“Your father, madam, was fully cremated. I made absolutely certain.” Alexia swallowed silently and then said fervently, “Thank you, Floote.”

“I mean to say, really, I am near to developing a neurosis - is there anyone around who doesn't want to study or kill me?"Floote raised a tentative hand."Ah, yes, thank you, Floote.""There is also Mrs Tunstell, madam," he offered hopefully, is if Ivy were some kind of consolation prize."I notice you don't mention my fair-weather husband.""I suspect, at this moment, madam, he probably wants to kill you."Alexia couldn't help smiling. "Good point.”

“And so...we prayed. And I added a silent prayer of my own, giving God thanks for the blessing of my father.”

“I was thankful," said my father, "for the make-believe.”

“She reached inside the wide ruffle and pulled out a little vial. “Poison?” asked Lady Maccon, tilting her head to one side. “Certainly not. Something far more important: perfume. We cannot very well have you fighting crime unscented, now, can we?” “Oh.” Alexia nodded gravely. After all, Madame Lefoux was French. “Certainly not.”

“I swallowed, feeling my pulse race, and gave silent thanks that there were no eyewitnesses to my blushing, which could have set a cigar alight even a foot away.”