“Oh, cripes. Hadn’t thought of that. It won’t look too good for us if the police find a copy, will it?”

“It won’t look too good for you, Binky. You’re the one who fled the scene of the crime. You’re the one who possesses the strength to have drowned him.”

“Oh, come on, old bean. You know I don’t go around drowning people, not even rotters like de Mauxville. You don’t think you could tell the police that I left town before all this happened?”

“No, I couldn’t. I’m not lying for you, Binky. And besides, all sorts of people will know exactly when you left—porters and taxi drivers and ticket collectors. People do notice when a duke travels, you know.”

“Do they? Oh, blast. What do you think I should do?”

“Unfortunately you were seen coming back to Rannoch House and then departing again in a taxi, so you can’t claim that you’d been at your club or already left. I suppose you could say that you never went upstairs—you were catching the midday train for Scotland—you came home only to pick up your suitcase in the front hall. That might work.”

“They won’t believe it, will they?” He sighed. “And they’d find out about the letter and I’ll be doomed.”

I patted his hand. “We’ll sort this thing out one way or another. Everyone who knows you can testify that you’re not the violent type.”

“Too bad it’s Saturday. We’ll have to wait until Monday to go to our solicitors’.”

“Do you think we can persuade them not to mention the letter?”

“I’ve no idea.” Binky ran his hands through his unruly mop of hair. “This is a nightmare, Georgie. I don’t see any way out of it.”

“We’ll have to find out who really did it,” I said. “Now think, Binky. When you left the house, did you lock the door after you?”

“Not sure. I’m not very good at locking doors, because there are always servants around.”

“So the murderer could have walked up the front steps and entered the house with no problem. Did you notice anybody in the square when you left?”

“Can’t say I did. The usual—chauffeurs hanging around, nannies pushing prams. I believe I said good morning to that old colonel from the corner house.”

“What about window cleaners?” I asked. “Were the windows being cleaned when you were there?”

“I don’t notice window cleaners. I mean, one doesn’t, does one.”

“Do you happen to know what firm we employ?”

“No idea. Mrs. McGregor is the one who pays the bills. She’d have it in her housekeeping journal, but that’s probably with her in Scotland.”

“We must find out,” I said. “It may be important.”

“Window cleaners? Do you think they saw something?”