"Not really. I guess I was trying to watch everything and make sure it all kept moving smoothly."

Sigrid walked over to where Molly Baldwin had stood last night and examined the room from the new perspective. "And you don't remember anything out of the ordinary about Table 5?"

"No," the girl said quickly, "not at all."

"What about John Sutton?"

Miss Baldwin's face went blank. "Who?"

"One of the men killed last night. You had met him on Wednesday. Don't you remember?"

"I had?" She tugged at a short brown curl behind her right ear, a nervous mannerism probably left over from childhood; then her face brightened. "Oh yes! One of the professors from the City University. I had forgotten. That was why his face looked familiar!"

"When?".

"Why, when I saw him again last night," she said slowly.

"At Table 5?"

"I'm sorry. Lieutenant, I just don't remember. There were so many people here. Over five hundred. You know how it is-you see a face and there's something familiar about it, but heavens! It could be a bus driver or a bank teller-someone you recognize but that you've never actually talked to, you know?"

"And you must meet lots of people, working in a big hotel like this," Lieutenant Knight encouraged.

"Yes, I do," she said, turning to him gratefully from the more intimidating Lieutenant Harald.

"How long have you lived up North?" he asked.

"Why, just since Christmas." She smiled at him and her fingers twined around that same brown curl. "I thought I'd lost all my accent."

Sigrid began to suspect that Lieutenant Knight was going to be a distinct handicap in their investigation if every woman they questioned reacted to him like this. She curtly broke in to ask Miss Baldwin to describe preparations for the cribbage tournament.

Her professional capacity required, Molly Baldwin gave a fairly concise recap of the last three or four days, including her mix-up with the pairings and the cribbage board stolen from the display case on Thursday. Young and inexperienced as she might be. Miss Baldwin was quick enough to grasp the significance of both incidents.

"Which happened first?" asked Sigrid, clearing a space at one of the cluttered tables for her notebook. Her bandaged arm made simple actions difficult.

"I'm not sure. Gus-He's our calligrapher and visual artist, whatever we need in the line of place cards and posters and things like that. We can ask him when he sent up the pairings display, but I think it was sometime before lunch. Mr. Flythe didn't notice it right away and I'd forgotten it was supposed to be confidential. We set up the display cases on Thursday morning and a few hours later-about three o'clock, I think-we noticed the missing board."

"The pairings were where? In here or out in the hall?"

"In here. If you like, I'll get you a list of all the staff who worked in this room on Thursday. That's what's important, isn't it? You want to know who could have read where Mr. Wolferman or Professor Sutton were supposed to sit, don't you?"

"It's a place to start, Ms. Baldwin." Sigrid flipped her notebook shut and thrust it into her jacket pocket.

By now, the forensic crews had taken away everything of significance in the way of splintered cribbage board, bomb fragments, and the like, so Sigrid saw no reason to object when Madam Ronay appeared in the doorway with one of her accountants and a claims investigator from the hotel's insurers and requested permission for the two men to assess the damages. She did find it interesting that Madam Ronay, a female executive accustomed to male underlings, should automatically address her request to Lieutenant Knight.

Just as automatic, too, were her flirtatious manner, the way she gazed up at him through lowered eyelashes, her light touch on his sleeve, and the delicate perfume that enveloped them both when she murmured, "It is barbaric to think of money when so many were hurt last night, but a great hotel is like life, n'est-ce pas? And life also goes on, no?"

"Yes, ma'am. But I'm afraid you've confused me with Lieutenant Harald," said Lieutenant Knight, gesturing toward Sigrid with his hat. "She's in charge here. I just represent the Navy's interests."

Beautiful, self-assured women always made Sigrid sharply conscious of how little she knew of clothes and cosmetics. She stiffened as Lucienne Ronay's hazel eyes swept over her, coolly assessing her thin figure, her shapeless slacks, her scruffy corduroy jacket, her Woolworth scarf.

Their eyes met briefly, but before Sigrid could make her own assessment, the lovely Frenchwoman exclaimed, "But how silly of me! Always the uniform makes me think this one is in charge."

A bewitching Gallic shrug of her shoulders invited them to share her amusement over minor failings.

Young Molly Baldwin smiled dutifully, as did the cowed accountant; the insurance adjuster and Lieutenant Alan Knight were indulgent.

"A natural mistake," Sigrid said dryly. "And to answer your question, we've almost finished here. In fact, as far as I'm concerned, your people can come in-shall we say tomorrow?"

"Je vous dis un grand merci, Lieutenant. See to it, please, Molly. You cannot know how unhappy it makes me to see my poor d'Aubigné Room so dérangé." She turned back to Alan Knight as to the sun. "But what you said before, Lieutenant, I do not understand. Why has the Navy an interest in our bomb?"

Knight explained. Madame Ronay clicked her tongue sympathetically upon hearing that the wounded commander was a woman who might be permanently maimed if she survived, and Molly Baldwin paled when he told them grimly that the doctors were pessimistic about saving Commander Dixon's right arm.

"Were you here when the bomb went off?" Sigrid asked Madame Ronay.

"Alas, non! I welcomed everyone. I wished them all bonne chance and then I left. The Contessa di Biagio had arranged a small dinner party in her suite and I was expected there. But when they came and told me what had happened, I returned at once. Quel dommage! They told me that two were dead and many hurt."

"Did you know either of the dead men?"

"Monsieur Wolferman, only slightly. You understand. Lieutenant, three hotels keep me most busy. I have little time to play. Yet there are parties to which I must go, dinners I must attend, and Monsieur Wolferman also, I think. Two years ago, at a dinner for the governor, we sat next to each other. Since then, I see him here or there at similar places and we speak, but I do not say that I know him."

Her words were for Sigrid, yet her beautiful eyes kept straying to Lieutenant Knight. If the columnists could be trusted, Lucienne Ronay was at least twenty years older than he. Sigrid had heard that skillful makeup, careful hairdressing, and well-designed clothes could take years off a woman's appearance; but looking at Lucienne Ronay's ash-blonde hair, her flawless skin, the lush curves subtly enhanced by a designer dress of off-white cashmere, it was hard to realize that the hotel owner was almost as old as her own mother. Anne was unquestionably attractive., but no one would underestimate her age by fifteen years.

"What about Professor Sutton?" Sigrid asked.

Madame Ronay started to answer negatively, but Molly Baldwin tactfully reminded her of the CUNY group's Wednesday morning visit.

"Ah, was that Professor Sutton? But what a loss! So young and so handsome."

Molly Baldwin looked sightly shocked and the Frenchwoman gave a self-deprecating smile. "When you approach the half-century, ma petite, you will understand better that the loss of any handsome man is always reason to mourn."

Her eyes swept over the accountant and the insurance adjuster and rested provocatively on Alan Knight's clean-cut features. It was like seeing all those gossip columns come to life before his eyes and he laughed outright at this sample of the famous Lucienne Ronay outrageousness.