guess was right.
    Curran chuckled in embarrassment. “Not last night I wasn’t. I snore. Keeps my wife aggravated. I was in the stable loft. Better.”
    “So was I,” added Frank. “I have a room there so I can keep an eye on the horses. I didn’t hear anything except them farting.”
    This remark was obviously intended to offend his sister, who took the bait.
    “Frank, how many times must I ask you not to be so coarse?”
    “That’s not coarse, Aggie. It’s a fact of nature. Horses fart all the time. Noisy buggers.”
    Any further argument was halted by the mantel clock which began to announce the hour in such a deep-toned gong, it was impossible to speak. Involuntarily they all looked in its direction. It was a massive bronzed piece, more than two feet high, and the clock face nestled in the middle of the bust of a smiling woman, rather Roman in appearance. Her hair and collar were lavishly hung with imitation coins and the word “Fortune” was embossed on the base. As the sound died away, Murdoch closed his notebook, picked up his hat, and stood up.
    “I won’t keep you any longer. What time might I catch Mr. Gibb?”
    “He works at the city offices. He issues marriage licences. He is usually home by six o’clock.”
    “Either I or a constable will come back then. For now, I’ll just have a word with your servant before I go.”
    Frank Eakin grinned. “Janet’s a fanciful girl, Mr. Murdoch. Don’t take everything she says as gospel. She believes in ghosts. She’s always going on about hearing them wandering round the house.”
    “I’ll take that under advisement. Where would I find her, ma’am?”
    Augusta stood up. “I’ll take you. She should be in the kitchen.”
    “We’ll get back to the stable,” said Eakin. “You won’t want us any more, will you, Officer?”
    “Not for now.”
    At the door, Mrs. Curran paused and apparently speaking to nobody in particular, she said, “It won’t be necessary to leave the lamp lit.”
    Her husband hurried to obey and blew out the light. The sour, smoky smell of the extinguished wick wafted on the air.
    Murdoch left with a feeling of relief. Being with this family was like sticking your hand in a wasp’s nest.

Chapter Ten
    P EG THOUGHT SHE MUST HAVE BEEN in the bathtub for a very long time but it was hard to be sure. There was no clock in the room and her memory of coming here, of being put into the tub, was not