The year was October 1942, and we were invited to the official residence of the Deputy Mayor of Casablanca, Monsieur Le Grandbutte, for a dinner where the guest of honour was to have been France's greatest living mime artist, The Black Cat. But the greatest living mime artist was no longer living. He had been murdered. And we were all suspects.
My name was Ingrid Pith and I was a Danish art-dealer, specialising in finding paintings from all over Europe. I was busty and flirtatious and having an affair with two of the men at the dinner party.
Over pate, beef, cakes and wine, we learnt who murdered The Black Cat. And why.
It wasn't me folks, it was the French lady who was actually a man in disguise. I can't remember her/his name now.
Oh it was a very funny evening.