The Fashion In Shrouds by Margery Allingham

him once or twice? A fortnight ago I saw that man dining at the Borgia in Greek Street and he had Miss Adamson with him.’
    The dramatic point of this statement was not clear to Mr Campion at first, but, as all eyes were slowly turned upon the one person in the room who had hitherto taken no interest whatever in the proceedings, the inference dawned slowly upon him.
    The mannequin had remained exactly where she was when the general attention had first been distracted from her. She was standing in the middle of the room, beautiful, serene and entirely remote. Her lack of reality was almostunpleasant and it occurred to Campion that her personality was as secret as if she had been a corpse. Now, with everyone staring at her rather than her dress, she did not come to life, but remained looking at them blankly with brilliant, foolish eyes.
    â€˜Caroline, is this true?’ demanded Tante Marthe.
    â€˜Is what true, Madame?’ Her voice, a jews’ harp with a Croydon accent, came as a shock to some of them. Campion, who knew from experience that the beauty of porcelain lies too often in the glaze, was not so much surprised as regretfully confirmed in an opinion.
    â€˜Don’t be a fool, my dear.’ Lady Papendeik betrayed unexpected heartiness. ‘You must know if you’ve eaten with a man or not. Do not let us waste time.’
    â€˜I didn’t know whose brother-in-law he was,’ protested Miss Adamson sulkily.
    â€˜Did you describe the model? Did it slip out by accident? These things have happened.’
    â€˜No, I didn’t tell him, Madame.’
    â€˜You understand what has occurred?’
    Miss Adamson did not change her expression. Her dark eyes were liquid and devastatingly unintelligent.
    â€˜I didn’t tell him anything. I swear it, I didn’t.’
    Tante Marthe sighed. ‘Very well. Go and take it off.’
    As the girl floated from the room Val made a gesture of resignation.
    â€˜That’s all we shall ever know,’ she said to Dell, who was standing beside her. ‘There’s a direct link there, of course, but she was quite emphatic.’
    Campion joined them.
    â€˜I thought I noticed a certain clinging to the letter,’ he ventured.
    â€˜That was the diagnosis that leapt to my mind but I didn’t care to mention it,’ Dell said, and added with the smile which made him attractive, ‘she’s too lovely to be that kind of fool.’
    â€˜No one’s too lovely to be mental, in my experience,’ remarked Lady Papendeik briskly. ‘What diagnosis is this?’
    â€˜We thought she might be a letter-of-the-law liar,’ Dell said, glancing at Campion for support. ‘She didn’t tell the man, she drew it for him. They’re the most impossiblepeople in the world to deal with. If you pin them down they get more and more evasive and convince themselves all the time that they’re speaking the literal truth . . . which they are, of course, in a way. In my experience the only thing to do is to get rid of them, however valuable they are. Still, I shouldn’t like to convict the girl on that evidence alone.’
    Tante Marthe hesitated and it went through Campion’s mind that she was suppressing a remark that might possibly turn out to be indiscreet.
    Ferdie Paul, who had remained silent throughout the interview, looked down at her.
    â€˜Send her to Caesar’s Court,’ he said. ‘She’s too lovely to lose. Margaret is down there, isn’t she? Turn this kid over to her. She can talk about the gowns there as much as she likes; she won’t see them until they’re ready to be shown.’
    â€˜Perhaps so,’ said Tante Marthe and her black eyes wavered.
    Georgia resumed her seat.
    â€˜I think you’re very generous, Val,’ she began. ‘I’m broken-hearted. I could weep. You’ll never make me anything so deliriously lovely again.’
    â€˜No,’ Val