‘You can take it from me that it is. If anyone but you had provided Joe with his alibi, I would, moreover, have been ready to swear that it was he who murdered Uncle Nat.’

‘It isn’t possible, Stephen. When he wasn’t chatting to me he was humming snatches of song.’

He lifted her hand to his lips, and fleetingly kissed it. ‘All right, my sweet. Yours is the only word I would take for that.’

They had come in sight of the house again by this time, and in a few minutes they entered it, through the front door, just as Inspector Hemingway was seeing a finger-print expert and a photographer off the premises.

The Inspector was looking more bird-like than ever, and there was a satisfied gleam in his eye, for under a dusting of powder the panel above the billiard-room mantelpiece had revealed the imprints of four fingers and a thumb. He cocked an intelligent eyebrow at Stephen and Mathilda, and drew his own conclusions.

‘You are quite right, of course,’ said Stephen, correctly interpreting the look in the Inspector’s eye. ‘But we feel – at least, Miss Clare does – that an announcement at present would not be in the best of good taste. Why the camera-man?’

‘Just a bit of work I wanted done, sir. If I may say so, you don’t waste your time, do you?’

Stephen laughed. ‘As a matter of fact, I’ve wasted too much time, Inspector. How are you doing?’

‘Not so badly, sir,’ replied Hemingway. He turned to Mathilda. ‘I want to have a talk with you, miss, if you please.’

‘Very well,’ she replied, rather surprised. ‘I’ll join you in the morning-room as soon as I’ve changed my shoes.’

This did not take her long, and she presently walked into the morning-room to find not only the Inspector there, but Stephen also, looking dangerous. She said at once: ‘Take that scowl off your face, Stephen: you’re frightening the Inspector.’

‘That’s right, miss,’ said Hemingway. ‘I’m all over goose-flesh.’

‘I can see you are. No one is going to convict me of murder, Stephen, so relax! What is it, Inspector?’

‘Well, miss, in checking over the details of this case, I find that I omitted to take your evidence. That won’t do at all: in fact, it’s a wonder to me how I came to leave you out. So, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to tell me, please, just what you did when you went upstairs to change for dinner on Christmas Eve.’

‘She gave her evidence to Inspector Colwall,’ Stephen said.

‘Ah, but that won’t do for the Department, sir!’ said Hemingway mendaciously. ‘Very strict we are, at Scotland Yard.’

‘I’ll tell you what I did with pleasure,’ Mathilda said. ‘But I’m afraid it isn’t helpful. First I had a bath, then I dressed, and lastly I came down to the drawing-room.’

‘And I think Mr Joseph Herriard was able to corroborate that, wasn’t he, miss?’

‘Yes. We went upstairs together, and while I had my bath he continued to talk to me from his dressing-room. In fact, I don’t recall that he ever stopped talking, except now and then, when he hummed instead.’