Belinda shrugged. “If you don’t want to try burying him in the back garden, which I personally think is an excellent idea, you’ll simply have to call the police.”

“I suppose so,” I agreed. “After all, why should I be afraid? I am innocent. I have nothing to hide—”

“Apart from the small fact that you dress up as a maid and go to scrub other people’s lavatories,” Belinda reminded me.

“Well, apart from that.”

“Don’t worry. I’m here at your side,” Belinda said. “It would take a formidable policeman to get the better of the two of us.”

I managed a weak smile. “All right. I’ll do it.”

I went downstairs to the telephone, then we waited, perched side by side on the stairs, staring at the front door, listening to a clock ticking somewhere in the emptiness of the house.

“Who do you think could have done it?” Belinda asked at last. “What was he doing here in the first place?”

“I suppose he must have come to see Binky.”

“But if Binky didn’t kill him, who did?”

I shrugged. “Someone else. A stranger, I suppose.”

She shook her head. “You want the police to believe that a complete stranger broke into your house while you were out and drowned somebody in your bathtub? That would take a great deal of nerve and planning, Georgiana, as well as a great deal of luck.”

“I know. It hardly seems feasible, does it? I mean, who could possibly know that de Mauxville was coming here? Hardly anybody even knew we were in London. And surely de Mauxville can’t have many acquaintances here.”

She stared thoughtfully at the chandelier. “This de Mauxville,” she said, “is he one of us, or strictly NOCD?” (Which, in case you don’t know, is shorthand for “not our class, dear.”)

“I really couldn’t say. He was rather rude, but then I know plenty of rude peers and I expect you do too.”

“Do you know where he was staying?”

“Claridge’s.”

“That does imply money but no club.”

“He’s French, Belinda. Would a Frenchman belong to a London club?”

“If he had London connections and made frequent trips across the Channel, he would. So staying at Claridge’s implies that he doesn’t know people here and doesn’t come here often.”

“Not very helpful,” I said.

“You need to find out all about him. If you found him unpleasant, he may have annoyed any number of people who were just waiting to drown him in somebody’s bath. So find out what he does when he comes to England—when he’s not trying to get his hands on your castle, I mean.”

“I agree, but how?”

“I know an awful lot of people,” she said. “Including people who spend half the year on the Continent. People who frequent the casinos in Nice and Monte Carlo. I could ask questions for you.”

“Belinda—would you really? You are an absolute brick.”

“I shall find it rather fun, actually. Belinda Warburton-Stoke, girl detective.”

In spite of the tension, I had to laugh. “Girl detective,” I echoed.