She looked terrified and I decided I should go back to my room for a while, rather than alarming more of the maids. I sat there, waiting impatiently, staring down at the fog swirling through the courtyard. This morning I would try to pay a visit to Prince George’s garage at St. James’s and see if his chauffeur would let me take a look at the motorcar. I wondered if he had driven himself that night or if the chauffeur could verify the crash. And if I could get away from my duties to the princess, I’d really like to take a look at Bobo Carrington’s flat for myself. I was sure DCI Pelham would have gone over it, and probably removed anything incriminating or interesting, but you never know what might still be lying around. Wouldn’t there be correspondence with the father of the child? A photograph of the baby? A rattle or a bootie lying somewhere? The problem was, I wasn’t sure what I was looking for. All I knew was that somebody must have planned to kill Bobo Carrington. One does not carry Veronal in a pocket unless one means to use it. I made a mental note to ask Countess Irmtraut whether she had trouble sleeping and if she had a sleeping aid she could perhaps let me use.

At seven thirty, with still no sign of Queenie, I went downstairs again and found my way through the back door of the dining room then down a dark passage until I heard the sound of voices and the clatter of pots and pans. I pushed open a door and found myself in the sort of old-fashioned kitchen we have at Castle Rannoch (although not quite as cavernous). Seven people were seated at a long scrubbed pine table while a scullery maid went around serving them porridge and a cook hovered watching critically in the background. They all rose to their feet as I came in.

“Please sit down and get on with your meal,” I said. “I must apologize for interrupting but I just wanted to ask you a question.”

“Yes, my lady?” The cook still glared, perhaps thinking that her cooking was about to be criticized.

“On the evening after Princess Marina arrived, she and I went to dine at Buckingham Palace,” I said. “Countess Irmtraut was left here alone. Now, a friend of mine heard I was staying here and decided to pay me a surprise visit. She tells me that she knocked on the door but nobody answered so she assumed I must not be in residence.”

Guarded faces stared at me, still waiting to find out whether they were in trouble.

I smiled at them. “I can see now that, the way this apartment is built, it would be hard to hear a knock at the front door from this room if you were all having your supper.”