“But you know who did it. The port authorities can be on the lookout for her if she returns to England—although I must warn you that she uses disguises and travels under a false passport.”

Darcy sighed. “That’s cheerful, isn’t it? Fat chance of catching her, then.”

“I wonder if she might not give up her career in crime now that she has reunited with her sister,” I said. “Stella certainly makes enough money to look after them both.” Although as I said it I wondered if Stella’s career might now be at an end with Mr. Goldman’s death.

I looked at Darcy and tried to sound casual. “So you’ll be going home now, I suppose.”

“I’ll have to cable Scotland Yard and see what they want me to do and whether they want the American police to get involved. Since she hasn’t stolen anything in America, that’s not likely.”

“And what about us?” I asked Mummy. “We can’t stay here now, can we? Now that there is no film to shoot. I suppose we’ll have to go back to that awful little house in Reno.”

“Not immediately, darling,” Mummy said. “We need time to recover from our ordeal, don’t we? Treating us to this hotel is the least Golden Pictures can do for us after we were nearly burned to a crisp. And I’ll need to do some shopping for the items I lost. All my cosmetics, darling. I don’t know how I’m going to replace them here. I suppose somebody in America knows how to make face cream.”

“There’s always Helena Rubinstein or Max Factor,” Darcy said.

Mummy looked dubious. “But they only make it for the masses and the movies, don’t they. Not delicate skins like mine. I need things like monkey glands that aren’t in normal cosmetics.”

I glanced across at Darcy and grinned. “You could always ask Stella Brightwell. She looks quite good for a woman of her age.”

Mummy shook her head. “Darling, she has wrinkles. It’s the California sun. You notice that’s why I never go out without a hat. Besides, she’ll be in mourning for poor Cy. The whole world will be mourning him, won’t they? He brought happiness into the lives of so many little people.”

I stifled a smile. Only my mother could get away with saying something like that.

She looked up suddenly. “I’ve a brilliant idea! Why don’t you two lovebirds rent a motorcar and take a little drive up the coast?”

“That sounds wonderful.” I turned to look at Darcy.

He nodded. “I’m sure they won’t expect me to take the very next train back to New York. I’ll ask the reception desk to procure a car for us.”