Chapter 226: Chapter 226

The two of them jumped. Jenkins immediately laid the fainted maid flat on the floor, while the younger maid rushed out, quickly returning with a bottle of liquor. After they gave the middle-aged maid a sip of gin, she slowly began to stir.

Her eyes flew open, her expression as distorted as the abstract painting on the wooden rack. She shrieked: Content orıginally comes from NoveI[F]ire.net

"Ah, the madam is dead!"

Jenkins abandoned his task and hurried downstairs with his cat and the two maids. The study was the second door on the right down the hall from the stairs. When they arrived, they found the last maid trembling, braced against the wall by the doorway. Mrs. David was lying face-up on the soft, red woolen carpet. Beside her right hand lay an overturned glass, its contents soaking into the rug.

Detective Ignaz, meanwhile, was crouched beside Mrs. David, his face pale. Hearing them approach, he immediately turned and gave a slight shake of his head.

The women were on the verge of hysterics. The younger maid, who was holding together the best, fetched a few more glasses, and the others managed to calm themselves slightly after a few sips of gin.

Neither Detective Ignaz nor Jenkins drank. The detective rose to his feet, his gaze fixed on the body as he recounted what had just happened to Jenkins.

Detective Ignaz's visit today had been to conclude the investigation Mrs. David had commissioned. Because the report contained sensitive information, the study door had been closed for privacy. A maid had brought in refreshments and tea earlier, but the detective, eager to deliver his report, hadn't touched a thing.

While he was reading from the report, Mrs. David had poured herself a drink. About twenty minutes later, she stood up, intending to look at the documents in his hand, but she had collapsed after taking only a few steps.

Calling Jenkins down, he explained, was to have another witness to the scene.

"I'll only tell the police what I've seen."

Jenkins said, holding up a hand. He then knelt beside the woman, pressing his fingers to the artery in her neck. He couldn't feel a pulse.

Taking the opportunity, he studied the body's face. It was difficult to describe the woman's final expression, but her lips had turned black and her cheeks were unnaturally swollen. There were no wounds, no signs of blood; poisoning seemed the most likely cause.

"Have you sent for the police?"

He asked quietly. The detective, his expression grim, nodded. He pointed out the window with the hand clutching his hat. "Before you came down, I sent the coachman to KalFax Field. The police should be here within half an hour."

Jenkins offered no comment, instead pressing a hand to his chest. Worried his cat might run amok at the scene, he had tucked Chocolate into his breast pocket, just as he had done on the train.

At that moment, the cat poked its head out from his collar, curiously observing the four people in the room.

This sudden murder had nothing to do with him, Jenkins thought. Everyone could attest that his presence here was purely coincidental. And based on the detective's account, it was safe to assume for now that the overturned glass beside the body had contained poison.

As for the source of the poison, it could have been one of the maids, or it could have been the detective. In other words, of the five people currently in the study, anyone could be the killer—except for Jenkins himself, who had a solid alibi and had only just arrived on the scene.

"What am I thinking?"

He leaned against the wall by the door and unfastened the top button of his shirt. It was stiflingly hot in the room.

"This has nothing to do with you," he told himself. "Don't get involved."

Even as he thought it, his eyes swept over the people in the room. The three maids were clustered together, praying incessantly and quietly bemoaning their misfortune.

With both the master and mistress of the house dead within a week, no other family would be willing to hire them, even if they were completely innocent. It wasn't a matter of superstition, simply that no one wanted to invite trouble into their home.

Jenkins knew that Detective Ignaz must be thinking the same thing. As the last person to be alone with the deceased, he was the natural prime suspect. If he insisted on investigating before the police arrived and managed to find the killer, it would be a happy outcome for all. The police could add a solved case to their year-end reports, and the detective could go home to a peaceful dinner. If he failed, however, he would almost certainly be named the murderer. That was how things often worked in this era.

For the police of this era, a perfectly solved case was a rarity. If the evidence pointed clearly to one person and no one raised any objections, that person would be deemed the culprit.

The detective was also standing quietly near the doorway. Their eyes met for a moment, and he offered a strained smile. The hat in his hands was creased from his tight grip, a clear sign of his anxiety over being implicated.

Upon entering the house, Jenkins had already confirmed that the maids, Mrs. David, and the detective were all ordinary people. But with safety as his top priority, he scanned the room again. The maids huddled in the corner showed no supernatural aura, and neither did the detective.

But in the center of the room, on the overturned glass, was a faint green spiritual glow. If not for the sharp contrast between the green light and the red carpet, Jenkins might have missed the clue entirely.

"Supernatural powers are involved? How do I keep ending up in these situations?"

Lamenting his misfortune, he narrowed his eyes, focusing on the faint color.

It was visible only on one side of the glass's rim, its shape vaguely resembling a lip print.

"There's no glow on the spilled liquid, so... was the poison in the lipstick?"

He mulled it over idly, raising a hand to his chest to rub Chocolate's head with his fingertips. The cat narrowed its eyes and let out a soft "mew."

He recalled that Mrs. David, despite her grief, had worn light makeup for the sake of propriety at the funeral. He wasn't familiar with the habits of ladies, but he was fairly certain she would have been wearing lipstick.

When he had checked on her moments ago, her blackened lips had seemed bare of any cosmetic color. Could the method of attack be connected to her makeup?

The maids were still huddled together, their soft prayers and sobs filling the air while the detective watched them with unconcealed agitation. Because of the body's position, Jenkins couldn't get a clear look to confirm if there was a glow on her lips, but he was certain his theory was correct.