‘Discipline’s completely broken down, Jacquemin. You really can’t keep them all here much longer. In fact they’ve given us a deadline. Four o’clock. Rather less generous than the lord, who specifies moonrise! The charabanc arrives then to take them to Avignon in time for the night sleeper to Paris. Orlando and his brood aren’t hurrying off—they’re planning a more leisurely take-off in the caravan. And Jane Makepeace refuses to abandon Guy de Pacy and the lord in their hour of need.’

‘I ought to make an arrest before the bus arrives,’ grumbled Jacquemin. ‘We’re not ready for this. We await the evidence of fingerprints from the lens cover and that’s about all we’ve got. They may not send it until tomorrow.’ He tore a clump of grey hairs from his moustache. ‘It’s no good—I can’t proceed without a confession.’

‘I can understand that,’ said Joe. ‘So—let’s extract one, shall we? No guns, no thumbscrews, I think you’ll agree? Lacking the scientific evidence, the only thing we have left in our repertoire is low cunning and deceit. I think we can manage that between us! But first, Dorcas has something to tell you.’

‘Look, do we have to have this child in the incident room? Send her away, Sandilands.’

‘No. You must listen to what she has to say.’

‘You’re asking me to unpack that lot?’ said Jacquemin, glaring at Estelle’s suitcase.

‘Sir, Forestier packed everything while I made an inventory,’ said Martineau, shuffling through a pile of papers. ‘I don’t recall any such item … Ah! … Here—look—items seven to nine in the clothing department. Brown skirt, black skirt, red print skirt. Any good?’

He dragged the case into the centre of the room and began the business of removing the strap and unlocking the fasteners. The packing was carefully done and halfway down he found what he was looking for. He held the garment up for inspection.

‘Folded up neatly in the middle of the pile with her skirts. Black trousers. Soiled on seat and trouser bottoms with dust and plant matter, sir. Lady’s.’

‘Tall lady’s,’ said Dorcas. ‘Here, let me show you.’ She held them up in front of her. ‘You see? You’re looking for someone at least six inches bigger than I am. And Estelle was quite small. Only one inch taller than me, I’d say. This pair did not belong to her.’

‘And how do you safely and discreetly dispose of an incriminating item in a building swarming with people … observant domestics … and the police expected any minute? You’re not going to start a bonfire or put them in a rubbish bin. No. You slip them off as though changing for dinner, kick them away casually under the bed, and you put them away later in the drawer of someone who is in no position to deny ownership and whose belongings are being shipped straight out back to England,’ Joe said. ‘Here, let me have a closer look, Martineau.’ He took the garment to the window and held it this way and that. He checked the label inside the waistband; he scratched at the fabric with a fingernail. Finally, he smiled and said: ‘Leave them available on the desk, will you? That’s going to be the first of my pressure points. The second … where did you put the lens cap?’

The Commissaire produced it in its envelope.

‘Fine. Now pass me that sheet of headed paper I brought back from the lab with me, will you? A clean envelope? Large one?’

Joe sealed the lens cap and the sheet of paper inside the envelope and asked Martineau to write the Commissaire’s name on the front in large, curlicued French handwriting. Satisfied with the look of his package, he handed it to Martineau. ‘This is where you’ll have to disappear for a bit, Lieutenant. Drive one of the police cars out of the courtyard and turn around. Dramatic crunch of running feet on gravel, please, and then, moments later, you bustle in waving this envelope. We’ll take it from there.’

Martineau grinned and went out, checking that the corridor was clear.

After a few more minutes’ consultation, Jacquemin stepped to the door and handed a chit to the two attendant coppers. ‘Your instructions, Corporal. At once, please, and to be carried out in that order. Straight into my presence, mind! No wandering off to be permitted on any pretext. Assume imminent arrest and take appropriate precautions.’

One of them was back, rapping on the door in three minutes.

Jacquemin opened it himself, all gracious smiles. ‘Ah! There you are, Miss Somerset. So sorry to have to haul you back in again so soon.’

Chapter Thirty-Four

‘He’s lying!’ Cecily shouted, pointing a finger at Joe. ‘I haven’t been inciting to riot! They were already rioting and if—’

‘Calm down, please, Cecily,’ Joe said agreeably. ‘We just want some advice. We want to tap into your expertise if you’d be so good as to grant us a minute of your time. I’ve heard you spoken of as something of a botanist. You are an expert on the flora of Provence, I understand?’

‘Oh, well, I wouldn’t say—’

‘I’m thinking now of the wild flowers, grasses, herbs—that sort of thing. Have I come to the right shop?’

His crisp and friendly tone found a response in her reply. ‘Ask me. I’ll try. Have you got a sample for me to identify? Is that it?’

‘Not exactly. I just need an impressive-sounding name. Any low-growing, sun-loving wild plant particular to this part of Provence will do. The rarer the better. I want to impress someone with my knowledge.’

‘Well, you’ll be wanting a Latin name then or—how about a Provençal one? You could consider … um … well, my favourite name is the one they have for thyme. Le farigoule they call it around here. Creeping thyme—Thymus serpyllum—but that’s not at all rare. Better still … Yes! Woolly thyme is the rather splendidly named Thymus pseudolanuginosus.’

‘Perfect! Thank you very much. That’s all. Now, will you go along with the corporal, Cecily? He’s just going to ask you to step into the room next door with him to fill in a few details—forwarding address and suchlike. You’ll be wanting us to send on your film when we’ve done with it. He’ll only keep you a few minutes.’

Long enough to keep Cecily from view while the second officer appeared at the door with the second interviewee, he calculated.

A sharp tap and Jane Makepeace came in. She greeted them pleasantly. ‘Commander. Commissaire. Well, it’s eeny, meeny, miney, mo, this afternoon, isn’t it? I wondered when it would be my turn to hear the clink of the cuffs.’ And, catching sight of Dorcas seated behind the door: ‘Oh, we meet again, Dorcas! Have they put you to sit in the corner? What have you been up to?’

‘Miss Joliffe is here as a witness,’ said Jacquemin.

‘Sounds serious! What on earth have you witnessed, Dorcas, dear?’

‘Nothing as yet,’ said Joe. ‘But she will witness an event in the coming minutes. She will have the dubious privilege, along with me and the Commissaire, of witnessing your confession to the murder of Estelle Smeeth.’

The spontaneous burst of laughter was disarming. It was not scornful, not nervous, not threatening. Yes, Joe admitted to himself, Miss Makepeace had a very nice laugh.

Jacquemin caught his eye and shrugged the responsibility for the interview over to Joe.

‘Lord Joe! What’s next on your script? I know—you’re going to say: “The game’s up!”’

‘Do you agree to confess with no further ado to this crime or will you insist on hearing a full account of your movements and deeds on the day in question?’ Joe asked.

‘Neither. I have nothing to confess and I certainly haven’t time to sit here and listen to the next instalment in your increasingly desperate flights of fancy. Busy woman, Joe! I have things to do. Objects and people to stick together, you know …’ Her eyes flashed a warm and conspiratorial message to him. ‘You’ll have to try this out on whoever’s next on your list. That’ll be number four,’ she said helpfully and made to turn for the door.