“I don’t think they’ll gang up against you—least of all your grandmother, who seems thrilled to have John’s son here. But it may come to a process of elimination, and you will stand out as the most likely.”

“Bloody hell,” he said. “The way you’re talking, I’ve a good mind to bugger off back to Australia now.”

“That would be disastrous, Jack,” I said. “If you’re innocent, then nobody can prove you’re guilty. The one thing one can say about our justice system is that it’s fair. Come on, let’s go and get a cup of coffee before the grilling begins.”

Before we could go into the Long Gallery, Belinda appeared as if by magic at our side.

“So this is the famous Jack Altringham at last,” she said. “You’ve been so invisible that I began to believe you were a figment of Georgie’s imagination.” She held out her hand to him. “I’m Belinda, Georgie’s oldest and dearest friend. I came down on a mission of mercy, to bring the evening slipper she left behind in London and found the place in an utter uproar. And now that horrid inspector says I can’t leave because I’m a suspect like everyone else.”

Jack took her hand and shook it. “That’s too bad,” he said. “I’m sure they’ll rule you out very quickly. Hell, you weren’t even here when poor old Cedric was killed, were you?”

“Absolutely not. Probably passing through Lewisham or one of those ghastly London suburbs—row after row of identical dirty brick.” She sighed. “God, how I hate cities. I’m a country girl, born and bred.”

“Are you? Then I know how you feel. I was in Sydney for a couple of days and that was enough for me. Too many people.”

“I’m stuck in London at the moment,” she said. “Even worse; like living in a sardine tin.”

“Why are you stuck there?”

“Trying to earn a living, darling. It’s not easy in these days of depression. Especially when you’re like Georgie and me—not trained for anything sensible except curtsying without falling over and knowing which fork to use at the dinner table.”

Jack grinned. “Yes, Georgie’s been trying to drum that into my head. Load of cod’s wallop, if you ask me.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Belinda said. “So unnecessary and so outmoded, isn’t it? I mean, fish would taste just the same if one cut it with a meat knife.”

“Too right,” Jack said. “Look, Georgie and I were about to grab some coffee before we have to face the inspector again. Want to come along?”