Nobody believed that there was really a dead body in the study, at first. The crowd gathered around, some laughing or admiring the skill of Diana’s acting. Others began to look a little worried as the joke began to drag on far past the point of humour. Suddenly, a figure rushed into the room and pulled off her green mask, exclaiming, “Sorry I’m so late everybody, I had to run to the bathroom after I finished on the telephone, but I heard a commotion in here. I say, what’s going on?” Every head turned, stunned to see Diana Ashbury standing in the doorway.

“Now come on,” cried Freddy Wilkins, “this is too much! What the devil is happening here, and why is Diana on the floor and in the doorway! And who said she was dead?”

“Dead?” repeated Diana, looking confused and alarmed, “Who is dead? I’m not dead! I was only joking earlier, and that was the only joke I planned! Who is that on the floor?” This seemed to be the most important question, and so everyone’s attention turned once more, to the girl on the floor. Marcus lent down, and gently pulled the mask up. A gasp went around the room. There, seemingly dead, lay Sybil Ashbury.

            “Someone here is really a murderer!” cried Diana, “And they thought Sybil was me!” With that, she slumped to the ground in a dead faint.

            Frieda couldn’t blame her, really. She felt distinctly uneasy herself, and the action around her had acquired a kind of mist, as if part of a dream. She shook her head to dissipate the fog, and allowed the many thoughts struggling in her mind to burst forth so that she might try and make sense of things, and decipher who could have murdered Sybil Ashbury, whether they mistook her for Diana, and just why someone would want to murder either of them. She had to make sense of the chaos, before they had a chance to potentially rectify their mistake.

            When the police arrived, they quarantined the Ashbury house, allowing no person to enter or leave while the conducted their investigation. A doctor arrived shortly afterwards and examined the body.

            “Looks like she’s suffocated, and suffered numerous convulsions. With no sign of outward trauma, except that resulting from her convulsions, I’d say it could be strychnine poisoning. I don’t know how the fatal dose could have been delivered, but she could have ingested it, or been injected with it. It’s still used as a household medicine, so it wouldn’t be too hard to get hold of. Could be a suicide, but in my opinion, the girl may have been murdered. Awful way to die.”

 This verdict clinched the need for a swift investigation. The police set up in one of the sitting rooms, and Frieda stayed there with Diana while the latter was questioned by the inspector. Wresting her mind from its inner workings, she tuned into what the inspector was saying.

            “Now, we have reports that this red mask and the red shawl were, in fact, part of your own outfit for the evening. Do you have any idea how they came to be on the body of your cousin?”

            “Oh, yes of course. Sybil has very sensitive skin, so the lace on her mask was becoming very irritating for her. She caught up to me as I was going to answer the telephone, and she asked if we could switch masks, since mine had velvet instead, and to make our outfits complete once more, we decided to switch shawls too. Oh, how awful, poor Sybil! To think that she might have died because she was mistaken for me, it’s just too dreadful!”

            “Is there any reason why anyone might want to hurt you, ma’am?” asked the inspector, “And I know it sounds silly to ask, but did you have any enemies?”

“Well no, of course not, that’s ridiculous! But I have had some rather strange accidents lately. I didn’t want to tell anyone about them because I thought they were just that, accidents. Now I don’t know. The other day, I was walking down the staircase when I stepped on a loose board and tumbled half down the steps before I stopped myself. I was lucky not to hurt myself, but I told myself to be much more careful, and to make sure to have that step fixed! Then a few days later, as I was walking through the entrance hall, the great hulking chandelier happened to break its line and come crashing down. I think it must have missed me by a few inches. I scolded Mrs. Hart for not noticing earlier, but I didn’t really think any more of it. Yesterday, though, was the closest escape I’ve had. I was heading back along the lane from a walk down to the seaside when a motorcar came tearing out of nowhere and nearly bowled me over! Well I managed to leap out of the way and I had some choice words to yell after the careless driver, but I hardly thought it was any kind of deliberate attack. Now I feel rather foolish for not saying anything earlier. I mentioned them to Marcus, of course, but he thought the same as I, that they were simply an unfortunate group of accidents. Were we wrong? Has someone been trying to hurt me, Inspector? Do you think that the murderer might really have wanted to kill me instead?” As Marcus stepped closer to her and drew his arm around her shoulder, she looked piteously at the inspector, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

            “Yes, well, we’re not ruling out any possibilities at this moment. I’m afraid it’s very likely though, so your safety, as well as catching this criminal, is our primary concern now.”

