I tried not to laugh at his antique gesture. 'I thought of Kalathal.'

'The Maharajah of Kalathal is at Bolton Abbey now.'

'So I understand.'

Sometimes James should keep quiet. 'That could signify a reconciliation, a putting aside of differences in the face of tragedy.'

Sir Richard ignored James. 'Did you know that the diamond has been in the Halkwaer family for seven generations?'

I did, but only because Indira had told me, so I pretended ignorance.

He continued. 'And do you know what state originally owned the diamond and was prevailed upon to make it part of a dowry in exchange for promises that were never kept?'

I did not know, but could guess.

James provided the answer. 'Kalathal?'

'Yes.'

'A motive for murder, Sir Richard?' I took a sip of sherry.

'No one has been murdered, Mrs Shackleton. The coroner's jury made that entirely clear. Maharajah Narayan Halkwaer died as a result of a tragic accident. Accidents happen.'

James, somewhat ineptly, tried to offer me support. 'My cousin, being an investigator, is inclined to suspect foul play.'

Sir Richard waved his empty gla.s.s at James. 'Shooting accidents are sadly more common than most ladies suppose.'

'Well that makes it very simple.'

'My dear Mrs Shackleton, you were asked for your expertise in finding the prince, and find him you did.' Sir Richard straightened his bow tie. 'Your suggestion gives us food for thought. We shall shortly enter discussions with the Maharajah of Kalathal. However, if you would care to a.s.sist us in another way...'

He waited.

So did I.

After a good half minute, he continued. 'When Miss Metcalfe has had time to sleep on the matter, I believe she will see sense. She appears to have taken a liking to you, and given how uncooperative she was this evening perhaps another approach may be more productive. I should like to be able to rule her out as a suspect in relation to the diamond. You might gain her confidence. We also need an a.s.surance from her that she will not return to India.'

'Sorry, Sir Richard. Reluctant as I am to turn down an a.s.signment from His Majesty's government, my heart would not be in it.'

He nodded graciously, acknowledging defeat, and then turned to James. 'Did you also strike up a rapport with the lady in question?'

James blanched. 'Not a bit of it.'

'Odd. She spoke flatteringly of you while she was in custody. Said that you were a gentleman.'

'I hardly had anything to do with the woman, offered her a cup of tea that is all, allowed her to take her time, no more than the normal civilities.'

'Still, we may ask you to keep an eye on her.'

Terror struck James. 'Isn't that a police matter?'

'Oh she can smell police a mile off, so she tells them, and I have no reason to doubt her.'

It was the first time I had spent a night under James's roof. The wallpaper in the bedroom was William Morris. On the windowsill sat an arts and crafts vase which held silk violets. I remembered Hope talking about it, and how pleased she was with her choice. She had sworn me to secrecy about the silk flowers as my aunt holds imitation flowers to be the height of vulgarity, and poor Hope lived to please.

After a surprisingly good night's sleep, I felt quite cheerful. This was because I had made a decision. Last night, I had telephoned Aunt Berta and arranged to meet her, for shopping and lunch. Later, I would take the train back to Bolton Abbey, and seek an audience with the maharani. I would apologise to Indira for not finding the diamond. Whether I would voice suspicions against the Maharajah of Kalathal was another matter. That was not my concern. After having lost possession of the gem for seven generations, perhaps it was Kalathal's turn to have the diamond back.

At 8 a.m., the maid brought my morning tea. She drew back the curtains on a bright sky. My tranquillity lasted less than ten minutes.

James knocked and opened the door without waiting for a reply. He stood in the doorway, looking dismayed, as when bigger boys went on an adventure without him.

'She's gone.'

'She? Lydia Metcalfe?'

He nodded.

'Well what did you expect? She's hounded, bullied, taken into custody, humiliated, threatened, and followed. What would you have done?'

'That's ridiculous. I would never be in that sort of position to begin with.'

'No, I don't suppose you would.'

He plonked himself on the bottom of my bed. 'But where has she gone?'

'When did they find out that she is missing?'

'Ten minutes ago. She slept in her room at the Dorchester. There was a constable posted on the landing. They had to force the door when she didn't answer the chambermaid's knock. She'd left the key in the lock.'

'She climbed out of the window?'

'How did you guess?'

'Not exactly a locked room mystery then.'

'But it was the second floor.'

'She's a dancer, James. That means she's agile. She was brought up in a pub by her aunt and her uncle the tightrope walker. If she'd been on the tenth floor, she would have left via the roof.'

'There isn't a tenth floor at the Dorchester.'

'James, go away. Let me dress.'

'Sir Richard has ordered me to find her. He said you might help me. He thinks that being female, and from the north, you may have an insight into how her mind works.'

'How does my being from the north come into the equation?'

'I don't know what he means, I'm sure.' James looked more miserable than usual.

'Lydia left Yorkshire when she was seven years old. An East End pearly king and queen would be closer to her than I.'

