‘And then I said: “Your dinner, Mr Garcia,” and he called out— excuse me, sir—he called out: “Oh Gawd, eat it yourself.” I said: “Pardon?” and he said “Put it down there and shove off.” So I said: “Thank you,” I said, “Mr Garcia,” I said. And I put down the tray and as I told Mrs Hipkin, sir, I said: “There’s something peculiar going on down there,” I said, when I got back to the hall.’

‘What made you think that?’

‘Well, sir, he seemed that anxious I wouldn’t go in, and what with the queer perfume and one thing and another—well!’

‘You noticed an odd smell?’

‘Yes, I did that, sir.’

‘Ever smelt anything like it before?’

‘Ooo well, sir, that’s funny you should think of that because I said to myself: “Well, if that isn’t what Mr Marzis’s room smells like of a morning sometimes.” ’

‘Mr Malmsley?’

‘Yes, sir. It’s a kind of—well, a kind of a bitterish sort of smell, only sort of thick and sour.’

‘Not like whisky, for instance?’

‘Oh no, sir. I didn’t notice the perfume of whisky till I went down next morning.’

‘Hullo!’ said Fox genially, ‘you never told me it was whisky you smelt on Saturday morning, young lady.’

‘Didn’t I, Mr Fox? Well, I must of forgotten, because there was the other smell, too, mixed up with it. Anyway, Mr Fox, it wasn’t the first time I’ve noticed whisky in the studio since Mr Garcia’s been there.’

‘But you’d never noticed the other smell before?’ asked Alleyn.

‘Not in the studio, sir. Only in Mr Marzis’s room.’

‘Did you make the bed on Saturday morning?’

Sadie turned pink.

‘Well, no, I didn’t, sir. I opened the window to air the room, and thought I’d go back later. Mr Garcia’s supposed to make his own bed. It looked fairly tidy so I left it.’

‘And on Saturday morning Mr Garcia’s clay model and all his things were gone?’

‘That queer-looking mud thing like plasticine? Ooh yes, sir, it was gone on Saturday.’

‘Right. I think that’s all.’

‘May I go, sir?’

‘Yes, off you go. I’ll ask you to sign your name to a statement later on. You’ll do that, won’t you? It will just be what you’ve told us here.’

‘Very good, sir.’

‘Good night, Welsh,’ said Alleyn smiling. ‘Thank you.’

‘Good night, sir. I’m sure I’m sorry to come in, such a fright. I don’t know what Mr Hipkin would say. It doesn’t look very nice for “Welsh”, the parlourmaid, does it, sir?’

‘We think it was quite correct,’ said Alleyn.

Fox, with a fatherly smile, shepherded Sadie to the door.

‘Well, Fox,’ said Alleyn, ‘we’d better get on with it. Let’s have Mr Francis Ormerin. How’s the French, by the way?’