A couple of guests helped them to right the candelabra. I watched them struggling with it. What sort of wind could have blown over a heavy object like that and yet not have blown out the candles? And then, of course, the next logical thought: Was it possible that the killer had struck again, just before midnight? I looked around the room, trying to picture where Mrs. Sechrest had been standing when it happened. Close to that open French door, obviously—which meant that the killer could have crept in from the outside, giving the candelabra a push at the right moment, and then vanished again. Either that or he was still in the room. I looked from person to person, trying to see if anyone was showing undue interest or even emotion. But all the faces appeared stunned and shocked. What’s more, most of them were disguised beyond recognition. A perfect setting if you wanted to kill somebody.

Johnnie Protheroe had been one of those carrying Mrs. Sechrest to the motorcar. He came back, white faced.

“God, I need a drink,” he said. “Something stronger than punch.”

“I’ll get you a brandy,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said. She summoned the nearby footman. “A brandy for Mr. Protheroe, and hurry.” He sprinted off.

“I can’t believe how quickly her outfit went up in flames,” Johnnie said.

“That kind of fabric is horribly flammable,” said Lady Hawse-Gorzley. “I suppose we were stupid to open the French doors but people were complaining they were too hot. In fact, I believe she was the one who was complaining.” She paused. “No, it was her husband who came over and said his wife was too hot, could we open the doors.”

The band leader approached from across the floor. “Do you want us to resume playing, my lady?” he asked reverently.

She looked at Johnnie. “I really don’t think anyone will feel like dancing after this, do you?”

“No, I’d send them home if I were you.”

I felt I had to say something. “Wait a minute,” I said. “Shouldn’t someone go for the police before you let people leave?”

“The police?” Johnnie looked alarmed.

I felt self-conscious with everyone’s eyes on me, and flushed scarlet. “I mean, after all these strange deaths, we should consider the possibility that these accidents are not accidents at all.”

“You mean someone deliberately pushed that candelabra onto Sandra Sechrest?” Lady Hawse-Gorzley glared at me in disbelief. “That’s not possible. These are my invited guests. I know them all.”

Johnnie shook his head. “I don’t think it was possible. I was watching her and she was standing alone. Actually, I was plucking up courage to go over and ask her to dance, in spite of that bear of a husband of hers. But there was nobody within three or four feet of her.”

“There was nobody standing near the candelabra?” I asked.