Death with Blue Ribbon by Leo Bruce Page A

the
cuisine française
.’
    Grace Marvell grinned.
    â€˜Granny was a railway porter’s wife who lived in Pimlico. All she could cook was kippers and spuds. It was a joke in the family.’
    â€˜It must have been your maternal grandmother,’ said Carolus kindly.
    â€˜I believe
she
had been connected with catering—as a waitress,’ chuckled Grace. ‘But Imogen never knew her. She was knocked down by a hansom cab in the Seven Sisters Road and was killed, before Imogen was born. They were both as English as I am and if either of them saw France it was on a day excursion to Boulogne. The
Baronne
is sheer fantasy. But she gets away with it, bless her. She’s a phenomenon really.’
    Miss Trudge rushed in.
    â€˜Oh, Miss Marvell. I’ve been looking for you. Could you come at once, please? She’s asking for you.’
    â€˜Cool down, for goodness’ sake. I’ll come up when I’ve finished my drink.’
    â€˜But she’s asking for you!’ cried poor Miss Trudge making the nervous movement called wringing the hands.
    â€˜All right. All right. Go and tell her I’ll be up presently.’
    â€˜Oh, I couldn’t do that. Won’t you
please
come?’
    Grace gave Carolus a grin and followed Miss Trudge from the bar.
    â€˜It just shows, doesn’t it?’ commented Gloria.
    â€˜It does.’
    â€˜Dickie Biskett says those two hate each other now, though they were friendly enough till about three months ago. Jealous, I suppose.’
    Yes, thought Carolus. For in spite of her way of discussing her sister one felt that Grace admired her success.
    He saw no more of Grace till lunch-time but in the meantime became aware of a vague-looking elderly man who drifted about the Fleur-de-Lys like a stray cat. This, he learned from Gloria, was Imogen’s husband. It was typical of him that no one saw him arrive, in fact no one remembered sending for him. He was just there.
    Carolus was not very successful in conversation with him. He was courteous, even chatty, but made no reference to The Invalid and could not be led to discuss anything more personal than the weather, the news from Vietnam, the Government and so on. His name, Carolus learned, was Dudley Smithers. Marvell was a professional name which Grace had been obliged to adopt when Imogen became famous. The two sisters were born Grace and Emma Haskins.
    â€˜You staying long?’ Carolus asked Mr Smithers at the bar.
    â€˜No. Not long,’ he said. ‘It’s bracing air down here, though, isn’t it? I thought this morning what splendid air this is.’
    â€˜You came down last night, perhaps?’
    â€˜No. No. I do enjoy a day in the country. Blows the cobwebs away.’
    Exasperated Carolus tried a direct attack.
    â€˜How is Miss Marvell this morning?’ he asked.
    â€˜She’s doing nicely,’ said Mr Smithers. Then, chirpily he asked: ‘Are you staying in the hotel?’
    Carolus, temporarily defeated, decided to retire.
    In the hall he found a curious little scene in progress. An impressive-looking elderly man was speaking in a loud but cultured voice to Miss Trudge who with scarlet face positively writhed before him.
    â€˜You told me on the telephone it was a case of life and death,’ he said. ‘I’ve wasted an entire morning coming down here.’
    â€˜Your fee will be paid, Sir Glynn,’ said poor Miss Trudge reproachfully.
    â€˜Fee? Do you think I’m talking about fees? I have several important cases in the hospital, people who need attention, and you bring me down to see a hysterical woman with a small bilious attack, and
that
induced by her own self-pity.’
    â€˜Oh, Sir Glynn! How can you speak like that? Miss Marvell is seriously ill. You haven’t even prescribed anything for her!’
    â€˜I’ll prescribe. One mile’s walk a day to be increased, by extending it daily, to five miles. Cut out all