The inevitable questions were asked. A man in a dark grey suit came to the house with another. They were police officers.

I was asked a great many questions. I had seen Julia on the day of her death. I had called in unexpectedly. I had spent a little time with her. How had she been? Very much as she usually was, I told them. She had not been drinking on that occasion? Not enough to make her intoxicated. We had spoken together quite rationally. What was the subject of our discourse? I knew I must be truthful. I said: “She was considering divorcing her husband. I had suggested that she should make an effort to save her marriage.”

“You were very good friends with both Mr. and Mrs. Aldringham?”

“Yes. She and I were brought up together, and we had both known Mr. Aldringham during our childhood.”

“I see, I see,” said the man, smiling discreetly. “And you were equally friendly with both of them?”

“I…I was friendly with both of them.”

“Had you at any time been engaged to Mr. Aldringham?”

“No.”

”Had there been any understanding between you?”

I hesitated.

“There was,” he said. “Yet he married this lady who has met this untimely and unfortunate death. It was a surprise to you that he should do so?”

“I knew that they were friends.”

He nodded.

“I don’t think there is anything more we have to say to you just now, Mrs. Sallonger. I have no doubt we shall be calling back.”

When they had gone Grand’mere insisted that I should lie down. She made me drink one of her cordials, and she sat by my bed. “Just till you sleep,” she said coaxingly.

As if I could sleep!

I was trying to rest when I heard the sound of raised voices coming from below. I lay listening for a moment and then got up and went to the door. They were coming from the reception room. The door must be open.

I hurried down and went in. I thought I was dreaming. Grand’mere was standing there, dismayed and defiant, two angry red spots of colour on her cheeks and her eyes blazing with fury. But it was not Grand’mere who startled me—for her companion was the Comte.

There was silence as I entered. He came towards me, smiling almost suavely as though it were the most natural thing in the world that he should be there.

“The Comte de Carsonne!” I cried. “What are you doing in London?”

“Please not so formal, Lenore,” he replied. “And I am in London to see you.” His eyes went to Grand’mere briefly as he added: “And I was determined to.”

He took my hands and I felt faint with relief and a ridiculous lightheartedness. For one glorious moment my fears and uncertainties seemed to vanish. There was only one thing I could think of: He was here and he had come to see me.

“You are well,” he said holding my hand and looking into my face anxiously.

“We have had some trouble here.”

“That is what I have been saying,” said Grand’mere tersely. “And we do not want to add to it.” She went on defiantly. “I have been telling Monsieur le Comte de Carsonne that you have no time just now to receive acquaintances.”

“Yes,” said the Comte sadly, “Madame has been telling me that I shall not be welcome here.”

“We have enough trouble,” said Grand’mere. “My granddaughter should be resting.” She turned to me. “You have a great deal on your mind. That is why I am telling Monsieur le Comte that you could not see him.”

“So,” he put in lightly, “you came down in the nick of time to prevent my being ordered to leave.”

“Grand’mere,” I said. “I wish to speak to the Comte.”

She was silent and I felt very sad to go against her wishes which I knew so well were all for my good. I knew how she cared for me and how she feared this man was going to do me some harm. But I had to talk to him … alone. I had a feeling that he could help me in some way. I did not know how. But he emanated strength and just to be with him gave me comfort.

“Please, Grand’mere … I shall be all right. I promise you.”

She looked at me helplessly and shrugged her shoulders. Then she turned and threw a venomous look at the Comte.

“Don’t be long,” she said pleadingly.

“I won’t,” I said.

The Comte bowed to her as she went out.

“She does not like me,” he said ruefully.

“She has heard stories of you.”

“Of me? I was a child when she went away from the place.”

“She has heard stories of your family and she thinks you are like them.”

“The sins of the fathers,” he murmured. “But here I am. I have defeated the dragon … temporarily … and reached you.”

“How long have you been in London?”

”One hour.”

”So you came straight to me.” It was absurd to feel so happy. Nothing had changed … only the fact that he was here.

I had not realized until that moment how deeply he affected me.

“I left Paris soon after you did. I had to return to Carsonne. Raoul had an accident. He fell off his horse.”

“Raoul! Is he allright?”

“It turned out to be not so serious as they thought. He is recovering. I came back to see you and Mademoiselle Cassandra had much to tell me.”

“I see. So you know …”

“I read in the press. This politician’s wife—she is related to you.”

”We were brought up together. You know the story of the Sallongers and the St. Allengeres.”

“There is much I wish to know. I am going to help you.”

”What can you do?”

“I shall find some way. What has happened so far?”

“They are looking for Julia’s murderer.”

“And they suspect… ?”

”I was one of the last to see her alive. It was her brother who found her. He came to his room and she was dead having drunk the sherry which had been intended for him.”

”And he has his enemies?”

“Apparently.”

”And you were one of these?”

“He accused me of being Julia’s husband’s mistress.”

He raised his eyebrows. “And were you?”

“Of course not.”

“I am glad of that. I should have been very angry with you if it had been true.”

”Please don’t be flippant. I cannot endure that. I feel far from flippant.”

