“And your name is, miss?” he asked.

Goodness, that was a tough one. If I gave him my real name he’d know that I was reputable beyond doubt. However, he might then report my visit to DCI Pelham and that would probably not go down well. “It’s Miss Warburton-Stoke,” I said. “Belinda Warburton-Stoke. Bobo and I were at school together.”

If Belinda hadn’t bothered to be available for our jaunt to Harrods today, at least I’d use her name.

“Well, Miss Warburton-Stoke,” the doorman said, still frowning, “I suppose it couldn’t do any harm to take you up to the flat for a minute—just to recover a pair of earrings.”

“You’re most kind.” I beamed at him. “What’s your name?”

“It’s Frederick, miss.”

“Frederick. How nice.” I gave him my most charming smile.

I think he went a little pink. He went into a cubby and took a key from the wall. I made a mental note of which hook it came from. I followed him across the foyer and into the lift. Up we went to the third floor. We crossed a landing with a big mirror and modern bentwood bench, then he turned the key in the lock and stood back for me to step into Bobo’s flat. It smelled of stale smoke and stale drink and rotting fruit—rather unpleasant, in fact. It was modern in the extreme—large plate-glass windows looked out onto Park Lane with glimpses of Hyde Park beyond. On the floor was a white rug and the furniture was sleek and low and chrome. There were modern paintings on the walls with great splashes of color. It was also rather untidy. A plate with an orange peel lay on a low table, along with a newspaper and an empty cocktail glass. An ashtray was piled high with cigarette ends. A silver fox wrap was draped over the back of a bentwood chair. Through in the kitchen I could see dishes piled in the sink.

“Dear me,” I said. “Does Miss Carrington’s cleaning lady no longer come?”

“Not for the last few days, miss,” he said. “She was told not to.”

“It’s still Mrs. Parsons, is it?” I asked.

“Not Mrs. Parsons. You mean Mrs. Preston.”

“Oh yes, of course. Mrs. Preston. Silly of me. Doesn’t she have a key to come when Miss Carrington is away? I’m sure Miss Carrington won’t want to return to this mess.”

“Yes, miss. She does have the key to the flat, but she has been told not to come until further notice, so I understand.”

“Who told her? Not Bobo, surely?” I looked at him. “I say, she’s not in any trouble, is she? I know that at times . . . well, you know.”