Naughty In Nice (A Royal Spyness Mystery)

necklace and is probably responsible for the death of Sir Toby Groper. You must go and arrest him.”
    “How did you come by this knowledge?” he asked.
    “I worked it out,” I said. “I put together the pieces of the puzzle.”
    “Then you are very astute, my dear. But arresting him—that won’t be so easy. The gentleman is more slippery than an eel. There have been incidents before when his name was implicated and every time he walked away smelling like a rose. But this time we have someone who might be willing to testify against him.” He looked hard at me. “If we can just come up with one damning piece of evidence.”
    “I heard him on the Channel steamer speaking to a man in French. They were discussing whether it was to be the sunflowers or the chair. At the time I thought this sounded like nonsense but then in Sir Toby’s villa it was determined that the Van Gogh picture of a chair had been replaced by a forgery while the picture of sunflowers beside it was unharmed. And I realized that his attentions to me were only to set me up as the suspect.” It really hurt to confess this to Darcy but I forced the words out, feeling my cheeks burning with embarrassment.
    Darcy nodded. “I thought you weren’t his usual type. But I suppose he would turn any girl’s head. He’s handsome and rich and has a good title.”
    “Which is a lie,” I said.
    “It is?”
    I nodded. “I’ve just been speaking with two elderly princesses upstairs. They knew the real marquis. He died abroad right after the war. His mother died soon after, so there was no one in France left of that line.”
    “And then this man appears several years later, and nobody disputes his claim. If we could prove that, it would be a step in the right direction.” He touched my arm. “Look, Georgie, I want you to go back to the villa where you’re staying and don’t move. The place is guarded by police still, isn’t it? It was last night.”
    “They’re still outside Sir Toby’s villa next door,” I said. “You will put a watch on the marquis, won’t you?”
    “I’ll pass along your information through the correct channels,” he said. “You may be required to give evidence, but for now I want to make sure you are safe. I told you before that this is a dangerous man, and you really have no idea how dangerous.” He stopped and put a tentative hand on my shoulder. “Take care of yourself, won’t you? Don’t do anything brave and stupid.”
    “I’ll try not to,” I said.
    “Good girl.” He leaned forward as if to kiss me, then looked into my eyes and disappeared into the building. I stood on the steps with the wind blowing in my face, wanting with all my heart to call him back. Then I jammed my hat down on my head and forced myself down the steps and started walking. I knew I should go home as he had told me, but I also knew that only I had a chance of finding Jeanine, so I made my way back up the hill to begin my search in earnest. The streets to the left of the boulevard were lively with students and housewives shopping for the night’s meal, which reassured me that I was relatively safe. And on the way up the hill I had developed a plan. I would go into every café and bar and shop. If I got a flicker of recognition from anyone, I’d tell them I was Jeanine’s cousin, looking for her. If nobody recognized me, I’d ask for directions to the Roman amphitheater and act the part of a lost English tourist.
    I put my plan into action at the café on the corner where the bicyclist had called out Jeanine’s name. No reaction but several helpful patrons came out and seemed as if they wanted to direct me in person to the amphitheater, which was quite in the wrong direction. I had to wait until they’d gone back inside again before I could sprint back across the street and continue my quest in the right direction. I went into the next shop and then the next. Then the next street, and the one after it. After a while I felt a prickling at the back of my neck, as if I were being followed. I spun around but saw nobody that I recognized among the passing pedestrians. I continued, but the feeling didn’t go away. I had almost decided that I was being foolish to be hunting down a killer alone, when a young man, dressed in a shabby jacket and wearing a student’s cap, gave me a glance as he walked past me, then a rapid double take. I turned and ran to catch up with him.
    “Excuse me,” I said, “but I noticed that you