“Once more you seem to be assuming interest where there is none,” Alfred said. “I don’t really care if you had him killed. Alain seemed rather to live and breathe reasons to kill him, actually. The thing is, I don’t think the rest of the world is quite as broad-minded as I am.”

“Are you threatening me?” Alva laughed, a strange titter that was all panic and no humor. “Unwise, if you believe me to be a murderess.”

“You’ll find it somewhat harder to dispose of me,” Alfred said, smiling apologetically.

She swallowed. She was so cold, cold and stiff. “What do you want?”

“Ah, I knew you’d see reason. You always were the most practical little soul. Let’s start with six hundred dollars a month and see how we do.”

“Six hundred dollars a month? That’s more than most people make in a year!”

“And neither you nor I are most people. Don’t pretend it’s too much for you, Sister. You can part with twice that and barely feel the pinch.”

“And if I don’t agree?”

“Oh, Alva, of course you’re going to agree. But if you insist that we descend to the level of crude threats I suppose I must oblige you.… If you don’t agree to my very reasonable request I will do three things. First, I will contact the Monte Carlo police, although I doubt they would do much. Next, I will contact the New York papers and give them the proof I have collected of your visits to the lawyer and your whereabouts last May fifteenth. Finally, I will send the resulting articles to your publishers—oh yes, don’t think I don’t know about that scheme, my dear—on the off chance they have somehow crawled underneath a rock and missed the enormous scandal that will result. They may be happy to publish a book by a ruined woman, but I imagine they have no desire to publish one by a murderess. They’ll end your contract immediately, and you’ll have no friends, no family, and no publishing contract. Your life, in any form you would wish to continue living it, will be over.”

Alva stood and walked to the small writing desk along the back wall. Without speaking she removed her chequebook from one of the cubbies, filled one out for six hundred dollars, tore it loose, and walked back to Alfred.

“Here,” she said. “Don’t come back.”

“My dear,” Alfred said, standing and coming close to her. She fought the instinct to take a step back as he leaned towards her ear. “Never presume to tell me what to do.”