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‘Mr Linton?’
‘Y-yes?’ I managed.
He raised a warning finger. A stray feather fell from his fingertip. ‘One word. Just one word, and I…’
I whirled away, ducked through the nearest doorway and managed to slam the door behind me before succumbing to the inevitable.
*~*~**~*~*
Once Mr Ambrose had cleaned up, and I had managed to regain control of my facial muscles, we met with Claudette in Mr Ambrose’s office for a strategic conference. Having told him about my three suspects, I expected him to have news for me after searching their rooms. And he did. Only not quite the news I was expecting.
‘None of those people had anything resembling a basket or a cage in their rooms, Mr Linton.’
I frowned. ‘You’re sure? Did you look everywhere? Did you—’
‘I checked every cupboard. Every wall. Every loose floorboard.’
‘Couldn’t you have missed—’
He gave me a look. ‘I spent years in the colonies with little money in my pockets and only my wits to defend it. Trust me when I say I know how to hide something.’
I closed my mouth and nodded. A little shiver went down my back. Every time he said things like that I realized how little I actually still knew about Mr Rikkard Ambrose. Yet…how were you supposed to question a man like him? It was more likely you could open a safe with a can opener.
Focus, Lilly! You’ve got more important things to do right now.
‘Well, then…what now?’
We exchanged looks. None of us seemed to know what to say, with the exception of Mr Ambrose, who knew how not to say anything.
‘I suppose I’d better go back to re-interviewing the staff,’ I sighed, finally. ‘Maybe there’s something I overlooked.’
The next few hours I spent once more cooped up with Claudette in our impromptu interrogation room, grilling one opera employee after another. But after an exhausting afternoon of endless questions, I still was no closer to discovering the truth. Finally, I slumped in my chair, utterly spent. Unfortunately, there were no yellow piggies to distract me. My eyelids, far too heavy to hold up anymore, slid shut.
‘Do you have any more of that fabulous plonk with you?’ I appealed to Claudette. ‘I could use some right about now.’
‘I’m afraid not, mon ami. Your dear employer confiscated it.’
I muttered something about Mr Rikkard Ambrose I would not be able to repeat in polite society—just as, without a knock, the door opened.
‘I didn’t quite hear that. You were saying, Mr Linton?’
Cautiously, I half-lifted one eyelid. There he was. Mr Rikkard Ambrose. ‘I, err…I was just discussing the current state of our investigation with Claudette, Sir.’
‘Indeed? So you have something to report?’
In answer, I sank deeper into my chair and groaned.
‘Not really,’ explained Claudette, my trusty translator.
Mr Ambrose opened his mouth, probably to fling some criticism at me—and then hesitated. His gaze slid over me, and a muscle in his jaw twitched.
‘Hm. Well…I can’t have you wasting the entire day with this. I am here in Paris for more than just this little opera house, you know.’
I groaned again, letting my eyes slide shut. Honestly, at the moment, I just couldn’t find the energy for a rebuttal.
‘Miss Allard?’
‘Yes, Sir?’ Claudette enquired.
