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out into the hall. The Tweedles retreated to the stairs, and Annette stayed huddled in a corner of the room, watching.
    The medic, who looked like he had barely graduated from high school, tried to get a pulse—or a nonpulse, as the case might be—poked and prodded Worth, opened his eyes, shone a light on them, then dropped his hands and stood up.
    “How long has he been like this?” the medic asked.
    I answered, since I was the one who’d found him. “It’s been at least ten minutes. But I found him this way, so I have no idea how long.”
    “He’s dead,” the medic said and snapped his bag shut. “I’ll call it at three-fifteen.”

TEN

    The Morning After
    T he next morning, I found Caldwell tucked behind the Guardian at the small table in the kitchen, with an empty cup and saucer sitting in front of him. He looked like he had been up for a few hours and like his head wasn’t pounding at all.
    He gave me a grim smile. “You had a long night. They took Mr. Worth’s body away very shortly after you went back to bed. Unfortunately, his death was not unexpected. His wife should probably not have let him come on this type of trip. His heart, you know. It’s not been in good shape for a while. Butit’s still very sad.” Then he said, “No one else is up yet. Are you ready for your tea?”
    “Gallons, please. I’m still fighting off jet lag.” He stood up and shooed me out of the kitchen. A few minutes later, he came into the sitting room with a silver pot and poured me a stream of tea.
    “Jet lag can be nasty,” he concurred.
    “And three pints of beer didn’t help either,” I reminded him. “Which is about six times what I normally drink.”
    “Oww, I wondered,” he said. “I forget that you Americans aren’t used to the real stuff.”
    He was trying to tease me, and I was hardly in the mood. “Of course, I suppose it didn’t help that Thad and Treat kept ordering more rounds.”
    “Thad and Treat?” I asked, wondering who he meant.
    “You know, the two old chaps who joined us last night.”
    I almost laughed. “I thought their names were Twad and Tweed.” I had to hold on to the sides of my head, as any movement was causing it to throb.
    “They really are nice old fellows. It’s hard to find people to talk cricket with these days.”
    “I suppose, what with the sticky wickets and all.”
    Caldwell laughed, then said, “I’ll go get your breakfast.”
    As he went back down the hall, I vaguely remembered him asking if I would like a real English breakfast in the morning. Not knowing what else to say, I had agreed to it. Usually I had peanut butter on toast for breakfast.
    He came back carrying aloft a large plate, which he plunked down in front of me with great ceremony. My eyes widened and my stomach shivered. There were two eggs swimming in grease, with four sausages nestled next to them, and a piece of bacon with a grilled half tomato. Thank goodness for the bread cooling on a rack next to the plate.
    “You are going to eat some of this, aren’t you?” I asked.
    “No, that’s all for you. I don’t usually eat much for breakfast.”
    I knew the eggs would be good for me and I thought I could probably stomach the tomato. I wanted to tip the plate and pour off all of the grease, or at least pat it with my napkin, but I knew that would not be the thing to do. I held up one of the eggs on a fork and let it drip a bit before I carefully placed it in the middle of a piece of toast. When I took a bite, it tasted better than I expected. I found I was somewhat hungry.
    Caldwell asked, “I’m sorry about your first night in England. But I suppose you could use it for research.”
    For a moment I had no idea what he was talking about. Then I remembered that I was a mystery writer. “Well, before finding Mr. Worth, it went fine. When you went up to the bar, I talked to some blond guy there who said he hung out with the seedier elements of London. He said his name was Guy. I never quite