Spotted Hemlock

presenting them with a small enamel bowl. He then clasped a large sponge in the shape of a frog to his chest. From this sponge he declined to be parted, so Laura paid for it and the triumphant child dropped it into her basket. He then added a rattle and a pair of bibs. These Laura turned out again.

The two assistants went off and conferred together, then the one who had served Laura retired behind the scenes and emerged with a sharp-faced woman who wore a gold chain and a disdainful expression, both apparently symptomatic of her office. Laura addressed her without preamble.

‘I should like to speak to your temporary assistant, a woman named Palliser, if you please.’

‘Palliser?’

‘Certainly. She wrote to me for a position as children’s nurse and gave this as her temporary place of employment.’

‘I’m sorry, madam. No assistant of that name has ever been employed here. We had a Miss Chalmers.’

‘No, no. Palliser was the name. A woman of about thirty. Had been on holiday in Italy.’

‘I’m sorry, madam.’ It was final and brooked of no argument. Laura left the shop, her basket in her left hand and her enterprising son, who had had to be dispossessed of three pairs of woolly mits and a Teddy bear, under her right arm.

‘Home, George, and don’t spare the horse-power,’ she said dejectedly, tossing Hamish on to the back seat of the car, and climbing in beside him.

‘Pot!’ said Hamish insistently. ‘Pot, pot, pot!’

‘Oh, well!’ said Laura. ‘Sorry, George.’ She extracted herself and the infant and went back into the shop.

‘Well, there’s only our own,’ said the assistant who had served her. ‘The little staircase marked Staff Only on the second floor, madam.’

When they returned to the ground floor, a young assistant, who had been standing by while Laura made her first purchases, went with her, ostensibly to open the shop door. Something about Laura must have appealed to the girl, for she said:

‘We don’t mention Miss Palliser here, madam. She was sacked for pinching money out of the till.’

‘Oh, thank you,’ said Laura. ‘That certainly settles that. You don’t know where she went, I suppose?’

‘No, I’m sorry, madam.’

Laura returned to the Stone House to report lack of progress. Dame Beatrice was sympathetic, but added that she had expected nothing to result from the visit.

‘They wouldn’t have known her address, even, I’m sure,’ she said. ‘Never mind. It was an outing.’

‘Especially for Hamish,’ said Laura. ‘Well, the next thing is to find this school she taught at. Did the mother give any clue?’

‘No.’

‘Then that would appear to be my next assignment,’ said Laura. ‘I think, perhaps, if you don’t mind, I won’t take Hamish this time. He tends to complicate matters.’

‘Well, I don’t know,’ said Dame Beatrice, regarding the child with leering affection, ‘we ought to be fair. The only thing you found out—that Miss Palliser had retained her light-fingered habits—you owe to your son.’

‘Hm!’ said Laura, looking critically at her offspring. ‘Something in that, I suppose. I still think I’ll manage better without him. Have you Mrs. Biancini’s address? And can I have George again? I feel he lends an air of respectability to my excursions.’

George, impassive as ever, drove her to Mrs Biancini’s house. Biancini was at home and opened the door to her. His wife, he regretted to say, was out at a local whist-drive.

‘Momma,’ said Mr Biancini, with an expansive, gold-toothed smile, ‘is apt to win prizes at whist-drives. Now it will be an umbrella, now a silver-rimmed flower-vase, at another time a tea-trolley. All very nice for the home, and will you wish to come in and wait, or can I, perhaps, take a message?’ He leered invitingly at her. Laura flexed her muscles.

‘Neither,’ said she. ‘All I want is a piece of information which I dare say you can give me. Mrs Biancini’s elder daughter, Miss Carrie Palliser, taught for a time at a small boarding-school. Would you mind giving me the name and address?’

‘Of the school?’ He looked both troubled and perplexed.

‘Yes, please.’

‘So?’ He brooded. ‘Carrie is in trouble again, eh?’

‘I’ve been to the shop where she took a holiday job,’ said Laura obliquely. ‘It appears that there was some trouble there. The till, you know.’

‘Naturally. You better come in. The neighbours, you know.’ He led the way to the nearest door, opened it, and stood aside so that Laura could go in. She found herself in a stuffy little parlour and immediately recognised the portrait of her host, once purloined by Dame Beatrice and now restored to its place. ‘May I ask why you have come here? Carrie is not in prison, is she?’

‘I have no reason to think so. I want a nursery governess for my small boy, and was given Miss Palliser’s name.’

‘Why?’

‘I’ve really no idea. It was just that one of my friends thought…’

‘You have come here,’ said Mr Biancini fiercely, ‘to snoop. Nobody recommends Carrie. What do you want to find out? No one knows anything about her.’