Over My Dead Body

"What's a col de mort?" I asked.

"Oh, just a little thing."

"What kind of a little thing?"

"Oh, a little thing-look." He put an arm through the open door of the cabinet and placed a finger upon the point of the йpйe which was displayed there. "See? It's blunt."

"I see it is."

"Well, once in Paris, years ago, a man wanted to kill another man, and he made a little thing with a sharp point, very cleverly, which he could fit over the end of an йpйe." He took the weapon from the shelf and dangled it in his hand. "Then, with the thing fitted on, he made a thrust in quarte-"

He made a lunge at an imaginary victim in my neighbourhood, so unexpected and incredibly swift that I side-stepped and nearly tripped myself up, and was perfectly willing to concede him the championship. Just as swiftly he was back to normal position.

"So." He smiled, and returned the weapon to its place. "A thrust in quarte gets the heart, theoretically, but that time it was not theory. A member of the police who was a friend of mine gave me the little thing as a curiosity. The newspapers called it col de mort. Neck-no, not neck. Collar. Collar of death. Because it fitted the end of the йpйe like a collar. It was amusing to have it."

"It's gone," said his wife shortly.

"I hope not gone." Miltan frowned. "There is no reason for it to be gone. There has been enough talk of stealing around here. We will find out. We will ask people."

"I hope you find it," I told him. "It sounds cute. Speaking of asking people, I was about to ask you if it would be okay for me to have a little chat with whoever it is that cleans up the fencing rooms."

"Why… what for?"

"Oh, just a little chat. Who does the cleaning?"

"The porter. But I can't imagine why you should want-"

His wife interrupted him, with her eyes on me. "He wants to find out if cigarette stubs and ashes were found in the room where Miss Tormic and Mr Ludlow were fencing yesterday," she said calmly.

I grinned at her. "If you will pardon a personal remark, Mrs Miltan, I might have known from your eyes that you had that in you."

She merely continued to look at me.

"For my part," Miltan declared, "I don't see why you should want to know about cigarette stubs, and I don't see how my wife knew you wanted to. I am slow-witted."

"Well, you have to be slow at something, to even up for your speed with that sticker. May I see the porter?"

"No," Jeanne Miltan said bluntly.

"Why not?"