The enticing smell of freshly baked bread reminded me that I needed breakfast. There were several little open-air cafés along the boulevard. I stopped at one and indulged in good coffee and a basket of croissants. Much later, feeling full and content, I followed the boulevard until I came to the Hotel Negresco, a glittering white building topped with pink Eastern-style domes. I went up the steps and into the marble foyer. A young man in blue and gold uniform leaped up immediately to ask how he could assist me. I asked for Miss Warburton-Stoke. The young man went to have a conversation with another man in a smart suit. The latter checked a ledger then came over to me. The young lady was not registered at the hotel. Had she not been there at all during the past week? I asked. Again he shook his head. He was not aware of a young lady of that name.

Now what on earth was I going to do? It looked as if I might be trapped sharing a room with an obnoxious child at the Villa Gloriosa, dying slowly of starvation while I dodged the attentions of Foggy and the awful Madame Lapiss. Not an enticing prospect. I supposed I could find the casino and camp out there later in the day in the hope that Belinda would show up. I was about to walk away when another thought occurred to me.

“Sir Toby Groper,” I said. “Does he come into the hotel much?”

“Sir Toby? Sometimes. But not at this time of day. A drink with friends late in the evening maybe.” And he shrugged in that particularly unhelpful Gallic way.

“Do you know where his villa is?”

“Of course. It is on the Petit Corniche in the direction of Monte Carlo. About one, two kilometers beyond the town. But you cannot see it from the road. It is hidden away in a little cove.”

At least I knew where to look now. And maybe I could enact the sort of drama Belinda was so good at—twisting my ankle outside the gate, or being almost knocked over by a speeding car—yes, that was a good one. I wasn’t sure I could carry it off as well as Belinda, but it was worth a try.