Hand in Glove by Ngaio Marsh

disappeared. I’m afraid I’ve got to help poor Bimbo make up pieces of poetry for a treasure hunt and in any case I don’t know anything about them. I want my pictures to be modern and gay and, if possible, rude.”
    “And, of course, you’re
so
right, Lady Bantling,” Leonard said eagerly. He leant forward with his head on one side sending little waves of hair oil towards her. Désirée watched him and accepted everything he said without comment. When he had talked himself to an ingratiating standstill, she remarked that, after all, she didn’t think she was all that interested in painting.
    “Andrew has done a portrait of me which I do quite fancy,” she said. “I look like the third witch in Macbeth before she gave up trying to make the best of herself. Hullo, my darling, how’s your muse?”
    Bimbo had come in. He threw an extremely cold glance at Leonard.
    “My muse,” he said, “is bitching on me. You must help me, Désirée; there ought to be at least seven clues and it’s more amusing if they rhyme.”
    “Can we help?” Moppett suggested. “Leonard’s quite good at
really
improper ones. What are they for?”
    “A treasure hunt,” he said, without looking at her.
    “Treasure hunts are my vintage,” Désirée said. “I thought it might be fun to revive them. So we’ve having one tonight.”
    Moppett and Leonard cried excitedly. “But I’m
utterly
sold on them,” Moppett said. “They’re quite the gayest way of having parties. How exactly are you working it?” she asked Bimbo. He said shortly that they were doing it the usual way.
    Désirée stood up. “Bimbo’s planting a bottle of champagne somewhere and the leading-up clues will be dotted about the landscape. If you don’t mind just going on your picture crawl under your own steam we’d better begin racking our brains for rhymes. Please do look wherever you like.” She held out her hand to Moppett. “I’m sorry not to be more hospitable, but we are, as you see, in a taking-on. Good-bye.” She looked at Leonard. “Good-bye.”
    “My God!” Bimbo suddenly ejaculated. “The food from Magnums! It’ll be at the station.”
    Moppett and Leonard stopped short and looked passionately concerned.
    “Can’t you pick it up,” Désirée asked, “when you lay your trail of clues?”
    “I can’t start before we’ve done the clues, can I?”
    “They’re too busy to send anyone from the kitchen and they want the stuff. Madly. We’d better get the Bloodbath to collect it.”
    “Look!” Moppett and Leonard said together and then gaily laughed at each other. “ ‘Two minds with
butter
…’ ” Moppett quipped. “But please — please do let us collect the things from Magnums. We’d
adore
to.”
    Désirée said: “Jolly kind, but the Bloodbath will do it.”
    Bimbo much more emphatically added: “Thank you, but we wouldn’t dream of it.”
    “But why not?” Moppett protested. “Leonard’s longing to drive that thing out there, aren’t you, sweetie?”
    “Of course. And, as a matter of fact,” Leonard said, “I happen to know the Bloodbath — if that’s George Copper’s crate — is out of commission. It won’t take us any time.”
    “Do let us, or we’ll think,” Moppett urged engagingly, “that we really
are
being hideously in the way. Please.”
    “Well—” Désirée said, not looking at her husband, “if you really don’t mind it would, I must say, be the very thing.”
    “Andrew!” Bimbo ejaculated. “He’ll do it. Where is he?”
    “He’s gone. Do you know, darling, I’m afraid we’d better accept the kind offer.”
    “Of
course
!” Moppett cried. “Come on, Face! Is there anything else to be picked up, while we’re about it?”
    Désirée said, with a faint twist in her voice: “You think of everything, don’t you? I’ll talk to the kitchen.”
    When she had gone, Bimbo said: “Isn’t that the Scorpion Copper had in his garage?”
    “The identical job,” Leonard agreed,