“None,” said Pomeroy, “provided the caretaker has instructions to take orders from me.”
Miss Seneschal gasped.
“I don’t think you quite understand,” she said. “I should be paying the caretaker.”
“Exactly,” said Pomeroy. “And when I rolled up with my baggage she’d send for the police.”
“She’d have instructions to permit you to enter.”
“She’d have ten minutes to clear out,” was the violent reply. “I’m not going to be followed about my own house by a glassy-eyed sleuth in somebody else’s pay.”
Speechless with indignation, Belinda crowded lightning into her beautiful eyes.
“I know a very good man,” continued Pomeroy, apparently addressing the cornice. “If you like I’ll send him to see you. I shall tell him that you are his mistress and——”
“That,” said Belinda, “would be misleading. No nominee of yours will enter Les Iles d’Or.”
“Look here,” said Forsyth. “By the merest chance I happen to be going to Biarritz in six days’ time. If you like I’ll install a caretaker and have an inventory made. Copies to each of you, of course. I’ll find a good agent and tell him to pay the caretaker and keep an eye on the house. He’d better report to you both once a month. When you propose to reside you’ll let him know and he’ll make the necessary arrangements. If anything has to be done at any time he’ll write to you both, and your two signatures will be his authority to go ahead.”