“No need to be nervous, my lord,” Buckett consoled.  “We are all friends here.  We all are after the same thing.”

            “And what is that, inspector?”

            “The truth, Lord Michael, the truth.  Miss Hester, what is your relationship with the Harcourts?”

            “I am Colonel Winterson’s ward.  I have also been his nurse for the past two years.”

            “A health condition he has, does he?”

            “Yes, sir.  It is called morbid catatonia.  It occurred two years ago just after the death of his wife.

            “Morbid catatonia,” Buckett repeated aloud.  “And that is?”

            “It is a nervous malady, inspector,” Thayer said.  “The patient suddenly withdraws from everything and becomes as though he were an infant- unable to walk, talk, feed himself and…”

            “Yes, I believe I have the picture, doctor.  Thank you.”

            Buckett noticed one of the other constables on the detail stood at the parlor door motioning to him.  Buckett gave a quick apology and joined the officer.  Their conversation was punctuated a nod of the inspector’s head at the beginning, a quick shake of his head near the middle, and a series of rapid fire nods that signaled its end.  The constable gave the inspector a quick salute and then hurried off to carry out his assignment.

            “I have dispatched one of my lads to fetch Doctor Grimsley.  The body of Mr. Braden will need to be sent to the morgue,” Buckett announced.

            “Will there be an inquest?”