Miss Chilmark in the basement? They leaned over the railings and peered down. True, it was in better order than basements generally are, whitewashed, clear of litter, and with a dwarf conifer in a pot by the door. They went down the stairs.
The bell was answered quickly by a sturdier woman, probably twenty years younger, who ushered them inside. The light was poor down there. Diamond's strongest impression of Miss Chilmark was of the heavy floral scent that wafted from her. In the cramped entrance he couldn't avoid passing so close that his eyes watered. She was in a black jacket over a garish multi-colored dress that rustled when she moved. She glittered at the ears, throat, and fingers.
"We came to the wrong door," Diamond explained, just to get the conversation started, but it was an unfortunate start.
"Oh," said Miss Chilmark in a long, low note of despair. "Did you tell her who you were?"
"No, ma'am. Simply asked for you and got directed down here."
This wasn't reassurance enough. "Where's the police car? I suppose she saw that."
He told her that they had come on foot, and got such an improved reaction that he wished he had started with it. They were led through a narrow hallway at some risk to the china plates clipped to the walls. Shown into what Miss Chilmark announced as her drawing room, they had a first impression of a dry atmosphere smelling like the inside of a biscuit tin. It was a place noticeably less colorful than its owner. Faded Indian carpets on a wood-block floor. Pale blue emulsioned walls with a number of gilt-framed portraits of po-faced Victorians and smug, tweed-suited figures from between the wars, judging by their clothes. Two ancient armchairs and a settee with blue-and-beige covers. A gas fire from the nineteen sixties with a mantelpiece over it, on which were six or seven books and some rock specimens acting as paperweights for letters. Above that a large print of a cathedral with a spire.
"You see, it isn't a basement at all from this side," Miss Chilmark was quick to point out, striding to the window to draw the chintz curtain farther aside. "I have the ground floor and the garden."
"This is because it's built on a slope?"
"Yes. That's Walcot Street at the bottom. The whole house belongs to me, only it's too much for a single lady, so I let out the other floors."
This might have been more credible if she had retained the floor above as well, with the front door access. She was not the kind of woman who willingly moved into a basement in her own house, even with the view of Walcot Street from the rear. The furnishings told a different, more convincing tale; that this was the last retreat of someone who had known more affluent times.
"Salisbury, isn't it?" Julie remarked, having stepped to the fireplace to admire the print.
"The tallest spire in England," Miss Chilmark said with some pride. "And built seven hundred years ago of Chilmark stone."
"You own a quarry?" said Diamond.
"The stone came from the village of Chilmark."
"You own a village?"
"Of course not." Lesson one: She had little sense of humor. "I thought everybody had heard of Chilmark stone. It's known as the architects' stone, because it's unmatched as a building material. Salisbury Cathedral, Chichester, Wilton House. I'm afraid my best sherry ran out when I had some visitors at the weekend, and my wine merchant hasn't delivered yet. Would you care for Earl Grey tea instead?"
He told her not to bother. "We're here to investigate a crime. You heard about the death of Sid Towers, no doubt."
"Dreadful," said Miss Chilmark. "Such an inoffensive man. Why do these things always happen to the nicest people?"
"Is that a fact?" Diamond said, tempted to challenge such a sweeping statement, but needing to move on. "You and he belonged to the same club, of course. The Bloodhounds."
"Yes."
"You're one of the senior members, right?"
"I joined a long time ago, so I suppose I'm entitled to be so described."
"Before Sid?"
"Yes. Why don't you sit down?"
Acting on the suggestion, he felt the shape of a spring press into his rump, confirming that the settee, like its owner, had seen better days. "We're finding it difficult to get a sense of what Sid Towers was like. Maybe you can help us, ma'am. Outside the Bloodhounds, did you know him at all?"
She reddened. "What on earth are you implying, Superintendent?"
"Is the answer 'No'?"
"Of course it is."
"I meant nothing defamatory. He worked in a security firm. What's the name? Impregnable. Have you had any dealings with Impregnable, Miss Chilmark?"
"I can't think why you imagine I should."
"Have you got an alarm system, for example?"
"On the house? Certainly not. One of those bells would be unthinkable on a listed building like this."
"Security inside? Sensors, fingerbolts, window locks?"
"I have excellent locks. I've no need for anything else."
"That's clear, then," said Diamond. "On the evening he died, last Monday, you went to a meeting of the Bloodhounds. I'd be grateful if you would tell me what you remember of that evening, and of Sid in particular."
She clicked her tongue. "It was all extremely distressing for me personally, I can tell you that."
"Before you tell me that, what happened at the very start? Were you the first to arrive that evening?"
"No, Polly-Mrs. Wycherley-was there before me, and so was poor Mr. Towers."
"Those two arrived first? I want you to think hard about this. When you got there, were they in conversation?"
"Mr. Towers never had anything amounting to a conversation with anyone."
"Where were they standing?"
"How do you mean?"
"It's clear, isn't it? Where was Mrs. Wycherley?"
"She wasn't standing at all. She was already seated inside the circle. We arrange the chairs in a circle."
"You do this yourselves?"
"Yes, whoever gets there first. I helped Mr. Motion the previous Monday, when we happened to be the first there. On this occasion he was a little late, held up by the traffic. He drives, you know, from Limpley Stoke, where the boat is."
"So Sid and Polly Wycherley must have got the room ready this week?"
"I presume so. I wasn't there early enough to see."
"Polly's the chairman, isn't she?"
"She does her best," said Miss Chilmark, examining the back of her hand.
"You sound as if you don't have complete confidence."
"Oh, I'm old-fashioned enough to expect a chairman to lead the discussion. On this occasion I took some initiative myself, and it was generally welcomed, I may say."
"How did that come about?"
"Well, at the start of the meeting-this was before the whole thing descended into chaos-I suggested that we apply our experience of detective stories to a discussion of the real crime that happened in our own city-the theft of that stamp from the Postal Museum."
Diamond glanced toward Julie and then back to Miss Chilmark. "Did you, now? What made you think of that?"
"As soon as I read the report in the Chronicle I knew it was right up our street. For once we had the chance to test our wits on a real unsolved crime."
"Can you remember what was said?"
"I have a very clear recollection, yes. First, we addressed the question of why it was done, stealing such a well-known stamp. Mrs. Shaw, the lady from the Walsingham Gallery, who isn't backward in putting across her opinions, gave us the theory that it was stolen at the behest of some fanatical collector. Miss Miller, who joined only the previous week, thought it was more likely that a ransom would be demanded. She even had a theory as to how the money could be collected through a secret bank account in Switzerland. Then they turned to me, and I moved the debate on to the far more intriguing question of the riddles that were sent by the thief."