‘Did you see Honeysett? Was he of any help?’
‘Yes. He tried his best. But his female employee gave away little about herself. Did her job well. Went home at the end of the day. She never socialized with the rest of the staff. We checked on her three referees. Princess Ratziatinsky — conveniently or sinisterly, depending on your point of view — was one of them. Conspiracy are we suspecting? She was the only one who gave a telephone number so, naturally, it was to her that Honeysett approached initially. Satisfied by all he heard from that establishment and being unable to make swift contact with the others — one was a lady at present travelling in Europe and the other a military gentleman posted to the North West Frontier province a year ago …’
‘False, sir?’
‘I don’t doubt it. Honeysett was devastated. Angry to have been taken for a ride. There was no intention on the steward’s part to deceive, of course. He told us what he knew. But what he knew was a load of codswallop. No such girl ever at that address. And where have we heard this sorry tale before? Bells ringing, are they? So there we are. Again. Now — I’ve spoken to the princess. You made a good impression. And tell me, did she come up with anything that interested you?’
The girl seemed amused. Worse than that, she was grinning at him. She took off her hat and began to fan herself with it. Her straw-coloured hair stuck out round her face and he realized that she was, in fact, a bit breathless but shining with excitement. His mother’s cat, the ghastly old tiger-striped killer — what was his name? Tippoo — came to mind. Electrified by triumph. Hair on end, Lily had come to tell him she’d killed a rat and he might expect to put his foot on the squishy corpse the moment he stepped outside.
‘Oh yes, she did, sir! She gave me the name of the woman who tried to poison the prince and told me where she was living. I went straight round there — oh, I know, disobeying orders, and I expect you’ll be angry with me, but it was on my way back …’
‘Get on, constable!’
‘Well, she made fools of Bacchus and his Keystone Kops, but I’ve got her, sir!’
Joe looked anxiously at the door. ‘Got her? Lord! You’ve not left a body down at reception, Wentworth? What on earth have you done?’
‘Oh, nothing like that! No fisticuffs. But I did some detecting. I know what she looks like, I know who she is and I can guess where she is but I can’t for the life of me work out why this woman would want the prince dead. Or Admiral Lord Dedham or Churchill or Lloyd George. Perhaps you’ll be able to tell me?’