Chapter 6

The steady staccato beat of rain on the windows was the perfect accompaniment to the careening thoughts that had kept him awake well into the night. He stood looking out to the sea now roiling and pounding against the beachhead. His mind replayed yet again the events of the last 24 hours, especially their arrival back at the hotel. Was it only a few hours ago? It seemed an age.

They had arrived sodden and surly trooping dutifully into the main lobby. The task of searching the bus had fallen to Oswald. In a way he had had the far easier job not having to contend with the now very tired and disagreeable would be detectives. They had all emptied their pockets, purses and assorted other bags. Aside from the contents serving as indicators of which participants took the event seriously, there was nothing materially important discovered among their belongings. No, the charter wasn't on any of their person or personal effects. They had gone to their beds grateful that the day was finally done. If anyone had qualms they had kept it to themselves.

But the day wasn't done for everyone. The sentinel continued to gaze out to sea. What he was looking for only he knew for sure. He brought the cigarette to his lips and took a long, deep drag. He looked at his watch after every drag. It was getting late, too late. There was something he was missing, something vital. He knew the who of the matter but the how was proving elusive. How was that charter removed from the library?

If he could figure that, he could back track and find the thief. He went to his desk, turned the desk light on and took out his journal. He looked over his notes one more time. Yes, all the pieces fit. He turned the light off once more. He tucked the journal behind some books in the bookcase. He moved an armchair by the balcony.

He was about to sit down when there was a soft knock at the door. Right on time, he thought. He opened the door and let his visitor in. "Do you know what time it is? What do you want?" asked his visitor.

"I'm disappointed in you. I thought my note was obvious." He replied.

"Your greed is obvious."

"Yes, I admit it. But your sloppiness was equally obvious. What are you going to do about it?"

"I don't have much time. How about 5 percent ?"

"What do you take me for? I want nothing less than 15 percent."

"15 percent? Out of the question. What risks did you take? Nothing."

" I was at the right place at the right time, wasn't I? For that, my friend, I deserve 15 percent. Be glad it's not more because -" His words gurgled to a stop. He found himself fighting for his life clawing at the strong hands squeezing his windpipe with deadly ease and efficiency. It was a fight that he was not destined to win against a motivated opponent. His body crumpled to the ground.

The visitor quietly moved about the room searching through the closet and drawers haphazardly. Clothing and other personal effects were unceremoniously dumped on the bed. The desk was ransacked. The visitor surveyed the results of his search.

A flash of lightning illuminated his face as he said "The fool must have been bluffing. He should've known better than to tangle with professionals."

In his room, Severus Snape lifted the decanter and filled his wine glass. Sipping his wine, he pondered his notes which lay scattered on the desk. He had looked over them repeatedly but his well-honed mind refused to cooperate. No, his mind dwelt on a more disturbing topic than the mysterious theft and attempted murder. Ms. Diana Stevens was proving more of a mystery than he had anticipated. She was an intriguing combination of worldliness and naivety. How much of that is her mystery character and how much was real?

Her quick wit was not faked that much was obvious. But her reaction to him on the beach was puzzling. As he had described his complete woman, he had seen her breath hitch and the color rise in her face. Either she was a consummate actress or she had far less experience in the flirting game than their rapid fire exchange had indicated. Who was the real Diana Stevens?

Enough of this he thought. The woman is turning your brain into mush and forget what she does to your lower regions. Get back to the mystery. Solve that and then you'll have the rest of your vacation to deal with Ms. Stevens.

He sat down at the desk. He started a fresh page. He asked himself "Who do you know among the suspects who could no have had the opportunity to knock down Sir Anthony?" Next to that he wrote "Wright" and "Ironside." Mr. Ironside had not left his sight the entire time so that was a definite. Of course that doesn't mean that Ironside could not have had an accomplice. As for who did knock down Sir Anthony, Severus was convinced it was a woman. Sir Renville would have had his guard up if it had been a man. But, he reminded himself again, but his inner voice argued that Sir Renville hadn't seen his attacker. It could be a man or a woman.

Well, he thought, it will have to be a process of elimination. Who had opportunity in each instance? Their motives were really not important right now. He had to study the movements of each suspect and decide on opportunity. Find the opportunity, find the thief. Find the motive, find the murderer.

Mr. Wright wasn't the only denizen of the hotel unable to sleep. Mrs. Emily Moss was propped up in bed reading her packet and jotting down more and more notes. Next to her Mr. Moss was quietly snoring. She had two columns on her notepad. One column was titled "Successful Theft" and the other was named "Bungled Murder." Under the first column she had written down "Valuable charter." "Sotheby's last auction a similar artifact brought in 250,000 pounds." "Large size but can be rolled or folded" and underneath all that was the word "When?" Underneath the second column there were far fewer entries - "Why?" and "Who?"

She and her husband had discussed the case for a long time before John dozed off. She knew of only three people who could not have had anything to do with the attack on Sir Renville - her husband, Mr. Levinson who had been with her the whole time and herself. Everyone else was fair game.

Her husband strongly felt that she was focusing on the wrong thing. It was all an issue of timing. When was the charter actually stolen? Was it before or after the attack on their host? If it was before, then the attack was premeditated. Perhaps, the would-be killer and thief was one and the same person and simply wanted to even the score all the way around. However, if the theft was done after the attack, then that opened up a whole other can of possibilities. It would have to be two distinct crimes her husband had said and that led to the conclusion of one to provide a distraction by attacking Sir Renville while the other stole the charter. With her head full of potential combinations and assorted ideas, Mrs. Emily Moss fell asleep at last.

Hermione sat on her bed. She studied the diagram of the castle's layout that she had drawn from memory. The library had been in the central corridor and everyone must have passed it from either direction while getting to their assigned rooms. That meant that anyone could have slipped in and taken the charter. She looked at her packet to see the size of the charter. It was in a frame set high on the wall. Whoever stole it had to be tall enough to bring it down. Whoever did it had to know the fastest and most efficient way to remove an article from its frame. It was a professional job. It had to be, she surmised. There was very little time to do it in. If it were her, she would have taken the charter while everyone was looking for their rooms. Few would have noticed what was going on as all was intent on finding their rooms. It had to be exquisite timing. She had to find out who was in what room and who came in first and who came in second assuming that each room was assigned to two people.

She looked at the location of the Red Room. It was isolated down a rarely traveled corridor. Whoever attacked Sir Renville had to have been already near the vicinity of the Red Room. The closest rooms were the Yellow and Green rooms. The rooms closest to the Library had been the Study, the storeroom and the Chevy Chase room. Her thoughts turned to Mr. Maclemore. He had been several minutes behind her in coming into the Chevy Chase room. Was that enough time to have stolen the charter? She deduced that yes it would have been ample time especially for a professional thief. Did he attack Sir Renville? That was a resounding No as he had stayed in with her the whole time. This mystery event was turning out into a real mystery and she was certainly getting her money's worth.

During a breakfast of smoked haddock poached in milk and butter, Mr. McAdoo delivered the news that there was this morning one less of them. "I regret to inform you all that we lost a guest last night to an act most foul. Hotel services reported finding Mr. Claymore strangled dead in his room."

This was met with audible gasps around the room.

"The room has been left untouched and will be available for your inspection. Additionally, Sir Renville will be coming around this morning to question you all. I urge you all to cooperate as best and as fully as you can."