Chapter One
At the door of a certain luxurious study at Bakar House stood Inspector Nuritov, hatless and bemused.
‘Tasha,’ he said. He paused, and looked behind himself as though he suspected life of playing some prank upon him. ‘Have you seen Konrad?’
What puzzled the good inspector, Tasha realised, was twofold. The absence of Konrad was half of it. The other half was Tasha’s emphatic presence, for she was not only occupying space in Konrad’s private study, she had taken possession of it. She lounged at her ease in Konrad’s favourite chair — a respectably well-worn article with wide arms, smooth leather and plentiful stuffing — and in her hand she held Konrad’s snake-headed cane. It felt rather like wielding the royal sceptre. If only she’d been able to avail herself of one of his tall
