Mellon obeyed. “The best I can recall, it was here.”

Hermione’s eyes hadn’t left Mellon, but as he straightened, she glanced at Christian expectantly.

Unsure what was going on, he looked at Mellon and asked the obvious question. “How do you imagine the key got there?”

“I can’t rightly say, my lord.”

“If you had to guess?”

“I think…that Lord Vaux locked the door behind him, then slipped the key back under the door.”

Christian nodded. That seemed the most likely explanation, except…“Why would Lord Vaux do that? If he’d just murdered your master in gruesome fashion, why go to the bother of locking the door and slipping the key back inside?”

Mellon frowned, unable to answer.

“To give himself time to scarper.”

The words drew all eyes to the door; they came from a whippet-thin individual who’d appeared in the hall. One glance at his ferrety features and Christian knew who he was.

Letitia had stiffened to a scarifying degree. In tones worthy of the haughtiest duchess, she said, “Dearne, permit me to introduce Mr. Barton. Of Bow Street.”

She didn’t need to say anything more; her tone effectively conveyed her contempt. Clearly Barton had already succeeded in thoroughly putting up her back.

Deliberately mild, Christian nodded to Barton. “Lady Randall has asked me to investigate the circumstances surrounding her husband’s death. Might I ask why you imagine Lord Justin Vaux has, to use your phrase, ‘scarpered’?”

Barton wasn’t at all sure how to act toward him; Christian left him to make up his own mind, which resulted in Barton opting for caution. He answered civilly. “In light of the circumstances, I’ve been around to his lordship’s lodgings. I was given to understand that her ladyship here”-Barton glanced at Letitia-“sent a message requesting his presence earlier, but had received no reply. Not surprising, as his lordship has disappeared.”