the police to find out, but he allowed Harris the point. “Two, maybe three months.”
“What was your relationship with her?”
“Friends. Of a sort.”
Harris cast him a longer look. “Not a good sort, I might guess.”
“What makes you think that?”
“You show no overt signs of grief at her passing. I understand you showed no horror either at the scene of her violent murder.”
Dragan almost laughed. “Inspector, I have seen far too much violent death to faint at the sight of a little blood. I am sorry she is dead, but I cannot bring her back.”
“Did you kill her?”
“Of course not. Why would I do such a thing?”
“A lover’s quarrel?”
“I was never her lover.”
Harris sat back. “How did you meet her?”
“At the house of a friend.”
“May I have the name of this friend?”
“Dr. Cordell, in Caroline Place. I have a room in his house.”
“And where does Miss Barrow live?”
They already knew that. It was some trickery to see how much he would admit to. “In the house of her employer, I imagine. She is in service to some nobleman.”
“The nobleman whose daughter was with you tonight?” Harris asked innocently.
“I have no knowledge of her. I never met her before.”
Harris sighed. “You had better tell me what happened.”
“I attended the opera as the guest of a friend,” Dragan said impatiently. “While I was there, I received a note. From Miss Barrow.”
“Was that usual?”
“No. Unprecedented, to be honest. The note asked me to meet her at the interval, at the front door of the theatre. Which I did, only she was not there. I looked around, eventually into the surrounding streets, and that was when I found her dead.”
“And the other lady?”
“She seemed to have found her first.”
Harris frowned. “She was there when you arrived on the scene?”
“Yes.”
“She did not come with you?”
Dragan stared at him. “No.”
“How did the weapon come to be in your hand? Did you remove it from the body?”
“No, I removed it from the living lady.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t know she hadn’t killed Nancy Barrow,” Dragan said frankly.
The policeman looked skeptical. “Do you know who that young lady is?”
“She said Nancy was her maid, so I can only suppose she is a relation of the duke Nancy worked for.”
“And you want me to believe Lady Grizelda Niven killed her maid?”
Dragan sighed. “No. I don’t think she did. She was too shocked. And besides, if the girl had annoyed her, she only needed to dismiss her, not stab her to death.”
“Then what in the world was she doing in a Covent Garden back alley—Mudd Lane, to be precise—decked out in silk and jewels?”
It was a very good question. “You would have to ask her. I had the impression she was curious by nature. Eccentric.”
“An impression based on, what, ten minutes acquaintance?” the policeman asked in disbelief.
“Less,” Dragan said with a shrug.
“If you had an assignation with the lady, you had better tell me now. Unless it is germane to the inquiry, the information won’t be released.”
Dragan stared at him. “She’s a duke’s daughter. I’m a refugee revolutionary without a penny to my name. Why would she look at me?”
Harris met his gaze. He seemed almost…amused. “Perhaps she really is curious by nature. Perhaps you were blackmailing her. With Nancy’s help.”
Dragan stood so quickly his chair fell over. “Sir, I marched in the streets, fought in the army for nearly two years in defense of my principles. Why would I abandon them now?”
Harris had stood with him but did not call for help. “You mean to imply that blackmail is beneath your principles?”
“Well beneath,” Dragan said between his teeth.
“Please sit down.”
Dragan picked up his chair, all but throwing it upright before flinging himself back into it.
“Do you think it was beneath Nancy’s principles?” Harris asked innocently.
Dragan curled his lip. “Probably. Either way, there was no harm she could do to me. Nor have I anything to pay a blackmailer.” He drew in his breath. “Inspector, if she was in trouble, I would have done my best to help her. I most certainly did not kill her. But if you release me, I will do my best to find out who did.”
***
Rising early the following morning with new determination, Grizelda dressed without help and went immediately to the breakfast parlor. There, as she had hoped, she found only her second-eldest brother, Horace, who was preparing to face the day at his Whitehall office with a newspaper and a huge plateful of bacon, eggs, sausages, and toast.