Charles asked, his impatience hiding his fear that he was either too late or had the wrong information. Had Miss Wellfleet known, or just guessed the name of the rose? Collina. It had to refer to someone named Collins. Or did it mean that the murder would occur on a hill? The rose was also known as the Flat-flowered Hill rose. Which name was correct? Sir Edward stared at him. After a moment, he looked at the floor and pounded his brass-tipped cane at measured intervals, his thin lips moving as if he counted the beats. “I told you, no,” he said at last. “Are you sure? Someone may die unless we identify her, or him, first.” “Well, there’s the butcher. I believe his name is Collins, and I’d certainly mourn the loss of his roasts,” his uncle replied sarcastically. “And of course the artist, William Collins, though I am not acquainted with him. However, I understand he has painted some extraordinary rustic scenes—” “Sir Edward, please! This is important. Does the name mean anything to you, anything at all?”
