The Singing Butler

The Singing Butler
"Did I? Yes, I believe I did. I don't really know why - except that one always tends to think foreigners are French until one finds out what nationality they really are. Most foreigners in this country are French, aren't they?"
"Oh, I really wouldn't say that was so, Miss Crackenthorpe. Not nowadays. We have so many nationalities over here, Italians, Germans, Austrians, all the Scandinavian countries –"
"Yes, I suppose you're right."
"You didn't have some special reason for thinking that this woman was likely to be French?"
She didn't hurry to deny it. She just thought a moment and then shook her head almost regretfully.
The Singing Butler
No," she said. "I really don't think so."
Her glance met his placidly, without flinching. Craddock looked towards Inspector Bacon. The latter leaned forward and presented a small enamel powder compact.
"Do you recognise this, Miss Crackenthorpe?"
She took it and examined it.
"No.It's certainly not mine."
"You've no idea to whom it belonged?"
"No."
The Singing Butler