‘Of course. This is the explanation of one of the more obscure passages in the O’Dawne’s document. “What a yell about Marmelade’s bit of dirt.” What a yell indeed! Fetch him in, Fox—any nonsense from Master Cedric Malmsley and we have him on the hip.’ He put the book on the floor beside his chair.

‘You might tell me, Alleyn, why you are so maddeningly perky all of a sudden,’ complained Nigel.

‘Wait and see, my dear Bathgate. Bailey, you’ve done extremely well. Anything else for us in the room?’

‘Not that I could make out, Mr Alleyn. Everything’s put back as it was, but I thought there was nothing against taking these things.’

‘Certainly not. Pack them into my case, please. I want you to wait until I’ve seen Mr Malmsley. Here’s Fox.’

Malmsley drifted in ahead of Fox. Seen across the dining-room table he had looked sufficiently remarkable with his beard divided into two. This beard was fine and straight and had the damp pallor of an infant’s crest. Malmsley wore a crimson shirt, a black tie and a corduroy velvet jacket. Indeed he had the uncanny appearance of a person who had come round, full circle, to the Victorian idea of a Bohemian. He was almost an illustration for Trilby. ‘Perhaps,’ thought Alleyn, ‘there is nothing but that left for them to do.’ He wore jade rings on his, unfortunately, broad fingers.

‘Ah, Mr Alleyn,’ he said, ‘you are painfully industrious.’

Alleyn smiled vaguely and invited Malmsley to sit down. Nigel returned to the desk, Bailey walked over to the door, Fox stood in massive silence by the dying fire.

‘I want your movements from Friday noon to yesterday evening, if you will be so obliging, Mr Malmsley,’ said Alleyn.

‘I am afraid that I am not fortunate enough to have a very obliging nature, Mr Alleyn. And as for my movements, I always move as infrequently as possible, and never in the right direction.’

‘London was, from your point of view, in the right direction on Friday afternoon.’

‘You mean that by going to London I avoided any question of complicity in this unpleasant affair.’

‘Not necessarily,’ said Alleyn. Malmsley lit a cigarette. ‘However,’ continued Alleyn, ‘you have already told us that you went to London by the six o’clock bus, at the end of an afternoon spent with Mr Garcia in the studio.’

‘I am absurdly communicative. It must be because I find my own conversation less tedious, as a rule, than the conversation of other people.’

‘In that,’ said Alleyn, ‘you are singularly fortunate.’

Malmsley raised his eyebrows.

‘What did Mr Garcia tell you about Mr Pilgrim during your conversation in the studio?’ asked Alleyn.