“What on earth is going on here now? Surely you men have done everything there is to be done here!”

“I’ve brought in art experts to examine your husband’s possessions, Madame,” Lafite said. “It appears that someone may recently have substituted one of your husband’s paintings with a forgery.”

“Good God. Which one?”

“This one, Madame. The painting of the chair.”

“That awful thing? Who’d possibly want it? I was going to have the lot of them thrown on a bonfire.”

“But no, Madame,” Germain said. “The impressionist painters are becoming more desirable for collectors every day. Mark my words—these paintings will be worth a fortune, given time.”

“Really? So it would seem that my husband was killed while someone switched the real painting for a forgery? How extraordinary.”

“You left your bag in the car, Mama.” Bobby Groper ambled into the room, wearing an open-necked check shirt and white flannels. He started visibly at finding the drawing room full of people. “Oh, hello,” he said. “What’s going on here? A party?”

“This is my son, Bobby,” Lady Groper said. “He arrived on this morning’s train. Came straight from England as soon as he heard the news. He’s devastated, poor boy. Worshipped his father.”

Bobby looked around and caught my eye. I saw him swallow hard, his Adam’s apple jerking up and down, then he shot me a warning glance—presumably to keep quiet.

“I’ll go and find somewhere to put our bags,” he said.

I followed him into the hallway.

“For God’s sake don’t tell them I’ve been here a while, will you?” he whispered to me.

“Why not? Why are you lying?”

He glanced in at the open doorway, then put his lips close to my ear. “Because it wouldn’t look good for me, would it? Son gets sent down from Oxford in disgrace. Skips off to Riviera. Tries to keep disgrace from father for as long as possible.”

“But surely people don’t kill their fathers because they’ve been sent down from university?”

“I’ve also accumulated a large pile of debts,” he said. “It’s actually quite convenient that the old man is out of the way. Now I inherit the money and the title. Ergo, the slate wiped clean. You could say that’s a pretty good motive for bumping someone off.”

“You aren’t sad your father’s been killed?”

He shrugged. “I expect I will be, when I’ve had time to think about it,” he said. “At present my only thoughts are about saving my own skin. Not very honorable and all that, but then I’m not the honorable type. Take after him too much, I suppose. He didn’t care whom he walked over. I don’t want to walk over people, but I do tend to put myself first.”