hough he had been walking a tightrope for
hours. Laird and Lady Duncan had been talking in low, controlled
voices that betrayed an inner nervousness, but Father Bright realized
that he and the Countess had been doing the same thing. The Duncan of
Duncan had offered his condolences on the death of the late Count with
the proper air of suppressed sorrow, as had Mary, Lady Duncan. The
Countess had accepted them solemnly and with gratitude. But Father
Bright was well aware that no one in the room--possibly, he thought,
no one in the world--regretted the Count's passing.

Laird Duncan sat in his wheelchair, his sharp Scots features set in a
sad smile that showed an intent to be affable even though great sorrow
weighed heavily upon him. Father Bright noticed it and realized that
his own face had the same sort of expression. No one was fooling
anyone else, of that the priest was certain--but for anyone to admit
it would be the most boorish breach of etiquette. But there was a
haggardness, a look of increased age about the Laird's countenance
that Father Bright did not like. His priestly intuition told him
clearly that there was a turmoil of emotion in the Scotsman's mind
that was ... well, _evil_ was the only word for it.

Lady Duncan was, for the most part, silent. In the past fifteen
minutes, since she and her husband had come to the informal tea, she
had spoken scarcely a dozen words. Her face was masklike, but there
was the same look of haggardness about her eyes as there was in her
husband's face. But the priest's emphatic sense told him that the
emotion here was fear, simple and direct. His keen eyes had noticed
that she wore a shade too much make-up. She had almost succeeded in
covering up the faint bruise on her right cheek, but not completely.

My lady the Countess D'Evreux was all sadness and unhappiness, but
there was neither fear nor evil there. She smiled politely and talked
quietly. Father Bright would have been willing to bet that not one of
the four of them would remember a word that had been spoken.

Father Bright had placed his chair so that he could keep an eye on the
open doorway and the long hall that led in from the Great Keep. He
hoped Lord Darcy would hurry. Neither of the guests had been told that
the Duke's Investigator was here, and Father Bright was just a little
apprehensive about the meeting. The Duncans had not even been told
that the Count's death had been murder, but he was certain that they