Naughty In Nice (A Royal Spyness Mystery)

your man was with me. I saw the foot sticking out and he parted the branches to reveal the man lying there.” I made sure he knew that his man was part of this equation.
    “And how did you come to be strolling through the garden of Sir Toby Groper? Was this a usual occupation for you? You had done it before, perhaps?”
    I tried not to let my face show annoyance. He was so clearly trying to trap me into confessing that I often took a shortcut across Sir Toby’s property.
    “That’s simple to answer,” I said. “I wanted to meet this gardener for myself. I wanted him to have a chance to see me face-to-face and realize that I was not the one he saw sneaking into Sir Toby’s house. Since I was under the supervision of your men, I took one of them with me. The gardener’s wife said he had not returned home from work. On our way back to Sir Toby’s house we noticed the small door in the wall, found it unlocked and followed the path. That’s when we saw the foot.”
    “A second murder,” he said. “One must ask oneself why this man was killed.”
    “Presumably because he knew who the murderer of Sir Toby was,” I said.
    His eyes narrowed. He stroked his extravagant mustache.
    “Precisely, young lady. And if he was the only witness to the murderer entering the house? Why, he must be silenced forever.”
    I looked at him and had to laugh. “Surely even you cannot suspect me of this second crime,” I said. “For one thing I was in town all day, in the company of one of your men, and for another, I just don’t think I possess the strength to kill a man of his size by stabbing him with a garden tool.”
    “Perhaps yes, perhaps no,” he said. “My men will be examining the murder weapon for fingerprints. And do not think you are in the clear because you went to town. I am told that this man had been dead for some time when you found him. Perhaps since before you took your nice little trip to town to create your alibi.”
    I could feel my anger rising. “May I remind you, Inspector, that your own men are standing guard outside our house? And outside Sir Toby’s house too. How do you think I got past them?”
    That smug look returned to his face. “I understand it is possible to make one’s way down the cliff from your terrace to the terrace of Sir Toby. In fact, my men tell me that there are indications that somebody has climbed down that way recently.”
    “Yes, I did,” I said. “When I first arrived at the villa I wanted to see if I could get down to the beach from our villa. I realized I would be trespassing on Sir Toby’s property, so I went back. He was still alive at the time,” I added. “And he had a lady called Olga with him. They were arguing, loudly.” I paused, staring eye to eye with Inspector Lafite. “Have you looked for this Mademoiselle Olga, Inspector? I am told she is a passionate and violent person. The kind of person who might stab someone with a pair of garden shears.”
    I used this as my parting blow, turned my back on him and started to set out ashtrays again. In the end he admitted defeat and left.
    Deliveries started—trays of food and sacks of ice, extra champagne in case the cellar ran dry.
    “Heavens, are you planning to feed the five thousand?” I asked my mother, who was flitting around in her element, bossing the staff, as well as some extra local women she had acquired for the evening.
    “The biggest crime in all of society is to run short of food,” she said.
    “But what if nobody comes? It was rather short notice, wasn’t it?”
    She smiled and patted my hand as if I were sweet but silly. “Darling, people drive for miles for free food and drink.”
    “But not our crowd, surely.”
    She turned to rearrange an enormous vase of spring flowers. “In case you haven’t noticed, the world is in a depression. Our crowd might be putting on a brave front, but they are struggling to keep up appearances, and hurting like everyone else.”
    “Except for you, apparently.”
    “Ah, well, I’m enjoying Max’s money.” She gave a naughty smile.
    “I thought Germany was in a worse state than everywhere else,” I commented.
    “It is. Absolutely terrible. The mark isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on. People are using their life savings to buy bread.”
    “So how is Max doing so brilliantly?”
    “He’s not stupid, darling. His money has always been in Switzerland, and he owns factories around the world. And now he’s working with the German