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interpret ambiguous information. From what Rathbone had told him, he had expected someone far less intelligent, but all the same he would proceed with his original plan.
    He sat down on the leather-covered sofa and relaxed as if he were utterly comfortable too.
    “Tell me what happened from the first incident or occasion you believe relevant. I want only what you saw or heard. Anything that you suppose or deduce can wait until later. If you say you know something, I shall expect you to be able to prove it.” He watched her carefully to see irritation and surprise in her face, and did not find it.
    She folded her hands, like a good schoolgirl, and began.
    “We all dined together. It was an excellent party. Gisela was in good spirits and regaled us with anecdotes of life in Venice, which is where they live most of the time. The exile court is there, in so much as it is anywhere at all. Klaus von Seidlitz kept turning the conversation to politics, but we all find that a bore and no one listened to him, least of all Gisela. She made one or two rather cutting remarks about him. I can’t remember now what she said, but we all thought it was funny, except Klaus himself, of course. No one likes being the butt of a joke, especially a truly amusing one.”
    Monk was watching her with interest. He was tempted to let his imagination wander and think what kind of woman she was when not pressed by circumstances of death, anger and a lawsuit which could ruin her. Why on earth had she chosen to speak out about her suspicions? Had she no idea what it would cost her? Was she such a fanatic patriot? Or had she once lovedFriedrich herself? What consuming passion lay behind her words?
    She was talking about the following day now.
    “It was mid-morning.” She looked at him curiously, aware he was only half listening. “We were to have a picnic luncheon. The servants were bringing everything in the pony trap. Gisela and Evelyn were coming in a gig.”
    “Who is Evelyn?” he interrupted.
    “Klaus von Seidlitz’s wife,” Zorah replied. “She doesn’t ride either.”
    “Gisela doesn’t ride?”
    Amusement flickered over her face. “No. Did Sir Oliver not tell you that? There is no question of the accident’s being deliberate, you know. She would never do anything so bold or so extremely risky. Not many people die in riding falls. One is far more likely to break a leg, or even one’s back. The last thing she wanted was a cripple!”
    “It would stop him returning home to lead the resistance to unification,” he argued.
    “He wouldn’t have to lead them physically, riding on a white horse, you know,” she said with dismissive laughter. “He could have been a figurehead for them even in a Bath chair!”
    “And you believe he would have gone, even in those circumstances?”
    “Certainly he would have considered it,” she said without hesitation. “He never abandoned the faith that one day his country would welcome him back and that Gisela would have her rightful place beside him.”
    “But you told Rathbone that they would not accept her,” he pointed out. “You could not be mistaken about that?”
    “No.”
    “Then how could Friedrich still believe it?”
    She shrugged very slightly. “You would have to know Friedrich to understand how he grew up. He was born to beking. He spent his entire childhood and youth being groomed for it, and the Queen is a rigid taskmistress. He obeyed every rule, and the crown was his burden and his prize.”
    “But he gave it all up for Gisela.”
    “I don’t think until the very last moment he believed they would make him choose between them,” she said with faint surprise in her eyes. “Then, of course, it was too late. He could never understand the finality of it. He was convinced they would relent and call him back. He saw his banishment as a gesture, not something to last forever.”
    “And it seems he was right,” Monk pointed out. “They did want him back.”
    “But not at the