Still no sign of a policeman. I still hadn’t come up with anything credible to say if I encountered one, but spurred on by success so far I listened for noises indicating where the housekeeper might be working. Hearing nothing I peeked into the salon, then went through to the dining room and the studio. There was no sign that she had been in any of them. Everything lay as I saw it last with a film of dust over the long mahogany table. I returned and pushed open the swing door to the kitchen. Pots and pans had been stacked in boxes and the shelves had been cleared. So at least I knew she had been working here. I returned to the foyer and went down the hall leading to the bedrooms. I froze as I heard a muttered exclamation coming from Bryce’s bedroom, then I tiptoed toward the sound. The housekeeper was in there, taking items out of the chest of drawers. For a moment I wondered if she had counted the handkerchiefs and noticed that one was now missing. She went on removing shirts and underclothing and placing them in a trunk that now lay on the feather mattress of the stripped bed.

Now I had to think how to attract her attention without startling her and making her cry out. I retreated a few paces then called, “Madame, are you here? A message for you from the inspector.”

She came out, her eyes darting nervously, wiping down her hands on her apron. “The inspector? What does he want now?”

Then she stopped when she saw me. “You? What do you want? You are not from the police. You should not be here. Get out immediately or I will summon the constable outside.”

“Ah, but he let me in, madame,” I said. “The inspector understands that as a representative of the Bryce family in America I would want to ask you some questions and be here when you pack up his things.”

“What kind of questions?” she snapped. “I don’t need to answer any questions. There is nothing I can tell you.”

“You could begin by telling me what was in those large bags I saw you carrying away yesterday.” I held her gaze and noticed the eyes darting nervously again. She ran her tongue over her thin lips.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said at last.

“Of course you do. You went in and helped yourself to Mr. Bryce’s things. As a representative of Mr. Bryce’s cousin—who may well inherit all of this, I should report this criminal act to the police. I have not done so, but I will if you do not help me now.”

“Help you to do what?”