Fresh and alert? Lily paused at the door of the ops room at five minutes to three. Was that how she was feeling? Unexpectedly – yes. She’d got her second wind. A strong cup of coffee from the hands of Aunt Phyl, who’d waited up, had sharpened her wits.

She’d been glad of the older woman’s understanding comments. And her brevity. ‘Back there again? Must be urgent. No – don’t tell me yet. Save it for breakfast. It’ll be a late one – it’s a Sunday. Glad to see the dress has survived the evening intact. I’m assuming the same condition for you, love. I’ve ironed your skirt and put out a fresh blouse and bloomers. Bacon sandwich? No? A bath, then? You’ve just got time. Use the Yardley’s lavender. That’ll spruce you up a treat.’

Smelling sweetly, freshly uniformed, shiny faced, Lily knocked and entered, to find that the men were already in place. All rose politely to their feet. Five pairs of eyes watched her as she came in, some inquisitive, some hostile. Sandilands and Fanshawe were still in evening dress, the outer layers removed, collars discreetly loosened, waistcoats unbuttoned. The other three were in their smart city suits ready for the day.

‘Right on time, constable. We’ve saved you a place over there.’ Sandilands greeted her with an expansive gesture. He indicated a seat opposite him at the end of the table.

‘Settle down, everyone. Now – Miss Wentworth, I don’t believe you’ve met our James Bacchus, have you?’

Sensing that there was no time for a formal presentation, the Branch man and the constable nodded cordially at each other across the table. Lily registered quiet dark eyes above a large nose and a top lip so exuberantly moustached she had the impression that a small but hairy rodent had climbed aboard his upper lip and gone to sleep there. She found she was smiling at him and receiving a raised eyebrow in return.

‘Now then – we all know who we are, I believe? You’ll remember Miss Wentworth? And you know why she’s here. First I’ll update you on the Prince of Wales. He is safely back in his London home, unscathed, and will tomorrow be whisked away to the country – to an as yet undisclosed location – to stay with friends. The press will publish the usual false information concerning his whereabouts.’ He cocked an eyebrow at Bacchus, who nodded confirmation. ‘And, to go on – it’s likely we are contemplating a case of murder. We await the post-mortem report, of course, but according to the medical authority who was present at the scene, the victim died of poisoning. Potassium cyanide.’

The Branch men pursed their lips. A heavy silence fell.

Wondering at this sudden paralysis, Lily was struck by a sudden insight and kicked herself for not having made the deduction earlier: she was the only person at the table who was not feeling some measure of doubt and self-recrimination. Her excitement must have dulled her perceptions. Tonight, a man had fallen dead under their very noses and his death would have to be explained. As would the apparently fortuitous escape of the Prince of Wales. Someone would have to tell His Royal Highness how close he had come to a sudden and agonizing end. That the man he had witnessed writhing in agony at his feet was his stand-in.

Not only was there a crime to be solved, there was negligence to be accounted for. Blame to be assigned. And – here it was again – a career to be lost.

Which of these men would end the evening taking the blame? She calculated that whoever emerged as scapegoat would have the doubtful comfort of being accompanied into the wilderness by Sandilands – if the commander stuck to his form of shouldering responsibility. Hopkirk and Chappel, though evidently concerned, were most probably in the clear, she concluded, guided by her scanty knowledge of police politics. This had not been a CID operation. At all events, two of these five officers would not survive the night, Lily reckoned. Sandilands and …? She glanced around the stony faces and came to a sad conclusion.

Her selected candidate looked up at that moment, caught her eye, caught her thought, and scowled.

‘The question is – was the Serbian prince, Gustavus, the intended victim or did he barge in and accidentally consume poison meant for our own Prince of Wales? We must consider both possibilities. Either way, this is a task for the Branch. The dead man was a foreigner of doubtful origin and uncertain political leanings – you have a file on him, Bacchus?’

‘We have, sir. I’ll pass around a few copies for information.’

At this point, Lily, to her embarrassment, found that she’d raised her hand to catch teacher’s attention. Someone failed to repress a scoffing grunt.

‘Yes, Wentworth?’

‘The victim’s wife confided to me in the powder room that he is … was … “an impostor”, sir. That’s the exact word she used. I questioned her usage and she confirmed that she meant what she said.’

‘Interesting. Possible impersonation. Are we surprised? Lot of that sort of thing about in London town these days. Impostor, eh? We’ll take this up again with the Princess Zinia, whoever she may be. Takes one to know one, possibly. I’m aware that these jokers tend to work in pairs. Let’s admit, gentlemen – it would be greatly to our advantage if we could reveal the so-called Prince Gustavus to be a charlatan.’ He smiled round the table. ‘Even better if his evening suit should prove to have something interesting in the lining … like a slender garotting wire or a slim package of some white powder. Yes, Bacchus, a path worth pursuing. See what you can come up with.’

Bacchus gave a wry grimace in response and made a note.

‘And we’re considering the attempted assassination of a member of our own royal family. This also is in your purview, Bacchus. We’ll only get to the bottom of it by establishing just how the poison was administered. We’ll trace the events backwards. Rupert – you and I were sitting right there at the table when the Serbian succumbed. Much to our discredit. Miss Wentworth was, at the crucial time, performing her duty down below in the ladies’ room, and only surfaced to witness the last moments of the tragedy. Rupert, I want you to give the company an idea of what transpired.’

A knock at the door sent them all silent. A constable entered with a large brown envelope in his hand. ‘Sir, a newsman called in at reception. He said you’d be needing these. Top priority, he said.’

‘Indeed! Thank you, constable. Leave it on the table, would you?’

Sandilands opened the envelope and spent some moments inspecting the contents. ‘As good as police efforts,’ he commented. ‘No – better. We’ll start by reminding ourselves of the evening’s work – here’s a photograph of the POW at the start of the proceedings, safely in the arms of the Met.’ He paused for a moment, studying the print. ‘Goodness me! Whatever were you doing with him, Wentworth?’

‘A waltz, sir,’ Lily confirmed as Cyril’s deliberately glamorous photograph circulated to astonished stares from the CID men.

‘And he survives to waltz another day – let’s keep that in mind. And here’s a useful shot of the company at the table before the event.’ He paused, absorbed by the next subject. ‘Followed by a society pose showing our victim – scarred cheek, shifty grin – in the close and apparently friendly company of the POW.’

Rupert shuddered. ‘We should have picked him up and marched him straight out, sir. We sat there and watched.’

‘Your anxiety is shared, Fanshawe. But remember Gustavus was there at the Prince of Wales’s invitation. Let’s not indulge in unwarranted breast-beating; we were reacting to the social demands of the situation. This is not a police state. Our role is to advise and protect. We do not pick up and march out a gentleman who has been invited to seat himself at the prince’s table. We had both arrived at the same assessment: that there was no threat to the Prince of Wales’s well-being. Gustavus was unarmed. He’d been searched. He was surrounded by security officers – one false move and he’d have been rendered harmless. And he knew that. Rather tormented us with his heavy-footed humour on that score. He was revelling in the attention, you’d say. And enjoying cosying up to the prince.’