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though hooked together over the bridge of his aristocratic nose.
    â€œMy father found the Kimberly Diamond? Balderdash! What is this, Rogan, more of Henry’s Folly? I wish that will of his had never mentioned leaving you a map.”
    Rogan held his questions and, after that meeting, never again went to his father on the subject. Had he tried to justify himself, showing the map or diary pages, the news would soon have reached Julien in Cape House. Rogan had long been rankled by the way he saw his father submit to his stepbrother. All through the years he had grown up at Rookswood, he had longed to see his father confront Julien head-on. But whenever opportunity arose, his father, Lyle, always backed down, insisting, “Conflict is foolish,” and would withdraw to another room to lose himself in his private interests.

    Rogan replaced the map and diary pages into a leather envelope he wore on his person to guarantee safety, then glanced at his pocket watch. It was close to midnight. Tomorrow the ship would be entering the Cape harbor. That is, if the storm did not delay them. Sir Lyle or Aunt Elosia would have wired Cape House that he was aboard the HMS
King George
. Would Julien be waiting? More than likely he would be riled that Rogan had not completed a full year in the family diamond business in London. Rogan knew his uncle would assume he had found the work too tame and, longing for action, had grown restless.
    To occupy time alone in the cabin, he picked up a pencil and turned his attention to his personal journal. He had begun writing down what he knew of Henry’s death when he’d departed London. Then, as ideas accumulated, he grew interested in trying to make more sense of his mysterious death.

    Rogan scowled. He looked at the last entry he’d made the night before, dated the first week of July. He mused over his own words as he reread them.
    Henry Chantry was not the manner of man to snuff out his own life. He was not prone to any emotional disheartenment that might provoke such an act. He would be the first to scoff at such a notion if he could have attended his own inquest. He was too bold to leave his burdens behind for others to carry
.
    As far as I know, my uncle was not a religious man, but he did respect the church. I do not believe he would look upon the doorway of death as an escape, if he were unsure what lay ahead for such a man as he. Taking his life would be too easy for my uncle. He had fought wildly and bitterly to stay alive when under attack by Shona tribesmen on his last expedition near the Zambezi. He had lost his guide, Bertrand Mornay, and a bushman called Sam in a wild scramble to survive. No, Uncle Henry would not have committed suicide
.
    Then what happened that night?
    Members of every branch of the family were all reported to be in London at a family wedding the night of his death. But I have ridden the late train from London to Grimston Way enough times to know that any one of them might have done the same, taking the short trip to Rookswood and then returning without being missed
.
    Henry had been working at the estate in his upstairs rooms. The murderer must have known this and gone up to the third floor. But who?… Julien, Anthony Brewster, Lady Camilla? Yes, even my own father Lyle or my maiden aunt, Lady Elosia? Any one of them might have come to meet with Henry about the Black Diamond or the map on that fatal night
.
    If I hadn’t been so young, I might have been awake to hear footsteps
inching their way up the stairs, across the second floor hall, and the steps up to the third floor… I might have heard the pistol go off. If only…
    Rogan tapped his chin and sighed. He snapped the journal closed and placed it inside his leather satchel. Outside, the wind increased. Restless and eager to disembark, he stood up just as the ship pitched violently, and losing his balance, he struck his head on the protruding cabin bulkhead. Leaning on one knee