‘All’s well. I mean, better than you might fear.’ Joe told him. ‘It could have been worse. Look, I want you to take some … er … professional shots. For my album. Have you any flash powder left? Can you do this?’
Cyril took in the scene with a few swift glances, muttering, ‘Listen, I ought to warn you — they’re saying out there in the ballroom that the Prince of Wales has been murdered. Rumour’s going round like wildfire. They’re talking of storming the barricades to find out. Half the men are ex-soldiers, half the women ex-girlfriends! What I’d call an unstable mix. Concern is at fever pitch. Thought you ought to know. The princess is keeping the lid on it for the moment, but it can’t last.’
He went into action, showing all the disciplined anticipation of a police photographer and responding smoothly to Joe’s every guiding gesture. When he’d done, he told Joe: ‘I’ll go straight back and get the night staff on to this. I’ll bring the results round to the Yard myself as soon as I have them.’
Joe returned to the table, examining the dishes and glasses. Rupert went to stand at his shoulder.
‘I’ll get this lot sketched and labelled and then bagged up, sir,’ he said doubtfully. ‘It won’t be easy.’
‘The steward will lend a hand.’
Honeysett approached, nodding understanding.
‘Honeysett, we need to convey the entire contents of the table back to the laboratory. A formality,’ Joe said, holding up a hand to forestall any protests. ‘No one is pointing the finger at your food. And your cooperation in the matter would be appreciated, if you understand me? No one, after all, would want to start an unhelpful rumour concerning the quality of the shellfish, now would they? Sure you’ll agree.’
‘Understood, sir.’
Joe turned his attention to the Prince of Wales. ‘Sir, one last thing to ask, and it’s a tricky one. Please feel free to-’