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he stayed home. He said he had some personal correspondence to see to and that he’d need Kitty to take a letter to the postbox.”
    â€œDid he have any visitors?”
    â€œMr. Ralston came by. Mr. Ralston is one of the directors of the Granger Mine, and this was the first time he’s been here since the bankruptcy was made public.”
    â€œWas Mr. Edison surprised or upset by the visit?”
    â€œOh no, they were quite cordial to one another. But then, Mr. Edison never let business sour him on people.”
    * * *
    Downstairs, Barnes had finished speaking to Mrs. Green, the cook, and was now with the maid, Kitty Long. She was a chubby, blonde-haired young lass with blue eyes red rimmed from crying and nice, even features. “Are you feeling better, miss?”
    â€œYes, sir, thank you, but it was such a shock.” She dabbed at her cheeks with a tear-stained handkerchief. “Mr. Edison is—I mean was—such a good master. Why would anyone want to kill him? I don’t understand. How can this be happening? Where will I go? I only just got this job a few months ago.”
    â€œNow, now, I’m sure you’ll be fine. I imagine you can stay on here until everything is sorted out, but if we’re to catch the person who did this, you must get hold of yourself and keep calm.”
    She sucked in a lungful of air and exhaled heavily. “You’re right, I mustn’t be so selfish. Mrs. Clarridge has already said she’ll make sure we all get a good reference and she has a friend who runs a domestic employment agency. But I don’t know what I can tell you. We were all gone when he was killed. Mr. Edison had bought us tickets to the theater.”
    â€œThis was a Christmas treat, was it?” Barnes opened his little brown notebook and picked up his pencil.
    â€œIt was a surprise.” She grinned. “He told us yesterday morning: He came right down to the servants’ hall just as we finished breakfast and announced he’d bought us tickets to
The Shop Girl
at the Gaiety. Everyone was so excited and then he said he was giving us pocket money to buy sweets and come home in hansom cabs. Can you imagine, sir, hansom cabs!”
    â€œHe sounds a very generous employer.” Barnes nodded encouragingly as he flipped open his notebook.
    â€œHe was, sir.” Her eyes flooded with tears but she blinked them back. “Mrs. Clarridge offered to stay back in case he needed something, but he wouldn’t have it. He said he could fend for himself and that he was meeting a friend for supper at Barnaby’s Restaurant and we were to go and enjoy ourselves. So as soon as we had our evening meal, we tidied up and then left.”
    â€œWhat time did you go?”
    â€œSix o’clock,” she replied. “We caught the omnibus on the corner and then changed to the Strand omnibus on Haymarket Street. That got us to the Gaiety a half hour before the curtain went up.”
    â€œWhen you left the house, did you notice anyone hanging around, anyone suspicious looking?” He always hated asking this. Most murderers, especially ones that had planned their crime, went to great lengths to fade into the background. But it was a question that needed to be asked.
    Her brows drew together as she thought back to the start of the evening. “I didn’t notice anyone. But this is a busy street”—she pointed toward the front of the house—“and there were lots of people out shopping, carolers, and tradespeople making deliveries. That’s why we left so early for the theater, because there was so much traffic.”
    â€œDid you leave by the front door?”
    â€œNo, the servants’ door.”
    â€œThe one on the lower ground floor at the front of the house?”
    â€œThat’s the tradesmen’s door, sir; it’s only used for deliveries. It’s a bit bigger than the other doors. It’s always kept