Belinda laughed. “Darling, if only true virgins were allowed a white wedding, church organists would die of starvation. I must see if I can line up a suitable foreigner for you. A Frenchman would be ideal. I gather they can keep one in ecstacy for hours.”

“At the moment I don’t think I’d be anxious to meet any more Frenchmen,” I said. “The dead one in my bathtub is bad enough.”

“Oh, and speaking of the dead one, I asked a few discreet questions on your behalf. And several people had come across your horrid de Mauxville in Monte Carlo. Nobody had anything good to say about him. Apparently he’s one of those fringe dwellers, one gathers—seemed to have connections, but nobody was sure to whom. Always playing at the high-stakes tables—oh, and one person suggested that he was not above a spot of blackmail.”

“Blackmail?”

She nodded.

I sat up now. “If that were true, and somebody had had enough of being blackmailed, then killing him would be the answer.”

“Exactly what I thought.”

“But why in our bathtub?”

“Two reasons: one, because it would not make the murderer the obvious suspect; and two, because somebody had a grudge against you or your brother.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “Nobody knows me, and who could have a grudge against Binky? He’s the most inoffensive chap in the world. Not a mean bone in his body.”

“Against your family, then? A feud of long standing? Even someone who was antiroyal and thinks that by striking at you they are somehow harming the royal family?”

“That’s also ridiculous,” I said. “We are so far removed from the line of succession that nobody would care if we were all wiped out in a Scottish avalanche.”

Belinda shrugged. “I can’t wait to hear what your brother has to say on this. I’m afraid he still has by far the best motive.”

“I agree. He does. I hope he’s really on his way home to Scotland and that the murderer hasn’t disposed of him too.”

Belinda yawned. “Sorry, old thing, but I simply have to go to bed. My legs won’t hold me up for another second.” She patted my hand. “I’m sure everything will be all right, you know. This is England, home of fair play and justice for all—or is that America?” She shrugged and then tottered gamely up the stairs.

I tried to get back to sleep again, but only succeeded in dozing fitfully. I was woken by the shrill ring of the telephone at first light. I leaped up, trying to grab it before it woke Belinda.

“Trunk call from Scotland for Lady Georgiana Rannoch,” came the woman’s voice on the line, with much crackling.

“Binky?” I demanded.

“Oh, hello there, Georgie, old thing. I hope I didn’t wake you.” He sounded positively cheerful.