Pascale Auber & the Ruritanian Riddle

XXXIV Luncheon

"Note?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

"It was a threat. I hardly got to finish reading it, though, before those stupid lummoxes of policeman dragged me out of the embers."

I made a mental note to ask my boss if we could requisition a photograph of this note from the metropolitan police. Intellectually, I knew that Simpelstur was the likely author, but the Archduke of Ruritania's fanciful Ruprecht kept insinuating itself into my mind's eye.

"Besides," the girl continued, "the fire didn't start near the kitchens."

"Oh?" I asked, sipping my tea.

"It started in the auditorium," the girl said through a mouthful of cucumber. "All the witnesses said so – the Ambassador, the Prince, even that Silverstar lady. Ask anybody. It started in the draperies just behind where Miss Silverstar was singing. Also, they're still using the kitchens in the old wing. They're only a little damaged. From what I could see, the compressed gas cylinders were all still whole. "

"Still whole?" I asked, though it was no surprise to me.

"Yes, so that means they didn't explode." She punctuated this statement by swallowing another cucumber roll, as whole as the cylinders.

"So what do you think happened, then?"

"Someone set the fire deliberately. Someone," the girl looked triumphant, "who left behind a red rose."

She placed a single, wrinkled rose petal on the table.

I picked up the petal, rubbing the limp, wilted thing. It felt like damp velvet between my fingers. I remembered the distinctive coat-of-arms painted on the wings of Theo's flivver and pushed my watercress sandwich away. Dahlia picked it up. Clearly, being a cub reporter-cum-bicyclist was hungry work.

"Was that all you found?" I asked.

She shook her head. "Those cops took away most of it. But I did get this."

The girl's grubby hand disappeared into a pocket again, and reappeared with a small piece of card. It looked like a visiting card, but had no writing on it. It did, however, bear a smudgy mark, a man's thumbprint in grey powder.

"What do you make of it?" I asked.

The girl shrugged. "It isn't soot, ink, or lamp black," she said. "Other than that, I can't make anything at all of it."

"If you don't intend to follow up on it, may I keep it?" I asked, fully intending to steal the card if she declined. The girl looked doubtful, so I added, "If you let me have the card, I will buy you a whole plate of tea cakes."

"Lady," the girl said, grinning, "You have a deal."