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People will approve. I’ll be held up as an example from Calais to Cannes of self-sacrificing uncle-hood.’
    ‘All the same, I do feel myself responsible.’
    Joe grinned. ‘You always did, Lydia. It can be infuriating. Look, love, stop fretting. Dorcas always comes out well, you’ve discovered that. She’ll be just fine.’
    ‘Of course she will! It’s not Dorcas I’m fretting about, you chump! Oh, Marcus! You’ll have to speak to him!’
    Left alone, the two men rolled their eyes in affectionate complicity and sank thankfully into a companionable silence, giving their full attention to plates of kidneys and
    bacon with copies of The Times and the Daily Herald on the side.
    ‘Stockings?’ Joe looked up, struck by a sudden thought. ‘Hasn’t the child got supplies of socks?’
    Marcus seemed to be having difficulty with a piece of toast and coughed behind his napkin. ‘You haven’t noticed, have you, old boy? She’s growing up fast.’
    ‘Well, of course I’d noticed! She’s put on about two inches in every direction since you had the keeping of her. Good food, regularly offered. Makes a difference.’
    ‘Exactly A difference. Glad you’re aware. Lydia couldn’t be quite certain that you were. Well, there you are then. I’ll tell her. “Joe’s aware,” I shall
say!’
    Joe pondered on this for a moment. ‘I say, do I consider myself spoken to?’
    ‘Can’t imagine you’d want me to elaborate. I will venture to add a word of advice of my own though . . . a thought or two from a man of the world, family man, father of girls
and all that: if our perusal of the file is correct, I assume you’ll be taking young Dorcas with you to stay with this family? Yes? Well, you could hardly park her in some hotel in war-torn
Reims while you go off by yourself. There’ll be a warm reception and – Lydia noticed – the company of the young son of the house. Dorcas will want to make a good impression.
Wouldn’t expect her to come down to dinner in the shorts and sandals she’d packed for the south of France, would you? The whole thing may be a bore and a distraction for you, Joe, but I
can tell you, for the girls it’s a romantic interlude. Let them enjoy it and don’t be so stuffy!’
    ‘And that’s your advice? You hand me the fruits of your years of fathering and it amounts to – “Don’t be stuffy”? Wouldn’t fill a book, would
it?’
    Marcus gave Joe a long look over the table and spoke in a voice of rough affection. ‘It’s a long way down to Antibes. It will seem twice as long if you antagonize Dorcas.’ And,
seeing Joe was about to explode with indignation, ‘Take it easy, old chap. You’re wound up tight as a spring. Can’t help noticing. I’m saying she’s rather like a
partly trained little wild creature – think of a ferret . . . Remember Carver Doone?’ he added lugubriously. ‘Lyd’s done her best – so have I – but there’s
some way to go yet before we can present her at Court. Or for tea in a Joe Lyons Corner House, come to that.
    ‘Well, that’s it. I’ve said my piece.’ Marcus sat back, relieved to hear no riposte from Joe. ‘Listen, old man – those buggers at the Yard work you too hard.
Lydia and I are always concerned for you, considering the life you lead . . . always mixed up in murder and mayhem of one sort or another. It will be a relief to us to know that for the next
three weeks at least you’re not dicing with death.’

Chapter Five
    ‘Did you lay this on specially, Joe?’
    Dorcas, sitting in the passenger seat of the Morris Oxford cabriolet, looked up from her guidebook and stared with disbelief at the scene in the street before them.
    ‘Certainly didn’t,’ said Joe impatiently. ‘The street’ll be blocked for hours!’ He glanced at his watch. ‘We’ll be late. You’d have thought
my opposite number . . . what’s his name? Inspector Bonnefoye, that’s it . . . would have warned me this was happening. He must have