“Soon, my boy. Courage. You are doing a splendid job,” Lafite said. “These gentlemen are art experts. I asked you before whether anything had been stolen from this house and you said you noticed nothing missing. Now it seems possible that something was replaced with a forgery. These two men will look around and you will assist them.”

“Very good, sir,” Johnson said, “although, as I say, Sir Toby might have kept the most valuable stuff locked away.”

“We shall see,” Lafite said. He indicated that Germain and my grandfather were at liberty to look around.

“He appreciates the modern art, I can see,” Germain said. “Matisse, Renoir and two Van Goghs. He was an astute man. These paintings are growing in value daily.” He paused beside one of the paintings, put his face close to it and sniffed. “Interesting,” he said. “The paint on this one appears to be fresh, but that is not possible because Van Gogh has been dead for forty years.”

We gathered around to look. It was a very ordinary sort of painting, not something I’d have wanted in my own drawing room—a crudely executed kitchen chair. That was all. Just one chair done in bold, uneven strokes. Next to it the painting of some sunflowers was a little better—more cheerful if not more skillfully done. I couldn’t see why anyone would want to steal or forge such a painting when there were some exquisite classical landscapes on other walls. I walked away and joined Granddad, who was staring out through the French doors at the pool.

“Anyone could have clambered down that cliff and clobbered him,” he muttered. “Or come up from the beach. And you say nothing was touched in the house?”

“Not that I could see.”

“Then I don’t know why we’re wasting our time looking at pictures. It obviously wasn’t a burglary in progress. It was someone who wanted him dead and knew he’d be alone.”

“I don’t know who that could be,” I said. “Everyone thought he was on his yacht or in Nice.”

“So it probably wasn’t planned then. Someone showed up, found him alone and took their chance. Or someone followed him here. Do you have any ideas about suspects?”

“Well,” I began, looking around to see how far away the others were, “my money would be on his mistress. A flamboyant Russian who left in a huff and swore vengeance.”

Granddad smiled. “That type is usually all bark and no bite. Who else?”

“There is Sir Toby’s wife. She wanted to divorce him, from what I overheard, but he was threatening to expose her liaison with someone important. And there’s his son, who didn’t want his father to find out—”

I broke off as Lady Groper herself swept into the room. She looked around in annoyance.