He was gone before Madeline could respond with more than a surprised, “Thank you!”

“Your husband,” she added, after the door had closed behind him, “can be quite charming when he chooses.”

Staring after him, Cecily murmured, “Quite. He even surprises me sometimes.” Baxter rarely brought work home from the office, and never at Christmastime. Perhaps whatever was worrying him had to do with his business. She would be sure to ask him at the earliest opportunity.

Just then a light tap on the door startled her. “I hope that’s Kevin.” Cecily hurried to open it, and stepped back as a short, stocky man in a constable’s uniform dragged his helmet from his head.

“It’s me again, m’m.”

“Yes, so I see.” She beckoned for the constable to enter, then followed him into the room.

He waited for her to sit down before taking a seat himself. “I ’ave h’examined the body,” he said, adopting the pompous tone he used to deliver official business. “It seems clear to me what happened.” He paused with an expectant look, waiting for her reaction.

Knowing he would not continue until she had practically begged for information, Cecily took a deep breath. “Do tell me,” she said, trying not to sound irritated. “Exactly what do you think happened?”

The constable looked immensely pleased with himself. “Well, it went like this, m’m. The gargoyle was either blown off the roof by the wind, or it slipped off of its own accord and fell, where it landed on the head of Charles Baker, who, I believe, was one of your footmen ’ere at the Pennyfoot.”

“That’s correct,” Cecily said solemnly.

“Right. Ah…” He paused, fumbled in the breast pocket of his uniform, dragged out a notebook, and flipped it open. “The blow most likely killed him, so I’m putting this down as h’an accident. Should the doctor find anything untoward, which I’m not expecting, I shall investigate further. Otherwise the case is closed.”