perfect peace. No burglaries or other crimes of violence, no detectives, no Americans. What I complain of is that I should have enjoyed it all so much more if I’d felt really secure. As it is, all the time I’ve been saying to myself, ‘One or other of them is bound to turn up in a minute.’ And that spoilt the whole thing.”
“Well, nobody has turned up,” said Bundle. “We’ve been left severely alone—neglected, in fact. It’s odd the way Fish disappeared. Didn’t he say anything?”
“Not a word. Last time I saw him he was pacing up and down the Rose Garden yesterday afternoon, smoking one of those unpleasant cigars of his. After that he seems to have just melted into the landscape.”
“Somebody must have kidnapped him,” said Bundle hopefully.
“In another day or two, I expect we shall have Scotland Yard dragging the lake to find his dead body,” said her father gloomily. “It serves me right. At my time of life, I ought to have gone quietly abroad and taken care of my health, and not allowed myself to be drawn into George Lomax’s wildcat schemes, I”
He was interrupted by Tredwell.
“Well,” said Lord Caterham irritably, “what is it?”
“The French detective is here, my lord, and would be glad if you could spare him a few minutes.”
“What did I tell you?” said Lord Caterham. “I knew it was too good to last. Depend upon it, they’ve found Fish’s dead body doubled up in the goldfish pond.”
Tredwell, in a strictly respectful manner, steered him back to the point of issue.
“Am I to say that you will see him, my lord?”
“Yes, yes. Bring him in here.”
Tredwell departed. He returned a minute or two later announcing in a lugubrious voice:
“Monsieur Lemoine.”
The Frenchman came in with a quick, light step. His walk, more than his face, betrayed the fact that he was excited about something.
“Good evening, Lemoine,” said Lord Caterham. “Have a drink, won’t you?”
“I thank you, no.” He bowed punctiliously to the ladies. “At last I make progress. As things are, I felt that you should
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