Bonnefoye nodded wisely. ‘You’re nearly there, Sandilands. About as far forward as we are. But there are methods I can employ,’ he said mysteriously, ‘to get at the truth which are not available to a visiting English policeman. Leave it to me. I assure you I will tell you what we know as soon as we know it. I will just say that for the moment we must mark the Langlois claim with a question mark. That’s one cross, one tick and one question mark.’

He grunted with satisfaction. ‘Well, it begins to look very much as though the business is wrapped up,’ he said. ‘Unless you can unearth, I’m sorry, discover, something more sensational chez les Houdart this weekend. It is this weekend you’re spending with them? Good. Well, let me know how you get on, won’t you?’ He gave a sudden and boyish grin. ‘You know how I shall spend the rest of my morning, curse you, Sandilands? Looking through your notes and ferreting about in this case. Waste of my time, I know it! My business is solving the problems of the freshly murdered (three corpses on my books at the moment. Three! Any chance . . .? No . . .?) not working out who the living may be! You have my number? Ring me at once if there’s anything I can do or say, won’t you? I want this solved and you out of my hair by next Wednesday. Clear?’

‘Clear, old man,’ said Joe and, to Dorcas’s barely concealed disgust, they shook hands in a matey way.

‘Oh, one last thing,’ said Joe, hand on the doorknob. He pointed to his notes. ‘Last page and rather urgent. It’s an outside chance but you never know. Just a suggestion. But I think you’d agree we should explore all avenues. And I’m sure the French technical services are up to it.’

‘Well, Miss Dorcas? Do you still admire the Inspector?’ Joe asked as they made their way back to the car.

‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘He’ll do – for a police inspector. He’ll do very well.’

‘And what was all that stuff about studying . . . psychology, was it? Are you intending to do such a thing? Because if so, we must take steps to get you educated first.’

‘Of course I’m intending no such thing! Live in London for three years? Urgh! But I had to say something!’

‘Another naughty lie?’

‘A distortion of the truth for politeness’ sake.’

‘Ah. But I suppose I should be relieved that politeness is in the forefront of your mind with the weekend I see stretching in front of us. Lunch first to fortify ourselves and then we’ll get started. I’m not sure what our reception will consist of, Dorcas. Be prepared for anything, will you? We could find ourselves entertained as honoured guests or we could be shown round to the tradesmen’s entrance and fed on scraps in the back kitchen. I’ve encountered both extremes in my time.’

‘I’ve lived at both extremes in my time,’ said Dorcas seriously. ‘Don’t worry, Joe. I’m a chameleon, you know.’

Chapter Sixteen

‘Crikey! Were you expecting this?’ Dorcas asked as they passed down an avenue of beech trees and drew up in front of the gates to the château.

‘No. And what’s more, I’m not even certain we’ve got the right place,’ said Joe, doubtfully. ‘Though we followed the direction from the village carefully enough. Don’t forget I’ve only seen an artist’s impression on a champagne bottle. And if this is the right place our artist has taken quite a bit of licence. The name for a start! I thought, in my simple unquestioning way, it was most probably named as on the bottle, the Château Houdart, but if you look at the old sign outside – a bit battered perhaps and those holes are bullet holes, I do believe – you’ll see it’s the Château de Septfontaines. Seven Fountains? I wonder if they’re still to be found?’

He gazed from the stone arcade with its central arch guarding the forecourt of the château to the procession of tall chimney stacks in the distance.

‘House rebuilt by Mansart in 1685, I understand,’ he said. ‘Yes – it begins to emerge. I know what the artist has done – he’s pared it down to its essentials, missed out all the interesting details and moved a vineyard several hundred yards to the north.’

‘Those creatures up there on the piers. What are they?’

‘Gryphons? Would you say gryphons? Something couchant, gardant anyway. Might even be lions. Shall we take a chance?’

‘Yes, let’s go in. They can only set the dogs on us!’

Joe slipped the car into gear and they stole forward through the open wrought-iron gates, taking in the symmetrical wings decorated with classical urns and, in the centre, the main body of the house, its parapet carrying a cargo of gesticulating statuary They crunched their way over the immaculately swept gravel and encircled a stone basin in which a stone Triton with a far from reluctant stone maiden in his arms tirelessly poured a jet of water from a stone shell.

‘Do you think we could have one of those at home, Joe?’ Dorcas whispered. ‘Lydia would love it.’

Joe parked the car neatly in the shade and they set out to climb the shallow run of steps up to the wide front door. No knocker, no bell, but the door opened as they approached it. A manservant smiled a welcome and reached for the car keys Joe still held in his hand. ‘Good afternoon, Commander. Miss. If you’ll permit, I’ll have your things taken up to your rooms. Come this way. Madame Houdart is in the petit salon where she will be taking tea.’

‘Tea? In the petit salon?’ Dorcas muttered. ‘Oh, I say! Awfully glad I put on my silk stockings!’

As they walked behind their guide they caught intriguing glimpses through open doors of a series of stately rooms. In one which appeared by its great size to be the main reception room, a mighty chandelier winked in the afternoon sun and the light was reflected from mirrors and gilded candle sconces along the walls. They ran the gauntlet of the cold marble gaze of a row of classical busts, one perched over each doorway and attending them in their progress along the corridor until they arrived at an image of Athena. At this door the manservant paused. He went inside and announced them. Dorcas scuttled back with a sudden show of nerves to stand behind Joe.

‘Come in, come in! I’m delighted that you could come. Fabrice, we’ll have tea straight away. Will you drink tea, Commander? I can offer you lemonade if you prefer? You must have had a hot journey. Yes, Fabrice, bring a jug of Pauline’s lemonade and have them put lots of ice in it. Oh, and summon Monsieur Houdart and my son in – shall we say – ten minutes’ time?’

Aline Houdart fluttered towards them, a slight and attractive figure, hands outstretched in welcome. She was wearing a pale green silk tea gown and a simple silver necklace and looked cool and at ease, a decorative element of this white and gold, high-ceilinged room. Large grey eyes, a porcelain skin and a cloud of short chestnut hair were Joe’s first impressions. Fanciful visions of Botticelli maidens sprang to mind and he realized he had fallen uncharacteristically silent. And he was staring and gulping like an adolescent youth. Redmayne’s warning had not gone far enough, he thought. He ought to be bearing in mind that this woman who seemed to have all the unconscious allure of an exotic moth had worked to survive horrors that would have taxed the reserves of any man he knew.

Dorcas poked him in the back.

‘Ah. May I present my niece, madame?’ he said, clicking back on to the social track. ‘Miss Jagow-Joliffe. Dorcas.’

Dorcas stepped forward, receiving a perfumed kiss on each cheek and a waterfall of welcoming words. Dorcas was the first to swim clear of the polite effusions swirling all around. ‘I wonder, madame, if you are going to introduce us to the stately gentleman reclining by the fire?’ she said with a grin. ‘A boar hound, isn’t he? Very handsome! I’ve never met one socially before.’