"Where is Mrs. Harper now?"

"Home. Her servants rallied round and got her away."

I was becoming more and more intrigued by this Imogene Harper. Why had she gone into the room where she'd found Turner? How had she gotten the blood on her glove without putting her hand on the knife or the wound itself? And why the devil did Brandon agree to Pomeroy's accusation that Mrs. Harper was his mistress?

"I must meet this woman," I said.

Grenville gave me an odd look. "I'd never seen her before tonight. You did not know her?"

"No."

"Hmm."

He opened a door with panels picked out in gold. The room behind the door was small, a retiring room for the convenience of the guests.

Scarlet damask covered the upper walls which were framed by gold-painted panels. The wainscoting was pale gray, also framed in gold leaf. The ceiling, much lower than that of the ballroom, had been painted with a gaudy scene of Apollo and his chariot chasing nymphs across an arch of sky.

The only furniture in the room was a slim-legged Sheraton writing table and a small Sheraton chair with two carved slats on its back. The tastefully austere table and chair contrasted sharply with the ornamentation of the walls and ceiling.

"He was found here." Grenville pointed to the chair. "Slumped forward, as though he'd fallen asleep or was foxed. Lord Gillis himself lifted him, and then we saw the knife in his chest. His eyes were open, but he was quite dead."

I studied the chair and writing table. Both pieces of furniture were innocuous, betraying nothing of Turner's sudden and violent death. The desk presented a smooth, golden satinwood surface with an inlaid design on its edges. Nothing rested on its top.

The chair faced the desk, away from the door. I circled chair and desk once then stopped.