“But I can’t be interrogated by a man from Scotland Yard in clothes like that,” Belinda said. “He’ll come up with all sorts of ulterior motives for murder.”

“No, he would have expected you to kill off Rose and marry Tony for his money.”

“That’s true. But he’ll never believe I’m a fashion designer.” Then her face lit up. “I know. We could borrow something of Jonquil’s. She and I are about the same size.”

“Wouldn’t Mrs. M. have a fit?” I asked, not wanting to confront that formidable woman.

“Jonquil’s not exactly going to be needing them for the next twenty-four hours, is she?” Belinda said. She went across to my bedroom door, opened it and listened. We could hear voices coming from downstairs. A man’s ponderous speech, then a woman’s. It sounded as if Mrs. Mannering was speaking with the constable who had been on duty all night, probably offering him some breakfast. Belinda grabbed my hand. “Come on. Let’s go and choose something while the coast is clear.”

I hesitated. “Wouldn’t it be simpler just to ask Mrs. Mannering?”

“If we ask anyone it would be Rose. She’s the mistress of this house. Mrs. M. is only the housekeeper,” Belinda said, tossing her head in the way that she did when she wasn’t quite sure of her decisions. “I certainly don’t want to go creeping to Mrs. M. for permission. Besides, I’m only borrowing something for a day. Not like I’m stealing it.”

“Mrs. M. might report to the police that you’ve helped yourself to Jonquil’s clothes.”

“Well, I’m not staying up here in my nightclothes, waiting for Scotland Yard to call, nor am I going to be seen in your jumper and skirt. So if you’d like to find the dreaded woman and ask permission, then please hurry up about it. I am in serious need of a cup of tea and breakfast.”

“Oh, very well,” I said. “I suppose she did say that we could borrow Jonquil’s dresses, didn’t she?”

Feeling like naughty schoolgirls we crept across the balcony to the other wing. This corridor was dark and smelled musty, as if nobody had been there for a long while.