"None at all on a Sunday." Hugh cast him a flickering smile. "Quite safe to park a car there."
The Inspector shook his head admiringly. "It's wonderful the way you read what's in my mind, sir."
The gates of the Dower House came into sight upon the left-hand side of the road, and beyond them the little humpbacked bridge over the stream. The lane curved away to the right, and the Inspector inquired whether they were running beside the grounds of Palings. Hugh nodded, and presently pointed out the entrance to the garage. Fifty yards on, he turned the car in at the main gate, andd drove up the neat avenue to the front door.
"Well, here we are," Hugh said. He got out of the car, and was just about to ring the bell when Vicky came round the corner of the house. "You can prepare yourself for the first shock, Inspector," he said. "Hullo, Vicky! Gone into half-mourning?"
Vicky, who was wearing a frock of white organdie with an artless sash of black velvet ribbon with immensely long ends, replied: "Oh, I think white is so suitable for a young girl don't you? I began to feel like Anna Karenina, so I changed, because it was all very exhausting."
The Inspector had climbed out of the car, and was regarding Vicky with frank approbation. Hugh said: "Let me introduce Inspector Hemingway, of Scotland Yard, Miss Fanshawe."
"From Scotland Yard?" repeated Vicky, turning a face of the deepest reproach towards Hugh. "What a viprous thing to do! Oh, I think you're the most repellent creature I've ever met! In fact, not merely sub-human, but a snake and a traitor as well!"
"One of your dramatic days, I see," said Hugh, quite unmoved. "Don't mind the Inspector, will you? And get it out of your head that I sent for him: all I did was to give him a lift from the village."
"Just when Ermyntrude's been upset again!" Vicky said. She looked critically at Hemingway, and suddenly bestowed an unexpectedly beguiling smile upon him. "Oh, I like you more than Inspector Cook! Has he told you about my being practically on the scene of the crime? Isn't it ghoulish?"
"He told me that you didn't hear or see anything unusual," replied Hemingway diplomatically. "Nor yet your dog either." He glanced at the black ribbon which she had tied round her head to keep the feathery curls in position. "What I'm wondering is whether you happened to lose a hair-slide in the shrubbery at any time?"