Lily tilted her chin in defiance and handed over the envelope.
Joe took it, stern faced, refusing to open it in her presence. He watched her turn away. She must be aware that no one could treat a senior officer with such lack of respect and get away with it. Not even his equals or superiors would descend to such rudeness. In a building patrolled by his minions, she could expect to find a heavy hand descending on her shoulder before she could make it out into the courtyard.
With a show of unconcern, he didn’t rise and come to open the door for her. While she struggled with the knob, he called after her, casual and cheery: ‘Off now, are you? Look — don’t think of going far, will you?’
As she closed the door behind her, his hand reached out to the electric buzzer on his desk.
Miss Jameson emerged from her room opposite just as Lily prepared to set off down the corridor. ‘Constable! A moment!’ She ducked back into her room.
Lily started off and then turned to see Miss Jameson stalking after her, carrying an extravagant bouquet of white flowers. They looked each other over in mutual puzzlement.
‘I’ve been keeping these fresh in my room since this morning,’ Miss Jameson said accusingly. ‘I think they’ve survived. Glad to be rid of them — they were making my room smell like a funeral parlour. The commander brought them in. He’d like you to have them.’
‘Me? Are you sure? But why?’ Lily said unguardedly.
Miss Jameson shrugged an elegant shoulder. ‘Who can say? If you don’t know, I’m sure no one else does. He’s a law unto himself. He’s known to indulge, on occasion, in … whimsicality.’ The distaste in her voice suggested whimsicality might well be accounted the eighth deadly sin. ‘There’s a note in there, you’ll find.’ She turned on her heel.
Alone in the corridor, Lily fished out a small florist’s envelope, opened it and took out a note written in black ink. Present yourself here at 6 p.m. Saturday week in Mata Hari mode. Something sparkling at the wrist and throat? I have another little problem you can help me with. JS.