“This Charles,” he said, “he was what you call the great lover?”

“You mean, did he have many love affairs? I think he had something of a reputation for that. He and his wife saw each other rarely. He married her for her money and they agreed to live separate lives.”

”Perhaps this was a crime passionnel. Do you know any of his mistresses?”

“I know little of his private life. But there was a woman…”

“Ah, one you know.”

“I heard she visited him. Her name was Madalenna de’ Pucci. I have a picture of her. We were taken together at a function.”

“I should like to see it. Perhaps she knows something of this little matter. It would be worth while rinding out and asking.”

“I don’t think we should find her. She was here … some time ago. She may have gone back to Italy.”

“So she is Italian. They are a very passionate people. Where is the picture? Shall we see it?”

“Stay here. I will get it.”

I was astounded at the effect the picture had on him.

“Madalenna de’ Pucci!” he said. “What an outstandingly beautiful woman.”

I felt angry. I took the picture from him but he took it back and continued to gaze at it.

“You are clearly impressed by her,” I said coldly,

“Yes … impressed. Madalenna de’ Pucci. I think I may have met her in France.”

”I daresay she is a much travelled woman. She was here with her brother… on business.”

“Did you meet the brother?”

“No … no. He was travelling … in the Midlands, I think. She was waiting for him in London.”

“Tell me more of Madalenna de’ Pucci.”

“Do you really find her so interesting?”

“Immensely so.”

“I first met her when there was an accident outside The Silk House. Her carriage was overturned and she sprained her ankle. She came to the house and stayed a few days.”

“When was that?”

”It was just after I was married.”

”So your husband was alive then?”

“He died soon after.”

“You say she stayed in the house with you?”

”Yes, for a few days. She made a great impression on Charles … as she obviously has on you.”

“She is one to make an impression. Go on,”

“Well, Charles was very taken with her. I remember he, with my husband, went to London for the day on business and during that day her brother sent the carriage for her. She was to go back to London as they were leaving for Italy immediately.”

“And you say your husband died soon after that?”

“Very shortly after. I forgot all about Madalenna de’ Pucci then.”

“Naturally. And your husband was found shot, you say.”

“In the forest, yes.”

“With his own gun?”

“Well, with one of the guns from the gun room.”

“And then she returned to London … not long ago.”

“Yes, Charles met her in the street by chance.”

“Fortuitous, eh?”

”He was delighted.”

“I can understand that, cannot you?”

“He was attracted by her as you obviously are.”

He smiled as though well pleased. He could not keep his eyes from the picture.

”How far did this affair between Charles and the beautiful lady go?”

“I don’t know. Julia did mention that she had been at the house to visit him. His rooms could be reached by a rather private staircase … a back staircase which led only to them.”

“So there were two ways to the rooms?”

“Exactly. The rooms were at the end of the first floor corridor. There was a door, I believe, which opened into the sitting room and the back staircase stopped at the dressing room door. I had never been on the staircase but Julia told me about it when Charles went there after his house was burned. She was saying how private he could be.”

“So his house was burned down?”

“Oh yes. He had a narrow escape. He would have been burned to death if his valet had not come back unexpectedly early. He had been drinking heavily, I think … and that was probably why he was trapped.”

“How dramatic! And this poisoned wine … that was in-tended for him. Does it not seem strange that he should have been almost burned to death and then shortly after there should be this attempt to poison him?”

“You think the burning of the house was deliberately planned?”

He looked steadily at me and lifted his shoulders.

I said slowly: “It is like a pattern. There was my husband. I never really believed he killed himself. There was no reason. It was very strange because there was a man … and that was in Italy. …”

“Tell me.”

I reminded him about Lorenzo who had gone into the streets of Florence wearing my husband’s opera cloak and hat and had been stabbed to death. “And then … when we came home Philip died.”

The Comte was thoughtful. “This is interesting. This Lorenzo could have been mistaken for your husband. Then soon after he is shot. This Charles … he is nearly burned to death and saved by his valet. Then he could have been poisoned and is saved by his sister who is killed instead of him. Does it not strike you as strange, Lenore?”

“It is very mysterious.”

“Now what I want to hear is about your politician.”

I told him about our childhood meeting and how we later became good friends.

“How good friends?”

“Rather special good friends.”

“And he was in love with you?”

I nodded.

“And you?”

“I thought it would be good for me … and for Katie … not to be alone.”

“My poor Lenore, so you were lonely.”

“No … no. I had my grandmother. I had my daughter. I had good friends but…”

“And the thriving business. Yes, you had much. But you thought this Drake could make you happier. But he married Julia … and you were hurt and then you came to France with your father … and I found you. It is all becoming very clear to me. I am a little jealous of this Drake.”

“Please, this is too serious a matter for meaningless gallantry.”

“Is that how you regard me … as a flippant gallant?”

“Where are you staying?” I asked.

“At the Park Hotel.”

“And you are … comfortable?”

“I do not know yet. I took my room … I leave my bags and I come at once to you.”

“It was good of you.”

“I will go now. I will see you soon. Do not fret. This will pass. The truth will be discovered.”