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‘Oui, Monsieur Ambrose. Tout de suite, Monsieur Ambrose.’
Half a second later, they were gone. Shutting the door behind them, Mr Ambrose strode over to the coil of limp scales on the bed, grabbed it as if it were a shawl, and lifted it up. Through narrowed eyes he examined the animal.
‘Hm. What do you think, Mr Linton?’
The question, as simple as it was, touched something deep inside of me. A year and a half ago, he wouldn’t even have considered asking it. But now…
He cared what I thought. More than that, he respected my opinion.
‘Well…’ Taking a step closer, I gazed at the snake. I had been right before. It was indeed a South American specimen. One, in fact, that I had nearly stepped on more than once during our travels across the continent. Seeing it this close up made me very glad I hadn’t. ‘I think we can both agree that this little charmer isn’t native to France.’
‘Indeed, Mister Linton.’
‘So the question is—how did he end up here?’
‘She.’
‘Pardon?’
‘She.’ Mr Ambrose pointed to the snake’s tail. ‘This snake was a lady.’ Glancing at me, he lifted one eyebrow infinitesimally. ‘You really shouldn’t make chauvinistic assumptions, Mr Linton. It is unbecoming of a gentleman, I’ve been told.’
The…the nerve of him!
Suddenly, I felt the strangest urge to throw myself on him, wrestle him down to the chaise longue and kiss him silly. But since the chaise longue was spattered in snake blood, I refrained, and instead gave him a cool look that told him exactly what I thought of his attempt to turn the tables.
‘Well, we still have to ask ourselves how this lady ended up here. I doubt she came over from Brazil because she’s an opera enthusiast. Could she have escaped from some kind of zoo or ménage?’
Mr Ambrose shook his head. ‘If there were something like this anywhere near my opera, I’d know about it.’
‘Is there someone who could have left this on purpose? Someone who hates the prima donna that much?’
‘Yes.’ Mr Ambrose nodded. ‘The prima donna’s understudy, the understudy’s understudy, the choir, the managing director, the orchestra, and half of the two dozen men who are in love with her.’
I blinked. ‘But if they’re in love with her…?’
‘They’re French.’
‘Oh. I guess that explains it.’ I hesitated. ‘But could any of these people have gotten hold of such an animal?’
‘Maybe. But for them, there would be far easier methods to achieve the same goal. A bucket of dirty dishwater balanced on the door, a bit of paint splashed over a costume—it does not take a deadly snake to upset a prima donna. And if the purpose was not just to play a trick on her, but to kill—why not simply shoot her? It doesn’t make sense.’
‘You…’ I hesitated. ‘You don’t suppose it was Dalgliesh after all, do you?’
He whipped his head around to look at me sharply. ‘What makes you think that?’
‘When I think of Dalgliesh,’ I told him darkly, ‘I think of a snake. Besides, this smells of something bigger than some spat between opera singers. There’s a vicious mind behind this, with resources at its disposal.’
Mr Ambrose considered it for a moment – then shook his head. ‘No.’
‘So he doesn’t have an opera house in Paris?’ I probed. ‘Any place that might be in competition with this one?’
‘Yes, he does. But the mighty Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh would never stoop to concerning himself with the day-to-day running of such a small operation. Dalgliesh likes to plan great intrigues and play at politics. I am the one who has the hands-on approach.’
‘Oh, trust me,’ I told him with a wink, ‘I’ve noticed.’
The look he had on his face for a moment—just a moment—was priceless.
‘Yes. Um. Well…’ He cleared his throat. ‘Back to the business of the attempted murder…’
