Weldon Titward lived in the locked flat. In Bayswater where the Arabs drive around although these are the older and more traditional variety, not the rich youngsters with V12-powered hypercars roaring up and down Knightsbridge in the London summer.
He it was who discovered the dead girl in the flat. She had not been dead very long and her youthful Russian face bore an expression of deleted surprise. She was slouched on his sofa, sprawled in death, wearing a short white dress and gold boots.
Weldon and Bunny were on their way to Weldon's flat to do who knew what? They were of an age when admitting anything to the police seemed to invite arrest, beatings and the like.
I'd been out six hours, Weldon told the investigating officer who nodded grimly.
And nobody had a key, the policeman said.
Only the concierge, said Weldon.
The officer looked significantly at his colleague. The body had gone, dispatched, ambulance discreetly drawn up at the back of the block.
Such a shame said Weldon.
What, said the police officer.
The girl, said Weldon. She looked so young.
The officer couldn't argue with that.
Surprisingly foul play was ruled out. The concierge however was nowhere to be found. Some claimed she had gone back to her native land but her employment papers turned out to be fake. The girl - whose name, it eventually transpired was Anna Korsakova - was in the UK on a short term visa and working for an import export company.
I'll bet, said Bunny when he heard that.
Spy? said Weldon. They were in the Kings Arms in Bayswater, watching the crowds teem past.
Sounds like it, said Bunny. I think we ought not to ask too many questions. But why your flat?