“It’s about Bobo Carrington,” I said. “I’ve been trying to locate her and I wondered if you might have news of her.”

“Oh, and why should I do that?” she asked. Her Irish accent was still strong.

“Because I was in her flat and I saw your address on her blotting paper, so I knew she must have written to you recently.”

“And why would you be wanting to find Miss Carrington?” she asked.

I smiled hopefully. “Do you think I could come in? It’s awfully cold on the doorstep and I’m sure you’re letting cold air into the house.”

“All right. Come in if you must,” she said, “but there’s not much I can tell you. She moves around as she pleases. If she’s out of town then she’s off to stay with friends.” She led me through to a cold front parlor. The fire had not been lit but it was neat and tidy enough, making me feel that it probably was only used for visitors such as myself. “Now why did you say you were looking for her?” she repeated. “You’re not one of those reporters, are you?”

“Oh good heavens no.” I gave my carefree little laugh. “Bobo and I used to be friends once. I’ve been out of the country in America so when I returned I tried to look her up. But apparently nobody’s seen her.”

“Nobody’s seen her?”

“No. She seems to have vanished into thin air. So I’m trying anybody I can think of who might know where she is.”

Even as I said this I felt terrible. If she had indeed been fond of Bobo, she’d be heartbroken to know that Bobo was lying in the morgue right this moment.

“Have you asked at her flat? The doorman would know,” she said.

“I did ask him. He said he hadn’t seen Miss Carrington for the past few days. And other people told me they hadn’t seen her all summer.”

“Ah, well, I do happen to know she was away for a while at the end of the summer,” she said.

“Oh, did she go to the Continent again? I bumped into her there a couple of years ago but friends said they hadn’t seen her there recently.”

“No, I think she went to the seaside. Nice healthy air.”

“You know her well, do you?” I asked.

“I do.”

“And you’re fond of her.”

“I am.”

“Then I wondered, could something be wrong? I wrote to Bobo and she never answered my letter. That’s not like her, is it? And we were such good friends at one time.”

“She wasn’t too well for a while. I can tell you that much,” she said. “But now everything’s fine again. And she should be out and about, and I’m sure you’ll catch up with her soon enough.”