“How stupid of me! I never noticed the postmark. It was sent from the Rue Littré.”
This was less than ten minutes’ walk from the studio. Susie looked at the message with perplexity.
“I wonder if someone has been playing a silly practical joke on me.” She shrugged her shoulders. “But it’s too foolish. If I were a suspicious woman,” she smiled, “I should think you had sent it yourself to get me out of the way.”
The idea flashed through Margaret that Oliver Haddo was the author of it. He might easily have seen Nancy’s name on the photograph during his first visit to the studio. She had no time to think before she answered lightly.
“If I wanted to get rid of you, I should have no hesitation in saying so.”
“I suppose no one has been here?” asked Susie.
“No one.”
The lie slipped from Margaret’s lips before she had made up her mind to tell it. Her heart gave a great beat against her chest. She felt herself redden.
Susie got up to light a cigarette. She wished to rest her nerves. The box was on the table and, as she helped herself, her eyes fell carelessly on the address that Haddo had left. She picked it up and read it aloud.
“Who on earth lives there?” she asked.