Naturally it was very annoying for the Cavendishes. The house was constantly besieged by reporters, who were consistently denied admission, but who continued to haunt the village and the grounds, where they lay in wait with cameras, for any unwary members of the household. We all lived in a blast of publicity. The Scotland Yard men came and went, examining, questioning, lynx-eyed and reserved of tongue. Towards what end they were working, we did not know. Had they any clue, or would the whole thing remain in the category of undiscovered crimes?

After breakfast, Dorcas came up to me rather mysteriously, and asked if she might have a few words with me.

“Certainly. What is it, Dorcas?”

“Well, it’s just this, sir. You’ll be seeing the Belgian gentleman today perhaps?” I nodded. “Well, sir, you know how he asked me so particular if the mistress, or anyone else, had a green dress?”

“Yes, yes. You have found one?” My interest was aroused.