“God.” Lulu rolled her eyes in disgust. “Never be in the same room with two actors together,” she reminded herself sternly. “I’m going downstairs to check on dinner, it should be ready in an hour or so.”

But when she reached the comforting confines of the kitchen, a pounding on the floor from below let her know in no uncertain terms that Mrs. Scott-Ramsay wished to speak to her. Lulu sighed. Mrs. Scott-Ramsay was a military widow who had lived in the bottom half of the house for many years. She did not approve of her high-spirited young upstairs neighbors, nor did she pretend to, and when, in need of voicing her more pressing complaints, was in the habit of pounding repeatedly on her ceiling with a long cane attached to one of her late husband’s boots to attract their attention. Lulu now briefly considered ignoring the noise but knew from experience that, if left unattended, Mrs. Scott-Ramsay was capable of continuing almost indefinitely.

“What on earth is all that racket?” was her greeting when Lulu went to knock on her door. She was a tall woman with waved white hair and a military bearing, and her faded blue eyes were now shot with indignation. “It’s simply deafening. I can hardly hear myself think.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Scott-Ramsay, I thought I’d told you,” said Lulu. She knew she had, in fact, but Mrs. Scott-Ramsay was not only bad-tempered but also increasingly forgetful. “My sister’s moving in to live with us. We’ve been carrying her stuff in all day, but we’re more or less finished now.”

“Well, I should think so! You’ve been at it for hours.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, she’s got a lot of stuff, it seems.” Unwisely, she tried a mild joke. “She’s a bit of a magpie, I’m afraid.”

“What?” Mrs. Scott-Ramsay looked disapproving, and, too late to retract, Lulu regretted her attempt at levity.

“I said she’s a bit of a magpie,” she said. “She likes … things … you know.”

“A magpie, eh?” Mrs. Scott-Ramsay’s eyebrows raised. “Well, I certainly hope she doesn’t start liking my things, or there will be trouble, I assure you.”

“Oh, Mrs. Scott-Ramsay!” Lulu was horrified. “She’s not that sort of a magpie, for heaven’s sake! She’s my sister!”

Mrs. Scott-Ramsay said nothing.

“Of course I was only joking, Mrs. Scott-Ramsay!” said Lulu. “She’s my sister, and she’s really a lovely person. Shall I bring her down to introduce you tomorrow morning? Then you’ll know who she is. She’s really lovely, I promise you.”

“Make sure you keep the noise down” was all Mrs. Scott-Ramsay replied as she closed the door in Lulu’s face.

“I’m going to wear a striped shirt,” said Sophie, mopping the very last of her meat sauce with a crust of bread and reluctantly pushing her plate aside. “And a black mask. And I’m going to carry a sack marked SWAG, which I’m going to put down by my chair and pat lovingly when she thinks I don’t think she’s looking.”