The body lay crumpled at the bottom of the steps. Trying not to notice the knife sticking out from the blood soaked jacket, Elizabeth said unsteadily, “It’s the man we saw earlier. Remember? I pointed him out. I was wondering who he was.”

Earl grunted. “Well, at least it’s not anyone you know. That’s got to be a relief.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.” Elizabeth frowned, then crouched down to touch the floor with her fingers. “Confetti,” she murmured, as she stared at the tiny pieces of colored paper. “Bessie must have dropped it when she saw the body-” She broke off as a gruff voice spoke from the head of the steps.

“’Ere, ’ere! Wot’s going on down there, then?”

Elizabeth shaded her eyes against the harsh light of the bare lightbulb. “Oh, there you are, George. I’m afraid we’ve had a bit of bother down here. You had better come and take a look.”

George ducked his head so that his helmet cleared the door frame. “Is that you, your ladyship? Not interfering with the evidence, I trust?”

“Of course not, George. You know better than that.”

“Who’s that with you, then?” George demanded as he clumped down the steps.

“It’s me, Constable.” Earl lifted his hand in a salute.

“Ho, yes, Major Monroe,” George muttered, managing to make the name sound like a contagious disease. “Might have known it were you.”

Elizabeth decided to ignore the subtle disapproval behind the words. “The major and I were trying to identify the victim. I don’t suppose you know who he is, George?”

The constable reached the bottom of the steps, peered at the victim, shoved his helmet further back on his head with his thumb, and frowned. “Looks like he’s been stabbed,” he remarked.

“Amazing deduction,” Earl murmured.

Elizabeth dug him in the ribs with her elbow and was rewarded by a faint, “Oof!”

Luckily George was squatting next to the victim and seemed not to hear the comment. “Can’t say as I know this bloke,” he muttered. “Was he one of the wedding guests?”