‘We’re trying to find a young woman who we think stayed here on the 12th or maybe the 11th.’
‘We don’t encourage inquiries about our visitors, Mr. Malloy.’
He was as stiff as a Dowager watching a bubble dance.
‘That I can understand. But she happens to be this young lady’s sister.’ I waved to Paula, who gave him a look from under her eyelashes that made his knees buckle. ‘She ran away from home and we’re anxious to trace her.’
‘Oh, I see.’ He hesitated. ‘Well, perhaps, in that case I might… What is her name?’
‘We think she was staying here under an assumed name. You don’t get many unattached young women staying here, do you?’
He shook his head regretfully.
‘Actually, not. I think I know the one you mean. Miss Mary Henderson, if I remember rightly.’ He flicked the pages of the register, ran a well-manicured finger down a page, paused. ‘Yes; Miss Henderson. Tall, dark, distinctly pretty. Would that be the one?’
‘Sounds like her. She wore a wine-coloured evening gown and a black silk wrap on the evening of the 12th.’
He nodded, patted his lips with a snow-white handkerchief and gave Paula a dazzling smile.