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casings had opened to expose the flattened, oval- to kidney-shaped seeds that were black to dark brown and each from two to three millimetres in size. Then she looked at him more steadily. ‘Madame. . . ’ she began.
    ‘Kept a key to this suitcase on her at all times, but its spare hidden in the room in case the other was lost or stolen. Did you find it as I did?’
    ‘No! I’d. . . I’d never think of. . . ’
    ‘Mademoiselle Arnarson, please, let’s not waste time. The seeds. . . ’
    ‘And the fruit are the most poisonous parts of the plant and contain from zero point two to zero point four percent hyoscine and hyoscyamine, which means atropine and scopolamine also. Brother Étienne didn’t want to give those capsules to Madame. There were far too many seeds, maybe six hundred in total, maybe as much as twelve hundred, but Madame. . . ’
    ‘Can be very forceful?’
    He was standing so close to her now she could feel the presence of him. ‘Caroline’s family are stateside—in America, in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. We’ll win this war because of people like them, not just our boys.’
    ‘Iron and steel.’
    ‘And money, Inspector. Caroline’s family is loaded.’
    ‘Yet their daughter was left behind to end up here.’
    ‘Their youngest daughter, but perhaps you’d best ask Madame why that happened.’
    Even though one of the enemy to her, and tarred with that and the Gestapo’s brush, Hermann would somehow have gotten through her armour. He’d have smiled at her, encouraged those little nuances of male-female jockeying, would have asked of her home, her family, her state of well-being—anything so as to show that he really did empathize and would eventually have broken down that barrier of hatred and caution, but time and patience sometimes didn’t allow for such things, and Hermann was a sucker for any female and could easily become putty in the hands of such a one as this.
    ‘Tell me about the first victim, mademoiselle. Tell me if you think she, too, was murdered.’
    He was pocketing the little box of datura, wasn’t going to leave it in Madame’s suitcase, but had he sensed that she, herself, had been involved in that first tragedy? If so, how could she make him understand? ‘In the beginning, like everyone else but Caroline, I thought it an accident, but now. . . ’
    ‘Since the death of Mademoiselle Lacy.’
    ‘ Oui . Inspect—”
    It was Hermann.
    ‘Louis, you’d best leave that and come with me.’
    Wielding brooms, canes, billiard cues, knives, boards—anything they could have laid hand to—they were crammed into the foyer and crowding the corridor that led to the steps to the cellars, and in a rage. Having rushed the doors en masse, they shrieked, yelled, jeered, and bellowed at the Americans in French and in English. ‘ ESPÈCES DE SALOPE! ROULEUSES! VIPÈRES! ’ Fucking bitches, sluts, serpents. . . ‘COME UP AND TAKE WHAT WE’RE GOING TO GIVE YOU!’
    As one, wearing hats, scarves, overcoats of every description, the colours faded by the years of use, the ‘delegation’ ceased its racket at a shout from its leader, and collectively turned to look up.
    A ripple of what must be happening ran down into the cellars to silence the Americans.
    ‘Who the hell are you, luv?’ called the woman in English, the throaty yell of it echoing.
    ‘I think she means you, Louis.’
    ‘You’re mistaken, Hermann.’
    ‘But you’re the chief inspector, aren’t you?’
    ‘ Sacré nom de nom, Hermann, elle est la plus formidable ! Madame,’ St-Cyr called down en français . ‘What seems to be the trouble?’
    In French she answered, ‘Those bitches are trying to put the blame on us. If they want to kill each other, that’s their business, but we had nothing to do with it!’
    Foolishly Louis held up a hand to intercede. One could have heard a pin drop were it not for the sounds of collective breathing and the smell that arose from the assembled.
    ‘THEY’LL NEVER GROW A