Free The Peculiar Case of Lord Finsbury's Diamonds: A Casebook of Barnaby Adair Short Novel (The Casebook of Barnaby Adair) by Stephanie Laurens

he managed to catch a scent, O’Donnell would give a terrier a run for its money. “Very good. Out of uniform would definitely be best. I should be back by four o’clock. If you manage to turn up anything, report to me then.”
     “Aye, sir.”
     Stokes watched O’Donnell depart, then rose, resettled his greatcoat, picked up the file of evidence left waiting for him on his desk, and set off for the Old Bailey. He would never get used to calling it the Central Criminal Court, no matter what anyone said.
     
    * * *
    F rederick and Gwen left the breakfast parlor together and took the corridor to the garden hall.
     “I’ve been thinking,” Frederick said, “that before we start on the more difficult task of searching for where the foot-trap came from, we should first confirm that the hammer used to end Mitchell’s life was in fact the one from the croquet-shed.”
     Reaching the door that gave onto the garden, he opened it and held it for Gwen. “We last saw the hoop-hammer when Agnes used it to set up the croquet course on the day before Mitchell was killed, but as far as I know only your butler and the police saw the hammer used on Mitchell, so how could they be certain it was the one from the croquet-shed?”
     Pausing on the gravel path while he closed the door, then joined her, Gwen arched her brows. “I would have thought they would have checked…but maybe they simply assumed. Regardless, it won’t hurt to look.” She waved toward the side lawn and the boxlike shed standing against the shrubbery hedge. “The shed is right there.”
     As they crossed the lawn, Frederick said, “I didn’t really look at the hammer Agnes used, but if I was asked to describe it, I would have called it a long-handled sledgehammer.” He glanced at Gwen’s face. “Is there anything that distinguishes it as a hoop-hammer?”
     Gwen grinned. “No—nothing at all. Agnes is the one keen on croquet, but as she grew older she found it difficult bending over to hit in the hoops, so she insisted on appropriating the sledgehammer and using its head to thump the hoops in. Ever since, she’s called the thing ‘her long-handled hoop-hammer,’ so everyone now refers to it as that.” Gwen’s smile grew fond. “According to Agnes, using a sledgehammer on croquet hoops is simply ridiculous.”
     Frederick chuckled.
     They reached the croquet shed; a simple wooden box about five feet high, three feet wide, less than two feet deep, and held off the ground on short wooden stumps, it resembled an outdoor cupboard on legs. Gwen lifted the latch and swung the door wide.
     Directly in front of them sat a long-handled sledgehammer, its heavy steel head resting amid a jumble of hoops, balls, and the wooden mallets used for the game.
     “It’s still here.” Gwen stared at the sledgehammer.
     His hands in his pockets, Frederick studied the sight. “Do you know if it’s the one Agnes claims as her own?”
     Gwen leaned closer, studying the sledgehammer, then straightened. “As far as I can tell, it’s Agnes’s—meaning the one that’s always here.”
     Frederick stepped back. He waved to Gwen to shut the door. “That means we have both the foot-trap and the sledgehammer to trace.” After a moment, he met Gwen’s gaze. “Where should we start?”
     Gwen’s brow furrowed and her gaze grew distant, then her face cleared. “Let’s find Penman. He’s the older gardener. He’s been here since Agnes was young and the estate was much larger—he’s the only outdoor staff left who would know what’s where in the outbuildings.”
     “So where do we start in our search for him?” Frederick asked.
     They began at the kitchen door and learned from Cook, just coming in with a basket full of freshly-pulled carrots from the kitchen garden, that Penman had said he was going into the orchard to tidy up the leaf-fall.
     Frederick and Gwen found him plying a rake beneath the trees.
     The grizzled old gardener had expected at