The guests were now caught up in the excitement of the hunt. They streamed out the front door. I followed, rapidly trying to decide how I could vouch for Darcy should the occasion arise. But the weary policeman at the gate just shrugged. “You have a party,” he said. “That means many people come and go. Am I supposed to recognize if one of them is a thief?”

As the noisy revelers streamed back into the house I managed to slip away and went to my room. I checked the wardrobe and under the bed just in case Darcy was still there, but he wasn’t. I closed the shutters. Tiredness overcame me and I fell into bed.

Chapter 30

Chapter 30

Villa Marguerite and later at Sir Toby’s
January 28, 1933
Wonderful news for once. Feeling much happier.

Queenie had clearly forgotten to bring my morning tea, because I awoke to brilliant sunlight streaming through the slats in my shutters. Down below I could hear animated men’s voices. Oh, no, please don’t say that the inspector is here, I prayed silently. I opened the shutters and peeked out cautiously. What I saw was a taxi and beside it an attractive gray-haired man in an immaculately cut dark suit and next to him a shorter man in a scruffy old raincoat—a man with a bald head who was saying, “What ’ave they done with my little girl? Where is she? I told her not to go gallivanting abroad. No good ever comes of it.”

I gave a great whoop of joy and rushed down the stairs, not even aware that I was still in my nightgown. “Granddad,” I cried and flung myself into his arms. “You came! I’m so happy to see you.”

“Oh, there you are, my love. You’re safe. You’re all right,” he said, his voice choking as he spoke. He hugged me tightly in a display of affection that was not considered seemly in the circles I normally moved in. There was no way Fig would ever have hugged anybody—even if they’d wanted to hug her, which wasn’t likely.

Then he released me and stood there, holding my hands with a look of concern on his face. “Ever since I got that telegram I’ve been worried sick. They said you’d been arrested for murder. I didn’t believe it for a minute, but—”

“I have,” I cut in. “I’ve only been released on bail. The French police inspector is horrid and won’t listen. But now that you’re here—you’ll know what to do.”

“I don’t know what I can do,” he said, “never having had no experience of foreign courts, but this bloke what came with me, well, he’s the cat’s whisker.”

I looked up to observe the elegant gentleman standing beside him. “Who is that?” I whispered.