Naughty In Nice (A Royal Spyness Mystery)

there, sprawled on that broad top step, half submerged in water.
    I should call the police but had no idea how to do this in France. So I should alert the servants and have them do the calling.
    As I walked toward the house I heard voices echoing in the marble hallway.
    “And that funny little man’s face—wasn’t it a picture, after I said we were bringing in a top English policeman!” My mother’s voice, carrying clearly.
    “And he said, ‘But this is France, Madame . An English policeman has no power to investigate a crime committed in France. It is an outrage. It will not be permitted.’”
    Then they went into peals of laugher. I hurried inside to join them.
    “Oh, there you are, darling. How was the visit to Sir Toby? Did you get the scoop on what happened to Olga? We’ve been laying bets on why she left. Such fun. And we—” She broke off. “Are you all right? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
    “It’s Sir Toby,” I said. “Come and look.”
    I led them outside and made them lean over the railing to look down at Sir Toby’s pool.
    “Mon Dieu,” Coco said. “Is he drowned? Call for help. He may still be saved, perhaps.”
    “No, I’m sure he’s dead,” I said. “I saw him in the pool and thought he was just swimming, you know—then I saw the back of his head was all horribly bloody.”
    “How awful,” Mummy said. “He must have fallen and hit his head, then collapsed into the pool.”
    “We should call the police,” Vera said.
    “Why should we notify the police?” Coco asked. “Let his servants do this if they wish. It is strange that none of them has noticed the plight of their master. We can alert them to this matter, if you wish.”
    “No, don’t,” I said sharply, causing all three women to look at me. “They might touch something and disturb evidence.”
    “Evidence?” my mother asked.
    “We have to view it as a crime scene,” I said. “He can’t have hit the back of his head and then fallen forward into the pool. That just isn’t possible. Someone must have come up on him from behind and hit him over the head so that he fell into the water.”
    “Good God,” Vera said. “Are you suggesting that somebody killed him deliberately? Murdered him?”
    “Well, it does seem that way,” I said. “That’s why I think we should call the police—and just pray they don’t send out the same awful inspector.”
    “You’d better do it, Coco,” Mummy said carelessly. “You know how bad my French is.”
    Coco went into the hall and we heard her rattling away on the telephone in French, “Yes—a man floating in his pool. Of course he appears to be dead. Nobody lies in a pool without moving unless he is dead. And yes, you should send someone out immediately.” She replaced the receiver. “Idiots, all of them.”
    About fifteen minutes later a police motorcar drew up outside and we were relieved to see that it contained two smart young gendarmes. They were most polite and almost in awe of Coco as she ushered them through to the terrace and then pointed down at the body.
    “Do you happen to know who this man is?” one of the policemen asked.
    “Yes. Sir Toby Groper. He owns the villa,” Mummy said. “At least I presume it is he. We can’t see his face, but the body looks like him. Disgustingly fat around the middle.”
    “How long ago did you discover this shocking scene?” the young man asked.
    “We only just arrived home to be greeted by Lady Georgiana with the news,” Vera said.
    “And I had only just made the discovery myself,” I said quickly. “I was on my way into the house to call the police when my”—I was going to say “my mother” but I changed it rapidly—“when these ladies came home. I had just got back myself from an afternoon at a friend’s house.”
    I saw Coco and Vera give each other a glance. I saw them comprehend what I had realized a few minutes earlier—that I had been on Sir Toby’s yacht and was probably one of the last people to see him alive. For all they knew, I only just left him a minute or two before the murder. This put me in a difficult position. I was glad that I had been with Jean-Paul. At least the police would believe him if he told them that Sir Toby was alive and well when I leaped off his boat. Oh, dear—that wouldn’t look good either, would it? I decided that for once silence would be golden.
    The young gendarme began to cross the terrace on his way back to the front door. Then he turned