A troubled night on Belinda’s sofa followed. Belinda herself disappeared to yet another party. She generously invited me to come with her but I was in no mood for parties and had nothing to wear. Also I was waiting for Binky’s phone call. The maid went home for the night and I tried to sleep. The sofa was modern, streamlined, and devilishly uncomfortable. So I lay awake, staring into the darkness, feeling scared and empty. I couldn’t believe that Binky was guilty, but I also couldn’t imagine how a stranger could end up in our bathtub dead unless Binky had had a hand in it. I couldn’t wait to speak to him, to know he was all right and not guilty. If only he could have left me some kind of note before he disappeared. If only . . .

I sat up, now horribly wide awake. A note. I had left a note for Binky on his bed, a note in which I had mentioned the corpse in the bath and told him not to telephone the police. I could hardly have left anything more incriminating and the police must have found it by now. I wondered if the constable was stationed outside Rannoch House all night, or if I had any hope of sneaking in to retrieve it, on the unlikely chance that it hadn’t yet been discovered. I realized that it would possibly make the police even more suspicious of me if I was caught breaking into my house at night, but it was a risk I had to take. There was just a chance they hadn’t done a thorough search yet and the note was still there. I got up and put on my dress and coat over my pajamas, then I stuck some paper into the latch to make sure it would open again (one of the few useful pieces of education I had acquired at Les Oiseaux) and crept out into the night.

The city streets were deserted, apart from a constable on his beat, who eyed me suspiciously.

“Are you all right, miss?” he asked.

“Oh, yes, thank you,” I replied. “Just going home from a party.”

“You shouldn’t be out this late alone,” he said.