—BYRON IT WAS SOME TIME before Miss Withers, who hadn’t giggled in forty years, could quite contain herself. The picture of the two hereditary enemies struggling to extricate themselves from their accidental embrace outside her door had been a little too much, even for her. Of course it had all been over in a second or two; Sam Bordin had regained his hat and something of his aplomb and taken himself hurriedly off. The inspector brought the suitcases inside, kicked the door shut, and slammed them down before her. “Oh, dear,” murmured the schoolteacher. “Thank you, Oscar. And don’t glower so. How long had you been listening outside the door?” “What makes you think—” he began indignantly. “Only a couple of minutes, why?” “I just hoped you’d eavesdropped on the entire conversation, so I wouldn’t have to repeat it all. But I will.” And she did. Unmollified, Piper said, “I don’t believe it. I mean I don’t believe it when Bordin says he didn’t have any idea Ina Kell was down here until that phone call—if there ever was a phone call.”
