Sidney Chambers and The Shadow of Death (The Grantchester Mysteries)

in front of me.’ Daphne looked at Juliette. ‘It was there. I couldn’t help it.’
    ‘My God,’ Nigel exclaimed. ‘You stole the ring in the house of one of your best friends. Are you aware of the effect this has had on Juliette?’
    ‘It was her or my father. I made a choice.’
    Johnny interrupted. ‘How did you do it, Daphne?’
    ‘I am sure Canon Chambers can explain.’
    Sidney began. ‘It did look as if you were the criminal, Mr Johnson. Miss Young was aware of your father’s history and could feel quite confident that you would be blamed; she even tried to do this herself. Then, if that didn’t work, there was always Mrs Thompson.’
    ‘But she has never stolen anything,’ Mary Dowland cut in.
    ‘No,’ Sidney lied. This was not the time for further revelation. ‘But she was upset and distracted and it would be a simple matter to make her think she had taken the ring even when she had not.’
    Juliette Thompson looked at Sidney. ‘So I was right? I never had the ring?’
    ‘It was taken from your place. For the criminal to act in such a way when there were two ready suspects was tempting . . .’
    Daphne cut in. ‘I am not a criminal. I didn’t think of it like that.’
    ‘It must have been when Nigel dropped the champagne,’ said Johnny. ‘Daphne was picking up bits of broken glass . . .’
    ‘Miss Young, to you.’
    ‘But I would have seen her,’ said Mary Dowland. ‘I had the dustpan and brush.’
    ‘But,’ Sidney explained, ‘Miss Young had the dishcloth. It was a simple matter to wipe away the ring at the same time as she mopped the table. If anyone noticed she could easily explain her behaviour as absent-mindedness and put it back. But if no one spotted her . . .’
    ‘But how could she hide the thing?’ Johnny Johnson asked. ‘She emptied her bag on to the table and opened her purse. There was nothing in it.’
    ‘That was something of a masterstroke. To conceal the ring in an item that had already been searched and then to walk calmly away . . .’
    ‘But how?’ Amanda asked.
    Sidney began to walk round the table. ‘The idea came to me when I was searching the room myself. It was the first time that I have been permitted to be on my own in this house and I was able to think the matter over without distraction. Then I remembered one of my friend Inspector Keating’s first questions. “Did you look under the table?” ’
    ‘Of course we did,’ answered Nigel.
    ‘I don’t think you understand. When I say “under the table” I mean something slightly different. Miss Kendall, and Mr Johnson, I would like you to think about your positions at dinner.’
    ‘I was sitting next to the host and Johnny was next to the hostess,’ Amanda answered.
    ‘My God,’ said Johnny Johnson, ‘I think you have got it.’
    ‘You are also sitting, as is Miss Young, at the ridge of the table, where it extends. Of course, this is not noticeable with a tablecloth, but it is common enough. At Miss Young’s place there is a slight scratch mark in the ridge where she hid the ring.’
    ‘You mean it was wedged in the ridge underneath the table?’ asked Nigel
    ‘Exactly so. And then removed when Miss Young went to fetch her stole. We, of course, were all distracted by the contents of her handbag. The action would have required only the simplest sleight of hand.’
    Daphne Young rose from her seat. ‘Very good, Canon Chambers. We can all applaud your persistence. If only you had demonstrated the same level of dedication to the priesthood. I presume you have summoned the police.’
    ‘As a matter of fact, I have not. I think it is for Miss Kendall to decide. It is her ring.’
    Guy Hopkins cut in. ‘I rather think it is mine.’
    ‘You gave it to me,’ Amanda Kendall replied.
    ‘But you have turned me down. I think a return is customary.’
    One thing Sidney had not expected was the aftermath of his revelation. Daphne Young took advantage of the hiatus and walked to the door. ‘I shall leave you all to it. I am expected at the opera. You have my address.’
    ‘Daphne,’ Nigel Thompson announced before she left. ‘You will never be welcome in this house again.’
    His former guest replied without emotion, ‘I have no excuse.’
    The assembled company listened to her footsteps recede in the hall and the front door open and close. They even heard her sharp whistle for a taxi. ‘What an extraordinary woman,’ said Mary Dowland. ‘She never even apologised.’
    ‘I