            After Frieda had recounted her story of discovering the body to the police, she was released from the sitting room to wait with the rest of the now sombre party, assembled once more in the dancing room. Since Diana remained with the police, and was not allowed to move about the house on her own, Frieda went to the bathroom to fetch her some aspirin. As she opened the cupboard and searched for the aspirin, she took a quick inventory of the other bottles in the cabinet. Her heart skipped a beat as she noticed a bottle, three quarters empty, labelled ‘Strychnia Solution.’ It looked as though it had been shoved hastily into the corner of the cabinet. She pulled it out and examined it.

Gingerly, she put it to her nose and sniffed it. It smelled sweet, faintly flowery, and distinctly familiar. Frowning slightly, Frieda put it into her handbag along with the aspirin. As she headed back towards the study, she thought that Diana might need a sweater too, so she went up the stairs and into her bedroom. She rummaged through the closet until she found a fluffy cardigan, and then glanced more thoroughly around the room. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed a crumpled piece of paper sticking out from under Diana’s bed. Thinking it was perhaps a piece of garbage, she bent down to pick it up, and took a closer look at it. It looked like a torn off end of a letter. Frieda could pick out the words, written in a slanting, hurried script, “Think it over. I will say, however, that if you don’t give me what I am asking, I will tell everyone about the child. You’re a smart man, Marcus. I know you’ll make the right decision.” There was no signature. Frieda sat down on the bed, thoroughly shocked at what she had read. Just then, Michael came into the room.

            “There you are Frieda! I was starting to worry about you, you’ve been gone for ages, and honestly I don’t think it’s a good idea to wander around this house alone anymore. If you don’t mind, I think I’m going to become your faithful shadow until this horrid night is over.” He noticed Frieda still staring fixedly at the paper in her hand. “What have you got, love? Are you sleuthing here? Oh Frieda, must you do that? Well, yes, I suppose you must, and I know you won’t listen to me anyhow, so may I see that?” Wordlessly, Frieda handed over the letter fragment. Michael’s face darkened as he read it.

            “I found it under Diana’s bed. I was snooping, I suppose, but I do so want Diana to stay safe!”

            “You don’t think this has anything to do with what happened tonight, do you?” Michael looked back down at the letter, frowning in thought.

            “All I know is, it looks like Marcus has an illegitimate child somewhere, and the mother of that child has been blackmailing him for her silence. And what’s more, it looks like Diana knows about it.” Frieda remembered the strychnia solution she had found, and brought it out to show Michael.

            “Good lord, so it could have been strychnine then. You’d better give that blasted little bottle to the police.”

            “Yes, of course I will,” said Frieda, somewhat impatiently, “But first I want you to smell it, and tell me if you notice anything particular.” Michael uncorked the bottle and held it up to his nose.

            “I don’t know, it smells sort of...flowery, I suppose? Isn’t strychnine supposed to be odourless?”

            “Exactly. That’s what I thought, too. But something about that smell is so familiar to me, and I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

            On their way back down to the sitting room, Frieda and Michael passed through the dancing room, where most of the party were gathered, talking amongst themselves. As they walked by Gloria and Freddy Wilkins, Frieda heard Gloria whisper conspiratorially, “Well you know, I heard from Susan that the reason nobody’s seen Sybil in ages is because she had a baby. Can you believe that? Well of course they hushed it all up, nobody knows who the father is, and the baby was apparently sent to live with relatives in the country.”

            Frieda and Michael exchanged meaningful looks and hurried out into the hall where Michael burst out with, “Good lord! Do you really think that Marcus is the father of Sybil’s baby? What if it actually was her who was blackmailing him! What a horrendous affair for Diana!”

            “And Sybil,” mused Frieda. “It must be awful to be in love with your cousin’s fiancée, let alone be the unacknowledged mother of his child. Blackmailing is a despicable thing to do, but I do have some sympathy for the poor girl. And now, she’s dead. I wonder if Diana knew it was Sybil.”         

            “The whole thing is rather sordid, I think. I don’t know quite what to make of it, one way or another.” Frieda did not answer this, as she was deep in thought.