“Positive. I know Binky. When he lies his ears turn red.”

Granddad picked up the shrieking kettle and poured the water into the teapot. “It seems to me you need to find out who else knew this chap was coming over to London. Who else he planned to meet while he was here.”

“How would we do that?”

“Where was he staying?”

“Claridge’s.”

“Well, that makes it easier than a private house. Good hotels know everything about their guests—who visits them, where they ask a taxi to take them. We can go to Claridge’s and ask a few questions. We can also take a look at his room.”

“What would be the point of that? Wouldn’t the police have searched it thoroughly?”

“You’d be surprised at what the police don’t consider important.”

“But it’s two days now since he was murdered. Won’t they have removed his things and cleaned out his room?”

“Possibly, but in my experience they don’t rush these things, especially over the weekend. They’ll want to make sure they haven’t missed anything. And after the police have released his effects, they’d have to be stored somewhere until they have orders to ship them to a next of kin.”

I shook my head, feeling as if I were about to face a horrible exam. “Even if his things are still in his room, who would let us in? They’d think it highly suspicious if I asked to go in there.”

He looked at me, head tilted to one side in the cheeky Cockney way. “Who said anything about asking?”

“You mean break into his room?”

“Or find a way to get in. . . .”

“I can get my hands on a maid’s uniform,” I said, cautiously. “Nobody ever notices maids, do they?”

“That’s the ticket.”

“But, Granddad, it’s still breaking and entering.”

“Better than swinging on the end of a rope, my dear. As an ex-member of the force I shouldn’t be encouraging this sort of thing, but it seems to me that you and your brother are in big trouble and desperate means are called for. I’ll come along and have a little chat with the doorman and the bellboys. Some of them may still remember me from the time when I was on the beat.”

“That would be brilliant,” I said. “And another thing. I need to find out if real window cleaners were working in the square on Friday, and if so, who they were. I’d ask myself, but with all those reporters . . .”

“Think no more about it, my love. That much I can do for you. And I’d ask you to stay for lunch but I promised I’d go over to the widow next door. She kept on inviting me and I kept on refusing, and then I thought, Why not? What’s wrong with a bit of company?”