It was in ribbed silk. I couldnât take my eyes offit.â She put an arm round Valâs shoulders. âYou poor sweet,â she said.
Val released herself gently and turned to Rex.
âWho is that womanâs
couturier
?â
âRing her up.â Ramillies made the outrageously impolitic suggestion with all the vigorous irresponsibility which turned him into such a peculiarly disturbing element. âSay youâre a magazine. Georgia, you do it . . . or will I. Shall I?â
âNo, darling, of course not. Donât be an ass.â Georgia had spoken casually and he turned to her.
âAss be damned!â he exploded with a violence which startled everyone. âItâs the only intelligent suggestion thatâs been put forward so far. Whatâs the womanâs name? Sheâll be in the book, I suppose?â
His fury was so entirely unexpected that for a moment the main disaster was forgotten. Campion stared at him in astonishment. His thin jaws were clenched and the little pulses in them throbbed visibly. The reaction was so entirely out of proportion to the occurrence that Campion was inclined to suspect that the man was drunk after all, when he caught a glimpse of Ferdie Paul. Both he and Georgia were eyeing Ramillies with definite apprehension.
âWait a moment, old boy.â Paul sounded cautious. âYou never know. We may be able to pin it down here.â
âYou may in an hour or so of fooling about.â Ramilliesâs contempt was bitter. âBut thatâs the straightforward, elementary way of finding a thing out . . . ask.â
âJust one little moment,â murmured Tante Marthe over her shoulder. âThis is not a thing that has never happened before.â
Ramillies shrugged his shoulders. âAs you please. But I still think the intelligent thing to do is to get on the phone to the woman. Tell her all about it if you must. But if I was doing it myself I should say I was a magazine and get it out of her that way. However, itâs nothing to do with me, thank God.â
He swung on his heel and made for the door.
âRay, where are you going?â Georgia still sounded apprehensive.
He paused on the threshold and regarded her with cold dislike which was uncomfortably convincing.
âIâm simply going downstairs to see if theyâve got a telephone book,â he said and went out.
Val glanced at Georgia, a startled question in her eyes, but it was Ferdie Paul who answered her.
âOh no, thatâs all right. He wonât phone,â he said, and looked across at the small boy, who nodded reassuringly and, sliding off his chair, passed unobtrusively out of the room. It was an odd incident and Dell glanced at Campion.
âAstonishing chap,â he said under his breath and regarded Georgia with increased interest.
Meanwhile Rex, who had been permitted to get a word in at last, was talking earnestly to Tante Marthe. He had a nervous habit of wriggling ingratiatingly and now, all the time he was talking, he seemed to be making surreptitious attempts to stroke his calves by leaning over backwards to get at them. But his observations were to the point.
âI know Leonard Lôke used to dress her,â he said, âand if the design has gone there of course it means itâll be turned over to the worst kind of wholesalers and produced by the hundred. Itâs a tragedy.â
âThe Premier who made it, the vendeuse, Mrs Saluski, the child in the fitting-room, you, myself, and Val,â murmured Lady Papendeik, shooting her little lizard head up. âNo one else saw the finished dress. The sketch was never completed. Val cut it on the living model.â
Rex straightened.
âWait,â he said in an altered voice. âIâve remembered. Leonard Lôke is two partners, Pretzger and Morris. Pretzger had a brother-in-law in the fur trade. You may remember him, Madame; weâve dealt with
Carol Durand, Summer Prescott