Page 81 of Murder in a Mayfair Flat

“I have an idea,” Crispin said.

“Will you tell me?”

He shook his head.

“Will you tell Tom? When he comes back, and before the others arrive?”

“No.” He shook his head again. “I won’t. I might be wrong. And even if I’m not wrong, I’d rather pretend I am until I can’t pretend anymore.”

So a friend, then. Although they were all friends, at least to a degree, I supposed. Even Dominic Rivers.

So I nodded, and let him pass out of the parlor without stopping him again. Without insisting that he tell me, or tell Tom at the first opportunity.

By the time I reached the foyer myself, he was halfway up the stairs, but he stopped politely when I said his name again. Or his title, this time. “St George?”

“Yes, Darling?”

“I’m going to go home for a while,” I said. “As Tom said, I think I could use a walk to clear my head and think things through.”

He nodded.

“When Christopher comes back, would you tell him where I’ve gone? And that he can either follow me home or stay here, it doesn’t matter.”

Crispin nodded. “Yes, Miss Darling,” Rogers intoned.

“I’ll be back before eight.”

“Come at seven,” Crispin said. “We’ll have supper before things get hairy.”

I nodded. So did Rogers, seemingly in approval of the plan. “Get some rest, St George,” I said. “It’s going to be a difficult night.”

“Yes, Darling.” He continued up the stairs. Rogers handed me my hat and gloves and reticule and bowed me out the door. I headed down Park Lane in the direction of home.

I did not runinto Christopher on the way, nor did I see anyone else I knew. By the time I got to the Essex House Mansions, my cheeks were nicely pink and I couldn’t wait to get out of the frock and shoes I was wearing. I had put them on in a hurry yesterday morning, when Uncle Harold startled us awake by knocking on the door, and since then, I had walked all through Belgravia and Knightsbridge in them, had discovered a dead body, and spoken to several potential murderers, and had driven to Wiltshire and back. I wanted a bath and a fresh set of unmentionables, not to mention some time to myself. I had spent the walk turning over all the facts of the crime—the two crimes—and thought I might have figured out what Crispin thought he knew, but I still needed a bit more time to put the pieces together.

Evans saw me coming and swung the front door open. “Afternoon, Miss Darling.”

“Afternoon, Evans,” I said politely. “Any mail?”

“Not so far this morning, Miss Darling.”

“Any visitors?”

“Not since yesterday, Miss Darling.”

I glanced around the lobby, quite as if I expected to see him materialize out of thin air, which of course I didn’t. “I don’t suppose Christopher’s home?”

“I haven’t seen Mr. Astley since yesterday, Miss Darling.”

I nodded. “By the way, Evans. When Miss Long arrived here yesterday, did you happen to notice if anyone dropped her off? Or whether she walked up to the door?”

“A young gentleman in a red motorcar dropped her off, Miss Darling,” Evans said.

So that eliminated precisely no one. “Did you happen to get a look at the young gentleman?”

But Evans shook his head. No, of course he hadn’t. “The top of the car was up, Miss Darling. I saw that he was a young gentleman in a tweed jacket and a soft cap, but I didn’t get a look at his face. He didn’t get out of the car to open the door for the young lady.”

I nodded, disappointed. “Thank you, Evans. I don’t suppose you’d recognize the gentleman if you saw him again, would you?”