‘You keep your ’at on, and you take your shoes off?’ she asked in evident bewilderment.
‘Oh no,’ said Dover with an understanding chuckle. ‘I’m just easing the laces a bit. I shan’t be taking my boots off, never you fear!’
‘Tonnerre de Dieu!’ breathed Mademoiselle de Gascoigne. She rolled her eyes alarmingly and flung herself full length on the black divan. Her scarlet négligé slipped a little more and half of Mademoiselle’s ample bosom glowed milkily in the subdued light. MacGregor wondered if he should, perhaps, tell her about it, but the Chief Inspector was already clearing his throat preparatory to starting the interview. MacGregor surreptitiously wiped the palms of his hands on his handkerchief, and pulled out his notebook and pencil.
Mademoiselle de Gascoigne’s eyes opened wide. ‘You are going to draw peektures?’ she asked.
‘Mais non!’ MacGregor reassured her with easy fluency. ‘Je prendrai des notes.’
‘Pourquoi?’
‘Pour aider ma mémoire,’ said MacGregor proudly. ‘Il faut reporter tout à mes supérieurs.’
‘Mon Dieu!’ said Mademoiselle de Gascoigne. It was more a prayer for help than a simple exclamation.
‘Now then, miss,’ said Dover firmly, ‘we just want you to answer a few questions.’
‘Questions?’ A half realization that she might have been jumping to hasty conclusions dawned slowly on Mademoiselle de Gascoigne’s face. Her eyebrows clamped down and the line of her mouth hardened. She gathered her négligé modestly around her. ‘You are making an inquiry, hein?’
‘That’s right, miss,’ agreed Dover placidly. ‘We’re making an investigation into these anonymous letters in Thornwich.’
Mademoiselle de Gascoigne’s face was blank.
‘Des lettres anonymes à Thornwich,’ translated MacGregor helpfully.
Mademoiselle de Gascoigne’s face became blanker. ‘Vous ne voulez pas me filer un coup de baguette?’ she asked, looking from one to the other in disappointed bewilderment. ‘Vous ne voulez pas prendre un ticket?’
MacGregor smiled. It was the only contribution he could make. With what was obviously a very powerful curse Mademoiselle de Gascoigne made up her mind. She leapt to her feet and rushed out of the room. In a second or two she was back again, cocooned from head to toe in a thick brown dressing-gown. She sat down in a most business-like manner on an upright chair and folded her arms.
‘Allons!’ she snapped. ‘Ask your questions and be queek about eet! For me, time ees money, hein?’
Dover blinked, but queer customers had ceased to bother him a long time ago. ‘Do you know a man called Arthur Tompkins?’
‘And eef I do?’
‘When did you last see him?’
‘Yestairday.’
‘Wednesday? Can you remember what time he arrived?’ Mademoiselle de Gascoigne shrugged her shoulders. ‘Three o’clock. ’Ee ees always vairy punctual. You can regulate your watch by ’eem.’
‘And what time did he leave?’
Mademoiselle de Gascoigne’s eyes narrowed.’
‘Ee ’as keeled somebody, hein?’ she asked hopefully. ‘You weel ’ang ’eem?’
‘What time did he leave?’
‘At ’alf past four. Exactement. Othairwise ’ee ’as to pay for anothair ’alf ’our.’
‘Now, you’re quite sure about this?’ pressed Dover. ‘Arthur Tompkins was here with you in this room yesterday afternoon for an hour and a half from three to four thirty?’
Mademoiselle de Gascoigne nodded her head. ‘Eet seemed longair,’ she commented-sourly.
‘Well, miss,’ said Dover, looking triumphantly at MacGregor, ‘I think that’s all we want to know. Thank you very much for your co-operation.’
He rose majestically to his feet and all the lights went out.
For a moment or two nothing much happened. Dover sat thankfully down again, Mademoiselle de Gascoigne squeaked and MacGregor groped in his pocket for his lighter. Then they heard somebody calling from the bottom of the stairs.
‘Louise, have you got a shilling, love? This blinking meter’s run out again!’
There was the sound of footsteps coming slowly up the stairs, the door opened and a waft of cheap perfume entered the room slightly ahead of the owner of the voice.
‘Are you there, Louise? I can’t see a bloody thing. Whoops! Ooh, my apologies, I’m sure. I didn’t know you’d got a friend in. A gentleman friend, too.’ She giggled. ‘Pardon me!’
‘That’s quite all right,’ said MacGregor, trying – not very energetically – to disentangle himself from the unseen body which was snuggling up to him in a very friendly way. ‘If I can just reach my pocket, I think I’ve got a . . . Oh, I do beg your pardon!’
There was a peal of girlish and delighted laughter. ‘Ooh, you saucy thing, you! If you do that again you’ll have to marry me! Here, you just hold still, gorgeous, and I’ll look for the money. Is it in your trouser pocket?’
‘Oh, please! No, never mind, thank you!’ gasped MacGregor quickly, grateful for the darkness which concealed his blushes. ‘I’ve got it now, thank you so much.’ He unclamped the hand which was crawling seductively up round his neck and pressed a couple of shillings firmly into it.
‘Oh?’ The voice sounded disappointed. ‘Well, ta very much, love. Sorry if I’ve interrupted anything, I’m sure.’
They heard her leave the room and patter, still laughing, down the stairs. Then the lights came on again.
Dover blinked and scowled through screwed-up eyes at MacGregor who grinned sheepishly back and scrubbed his face with his handkerchief.
‘Zat was my friend, Eleanor,’ explained Mademoiselle de Gascoigne since nobody else appeared to be going to say anything.
‘She seems a very jolly girl,’ said MacGregor hoarsely. ‘Very gay.’
‘Ah,’ said Mademoiselle de Gascoigne sadly, ‘you vould not say zat eef you knew ’er. She ’as just lost ’er baby.’
‘Oh dear,’ said MacGregor inadequately. ‘Poor thing.’
‘She was going to sell eet for feefty pounds,’ responded Mademoiselle de Gascoigne, blossoming in the warmth of MacGregor’s handsome sympathy. ‘She was going to get reed of eet but zees woman, she says, no you can sell eet for feefty pounds! Pauvre Eleanor, all zees time and now she ’as lost zee baby and zee feefty pounds. G’est un vrai dommage!’
‘Oh, oui,’ said MacGregor, and
