Not I

Urquhart vented smoke. "Scene?" he said. Lamely.

"You remember," Jude replied. "The game with the speech and the pistol and the impersonation of you-know-who. How'd you manage to disappear so quick? I thought the cops would get you for sure."

"That wasn't me," he protested. He reached back to knock some ash from his cigar onto the papers on his desk.

Jude delved into the desk drawer again and came up with a natty cashmere beret of familiar cut. "Well what's this then." She settled the beret over her shock of copper hair.

"Wasn't me," he insisted. "It must have been someone else —"