"I shouldn't wonder."
"Where are we going, sir?"
"Chelsea Reach. Beloved of painters and folk dancers."
Williams looked benignly at his superior and noticed how much better he was looking now that the Tisdall boy had turned up.
The police boat drew in to the bank at 276 River Walk where a large grayish motorboat was moored. The police boat edged gingerly nearer until only a foot separated the gunwales.
Grant stepped across. "Come with me, Williams. I want witnesses."
The cabin was locked. Grant glanced up at the house opposite and shook his head. "I'll have to risk it. I'm sure I'm right, anyhow."
While the river police stood by, he forced the lock and went in. It was a tidy, seamanlike cabin; everything was neat and ship-shape. Grant began to go through the lockers. In the one under the starboard bunk he found what he was looking for. An oilskin coat. Black. Bought in Cannes. With the button missing from the right cuff.
"You take that, Williams, and come up to the house with me."
The maid said that Miss Keats was in, and left them in a dining room on the ground floor; a very austere and up-to-the-minute apartment.