A glint shone in the Chief Inspector’s eyes.
“What were you doing?”
Mr. Menticle sprang to his feet.
“Mr. Coroner!” he exclaimed.
The Coroner held up his hand.
“You need not answer that question unless you like, Mr. Fratten,” he said. “I do not know where this examination is trending, but I think it probable that you would be wise to consult your solicitor, and to be represented by him.”
Fratten gave him a smile of gratitude.
“Thank you, sir,” he said. “It isn’t really a case of a solicitor. I am not afraid of incriminating myself, but I do rather dislike exposing myself to ridicule. I was waiting in St. James’s Park, at the Buckingham Palace end of the Birdcage Walk, to be picked up by a girl.”
“Picked up by a girl! Do you mean . . . ?”
“I mean,” interrupted Fratten, blushing hotly, “that a girl—a lady—had arranged to pick me up there in her car.”