Ngaio Marsh: Spinsters in Jeopardy

“Undoubtedly,” said Dupont, stifling a yawn. “I imagine we take statements from the painter, the actress Wells and the two young ones and let it go at that. They may be more useful running free. Particularly if they return to the habit.”

“The young ones won’t. I’m sure of that. As for the others: there are cures.”

In the front seat, Raoul, influenced no doubt by the moonlight and by his glimpse of Ginny and Robin, began to sing:

“ La nuit est faite pour l’amour .”

“Raoul,” Alleyn said in French for his benefit, “did a good job of work tonight, didn’t he?”

“Not so bad, not so bad. We shall have you in the service yet, my friend,” said Dupont. He leaned forward and struck Raoul lightly on the shoulder.

“No, M. le Commissaire, it is not my métier . I am about to settle with Teresa. And yet, if M. l’Inspecteur Alleyn should come back one day, who knows?”

They drove through the sleeping town to the little Square des Sarracins and put Alleyn down at the hotel.

Troy was fast asleep, with Ricky curled in beside her. The little silver goat illuminated himself on the bedside table. The French windows were wide open and Alleyn went out for a moment on the balcony. To the east the stars had turned pale and the first dawn cock was crowing in the hills above Roqueville.

The End