“Yes, yes. Maybe I’ll get there someday, but—”

“Excuse me,” Livingston interrupted as the young couple looked at him gratefully and grabbed their suitcases. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to have a word with you.”

“Yes. Certainly. ’Bye now,” the innkeeper called to the departing duo, who were now halfway out the door.

“I’m Inspector Livingston. I spoke with you this morning.”

“Indeed. You’re the one who wants to know about Cameron Hardwick. I’ve been thinking about him since you called. A nice enough chap, I suppose. An American. But picky, picky, picky.”

“Do you think we could talk about this in private?” Livingston asked even as he acknowledged that there seemed to be no one else around. From the sound of all the activity during the phone call this morning, you would have thought it was the Ritz.

“Certainly. By the way, I’m Mason Hicks.” The man’s look of curiosity was hearty. “Now let me summon my helper so he can man the desk while we go into my private office.” He hit a circular bell at his desk three times. “I should have called him to carry their suitcases out,” he added as he pointed his finger in the direction of the front door and then, temporarily exasperated, hit the bell twice again.

A timid-looking oldster appeared from around the corner. The Palace Guard, Livingston thought.

“Rodney, do you think you can man the desk? We have a great emergency here, yes yes,” Hicks declared.

Rodney squared his shoulders as he took command. “Er, would you like some tea first?” he asked politely.

“No, thank you,” Livingston replied.

Hicks led him into a tiny musty-smelling office whose walls abounded with pictures of hounds leaping over fences.

“I don’t want to keep you,” Livingston began as he sat down on a red leather chair squeezed between a statue of a dalmatian and the draperies.

“Take your time, take your time, um-hmmm, yes,” Hicks said as he folded his hands in front of him, clearly enjoying the excitement only a police officer’s presence can engender. “So you’re doing an investigation of Cameron Hard wick, eh?”

“Routine questioning, really,” Livingston replied. He cleared his throat. “Over the phone you indicated that Cameron Hard wick is a frequent guest.”

“We love those kind.” Hicks’s eyes crinkled as he smiled and leaned forward.

“Right,” Livingston replied. “How often would you say he visits?”

“A couple of times a year maybe. Good-looking fellow in a brooding way. He has a lady friend who frequently comes by and stays with him.” Hicks fired a huge suggestive wink.

Livingston looked up from his ever-present notebook. “Can you describe her?”