I put down the phone. “I think they must know,” I said. “She wanted my address in France. But a message was delivered to him yesterday, and he may have had a visitor.”

“Did she describe the visitor?”

“She wouldn’t say.”

“You may have to go there and question the staff. They’d probably tell you.”

Telephoning was one thing. Grilling the staff at Claridge’s was quite another. Besides, my picture was well enough known that I was likely to be recognized, which would only make things worse for Binky and me.

“I suppose I could go and question people around the square,” I said. “Will you come with me?”

“It does sound like fun,” she said, “but I have a client coming to my dress salon at two. Tell you what—I’ll do your sleuthing with you if you’ll come to my salon with me and model clothes for the client.”

“Me? Model clothes?” I started to laugh.

“Oh, be a brick, Georgie. Usually I have to model them myself and it would be so much easier, and so much better for my prestige, if I could just sit there chatting with the client while someone else modeled them. It’s what they do at all the big houses—and I really need this sale. I think this one might actually pay cash for once.”

“But, Belinda, I fear I’d be more of a hindrance than a help,” I said. “Remember the debutante disaster. Remember when I was Juliet in the school play and I fell off the balcony. I am not known for my grace.”

“It’s not as if you have to walk down a runway, darling. Just open the curtains and stand there. Anyone could do it, and you are tall and slim. And your red hair will go so nicely with the purple.”

“Oh, dear. All right,” I said.

It took Belinda a good two hours to breakfast, bathe, and get dressed, so that it was noon by the time we made our way back to Belgrave Square. This time there were two police cars parked outside Rannoch House, a constable standing on guard, and—horror of horrors—gentlemen of the press, complete with cameras. I grabbed Belinda’s arm.

“I can’t be seen here. My picture would be in all the papers.”

“You’re quite right,” Belinda said. “You go back to my place and I’ll have to do it for you.”

“But they might accost you,” I said.

“I’ll take that risk,” she said with an enigmatic smile. “Brave dress designer fights to clear chum’s name.” The grin broadened. “A little publicity might be just what my business needs.”

“Belinda, you will be careful, won’t you? Don’t say anything about our knowing de Mauxville, or that you’re asking questions to try and prove our innocence.”