“It will be as well for you to lock this cupboard and keep the key for the present. Unless there is anything that Madame Bonnell particularly wishes to remove first.”
Madame glanced longingly at the row of mysterious little boxes and bottles, but she prudently shook her head.
“Merci, monsieur. I will take nothing. I wish to have no secrets from the police. I prefer to replace my perfumes from the shop.”
Tarleton smiled with a grudging respect. This was an adversary after his own heart, one who knew every point in the game, and knew when to play for safety. The Inspector locked the door and pocketed the key with the same wooden precision with which he would have taken the number of a taxi or arrested the Crown Prince of Slavonia.
“Is Madame Bonnell still under arrest?” he inquired stolidly.
“Not as far as I am concerned,” the physician said lightly. “My business with Madame is over. All I have to do now is to make the medical examination, and to wait for the result of your inquiries elsewhere.”
A significant nod conveyed to the Inspector that there was no occasion to let the Frenchwoman know of the search that had been set on foot among the costumiers. It was not unlikely that the proprietress of the club could have thrown some light on the identity of Salome and the mysterious Leopardess, and could have told us whether the Crown Prince had masqueraded as Zenobia, if she had chosen. But it was a good deal more likely that any question put to her on the subject would result in the parties being privately warned.
Inspector Charles formally released his prisoner who affected to take the step as a matter of course. I had remarked, however, a light of intense gratification in her black eyes when Sir Frank announced that he had dismissed her from the case. She impressed me as the sort of woman who could never breathe quite easily in the near neighbourhood of the police.
The arrangements for the removal of the body were soon made. A covered police-van was requisitioned to convey it to the retired house in Montague Street, and the consultant and I drove on in advance, taking the black-covered volumes with us. He talked to me quite cheerfully on the way.
“An interesting woman, that. Her mind would be a curious study for a psychologist—a real one, I mean, not a charlatan like this wretched Weathered. The words right and wrong have no meaning at all for her, I should say. She must find it difficult to understand our point of view. In her opinion, I expect, the only thing that matters is that the name of the Crown Prince should be kept clear of scandal. If he has chosen to commit a murder, all that is necessary is that the King of Slavonia should send me the Order of Saint Somebody or other, and of course the investigation will be dropped.”