The butterflies had started flapping in my stomach again and the card just slipped out of my hand. As I bent to pick it up, I could hear the soggy thumping of Tray still somersaulting around and around behind me. The Inspector said, ‘I wonder if Miss Rood could spare me a moment.’ I got back into an erect position and put the card in my pocket because there’s nothing that shows up a shaky hand more than holding a small object. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘We’re going to a funeral and we’re late and Mother’s still changing and …’ ‘So you’re Miss Rood’s son?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘And I imagine it’s Miss Delanay’s funeral you’re going to?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘So am I.’ Without being invited, the Inspector moved past me into the hall, looking around in an alarmingly professional manner. Tray saw him and stopped somersaulting and barked. Gino, all co-operative white-toothed grin, was coming towards us. ‘Hi,’ he said.