'You can ignore Sir Richard, Kate. I can't. Be a sport. You went to the Earl of Ellesmere. Do you think I should go there?'

I reached out to the bedside cabinet and handed him the items Lydia had dropped in the hotel room, the receipt for stockings from a Paris shop, the ticket stub from the Folies Bergere, the menu from the Ritz Hotel.

He stared at them. 'Are you saying she has gone to Paris?'

'My guess is that she did not spend five minutes in her room at the Dorchester. If I were her, I would have taken the boat train from Euston and be halfway across the Channel by now, out of the clutches of Scotland Yard and the India Office.'

James paled. 'You heard what Sir Richard said last night. He will order me to follow her. I don't like abroad, I never have.'

'Oh you'll like Paris.'

'Will you come with me?'

'No. If you meet the right people you will get on famously. I can give you two excellent introductions to people who know everyone. They'll find Lydia for you in no time.'

'What if she hasn't gone to Paris?'

'I think if our friends at Scotland Yard make a few enquiries, they will discover that she was on the boat train.'

'Did you know?'

'Of course not. But trust me, and cheer up. Make the most of this.'

He left, closing the door gently behind him.

Thirty-Six.

'It makes me feel so modern to eat here.' Aunt Berta cut into her steak and kidney pudding. 'When I was your age, I wouldn't have dreamed that a place like this would have come into being. Something good came out of that war after all.'

Shopping spree completed, we were lunching at our favourite place, not glamorous but with its own charm the VAD Ladies' Club on Cavendish Square. My feet ached, the mutton chop was overcooked and I felt heartily fed up with myself in spite of some successful purchases.

Aunt Berta does not miss much. 'Cheer up, Kate. You'll thank me for spotting that little hat. And you mustn't let James's moroseness rub off on you. He has that effect on people.'

'It is not to do with James, Aunt. The whole Bolton Abbey business is a disaster.'

This was my first big failure as a private investigator. And now I had encouraged James to go haring off to Paris in pursuit of Lydia Metcalfe. She had indeed boarded the boat train last night and would now be in Cherbourg. Whatever made me suggest that James follow her? My feelings of responsibility were heightened by Aunt Berta's delight that I had sent her son packing.

'My dear, it was a stroke of genius. James needs to be taken out of himself.'

'He didn't want to go.'

'Well of course he didn't but it will do him good. That boy doesn't know how to enjoy himself, and he's pushed from pillar to post in the India Office. He is not cut out for it.'

'Why did he move to the India Office?'

'They lighted on him because my father served on the Northwest Frontier.'

'Yes. The hotel manager at the Cavendish Arms served under him. He inspired great loyalty.'

'Well, you see, my father was cut out for the adventurous life. He was in India at the time of the mutiny, but his troops stayed loyal.'

'James believes our days in India are numbered.'

She waved her knife dismissively. 'Well of course he does. We shall be in India for another hundred years, at least. My father said so, and he should know. But, you see, my poor James would take the "our days are numbered" point of view. If he had been born into a different walk of life, he would be marching along Oxford Street with a placard telling us "the end is nigh". How can he expect to progress if he foresees an end to everything. Really! That is why he was far better off in the War Office, especially since there won't be any more wars.'

'Why did he agree to leave War?'

'The sad truth is he wasn't really cut out for that either. War is a very convivial department. After all, they are doing what boys like best, planning for fisticuffs and destruction. Having James at their little soirees would be like going to the Folies Bergere with a parson.'

Over the pudding, we talked about Malcolm and Penelope, James's younger brother and his wife. Aunt seemed terribly pleased that they are producing children at an alarming rate.

Not until our dishes had been taken away did Sir Richard materialise, hovering in the doorway, glancing about the room full of females until his monocled eye alighted on us.

'Aunt Berta, there's James's boss.'

She looked up. 'Well if it isn't Richard. He took quite a shine to me once upon a time.' She waved him over.

He strode across the room. 'Ladies.'

Aunt Berta raised a gracious hand. 'Please, Richard, do join us for tea. Or would you prefer coffee?'

'Tea would be lovely, Lady Pocklington, though you may not feel so kindly towards me when you hear that I have despatched your son to Paris.'

'Really?' Aunt Berta feigned perfect surprise. 'He didn't mention it.'

'It was all a little last minute. Someone we want to keep an eye on. We value you your son most highly.' He allowed a silence.

Aunt Berta is good at codes. She excused herself, and headed in the direction of the ladies' room.

When she had gone, Sir Richard said, 'Your cousin has excelled himself, Mrs Shackleton. He discovered that Lydia Metcalfe left London on the boat train at midnight, and will have crossed the Channel by now. He has shown considerable initiative in pursuing her to Paris. But I suppose you knew that.'

'He did mention it.'

The waitress brought tea.

He waited until she moved out of earshot. 'Shortly after you left, there was an outbreak of bilious attacks among the Indians at Bolton Abbey.'

'How unfortunate. I had heard there was sickness in the village.'