A keen member of the Ornithological Society, Miss Miller was delighted by the chance to visit Mattingley Chase, whose extensive grounds included an area of marshland that attracted rare species. The owner, Kyler Mattingley, was a noted recluse but ornithology was his passion, so he allowed four Society members to stay for the weekend.

The guests were familiar to each other from exchanges in the Society’s journal, Tweetings. The ride to the Chase was the first time they had actually met, however.

They were a merry bunch. Miss Wilson was the youngest of the quartet, fashionably dressed, with a special interest in finches and an enthusiasm for photography. Austin Ball was charming and magnificently attired in a cream jacket, dark trousers, black boots and silk kerchief. Clayton Hendricks was an outdoor type strongly built, with a large beard.

Their conversation was dominated by thoughts of Kyler Mattingley.

“I hear tell that Mr Mattingley is an impeccably gracious host,” said Miss Miller.

“A cautious one,” Hendricks replied.

Miss Wilson smiled. “We’re very lucky,” she said.

“Indeed, we are,” said Hendricks.

“We shall just have to ensure that the great Mr Mattingley has no reason to be displeased with our presence,” Ball said. “Maybe that way we can hasten the day when this opportunity is extended to other members of the Society.”

Miss Miller nodded. “Quite. I assume we all remembered our gifts?”

“Of course,” said Hendricks. “I have brought him a book of doves; the illustrations are magnificent.”

“That sounds delightful, Mr Hendricks,” said Miss Wilson. “I’ll have to ask Mr Mattingley for a look.”

When they arrived at the Chase, they were met by Gustav, Mr Mattingley’s man, who showed them to their rooms.

Miss Miller’s bedroom was charming. A comfortable bed and tasteful décor were complemented by a selection of beautiful artworks of birds. There were several sketches, a silver-backed mirror engraved with owls, a small, graceful carving of a jade heron in flight, and a wooden bookend in the form of a woodpecker. But what really caught her eye was a striking oil painting of birds of paradise.

After refreshing themselves, the guests assembled downstairs, clutching their gifts. Kyler Mattingley was there to greet them.

“Welcome, my friends,” he said, smiling. “I so rarely meet people, but I feel as if I know you all already. Where would we be without your lovely studies, Miss Wilson, or, Mr Ball, your hilarious anecdotes?”

After cocktails, the party went into the dining room, where they were served an impressive meal. Afterwards, he opened their gifts with every appearance of delight.

Miss Miller had brought a dozen hand-carved whistles in the likeness of less common woodland birds, in a lacquer box. When blown, each one made the trill of the bird it resembled. Hendricks presented Mattingley with the book of doves, each illustration a masterpiece of both art and biology. Ball gave a rather elegant jade phoenix, caught in the moment of its fiery rebirth, cleverly wrapped in silk. Miss Wilson, finally, had prepared a series of photographic exposures showing the changes in a park near her home over the course of a year, bound in red leather. Eventually, they retired early, to facilitate a dawn start.

Miss Miller had barely dozed off when she was awoken by a heavy knock, and Gustav entered.

“Ah, you at least are in place. Forgive me for disturbing you, Madam, but Mr Mattingley has been murdered. Your companions are not in their rooms.”

“I shall come down directly,” said Miss Miller.

By the time she was dressed and downstairs, the other Society members had been gathered.

“They say Kyler Mattingley is dead!” Miss Wilson exclaimed.

“So I hear,” said Miss Miller. “It’s a terrible business. I was in bed.”

Miss Wilson paused. “I was in the dining room, actually. I wanted to look at Mr Hendricks’ book.”

“I was in the drawing room, enjoying a cigar,” said Ball. “It is my invariable habit.”

Hendricks shrugged. “Well, I was in the kitchen. I need milk to take my medicine with.”

Miss Miller waved to the manservant. “May I have a word, Mr Gustav? He nodded, and she crossed over to him. “I fear that I know who the killer is.”

Who is the assassin, and how does Miss Miller know?

Detection level of difficulty: 4/5