‘A good many, my lady,’ said Fox. He sat down and contemplated Lady Alleyn placidly. ‘It’s been a very pleasant association for me. Very pleasant. We’re all glad to see Mr Alleyn back.’

‘Whisky and soda, Fox?’ said Alleyn. ‘Mamma, what will happen to your bright eyes if you swill port at one a.m.? Bathgate?’

‘I’ve got one, thank you. Alleyn, your mother is quite convinced that Garcia is not the murderer.’

‘No,’ said Lady Alleyn. ‘I don’t say he isn’t the murderer, but I don’t think he’s the man you’re after.’

‘That’s a bit baffling of you,’ said Alleyn. ‘How d’you mean?’

‘I think he’s been made a cat’s-paw by somebody. Probably that very disagreeable young man with a beard. From what Mr Bathgate tells me—’

‘I should be interested to know what Bathgate has told you.’

‘Don’t be acid, darling. He’s given me a perfectly splendid account of the whole thing—as lucid as Lucy Lorrimer,’ said Lady Alleyn.

‘Who’s Lucy Lorrimer?’ asked Nigel.

‘She’s a prehistoric peep. Old Lord Banff’s eldest girl she was, and never known to finish a sentence. She always got lost in the thickets of secondary thoughts that sprang up round her simplest remarks, so everybody used to say “as lucid as Lucy Lorrimer.” No, but really, Roderick, Mr Bathgate was as clear as glass over the whole affair. I am absolutely au fait, and I feel convinced that Garcia has been a cat’s-paw. He sounds so unattractive, poor fellow.’

‘Homicides are inclined to be unattractive, darling,’ said Alleyn.

‘What about Mr Smith? George Joseph? You can’t say that of him with all those wives. The thing that makes me so cross with Mr Smith,’ continued Lady Alleyn, turning to Fox, ‘is his monotony. Always in the bath and always a pound of tomatoes. In and out of season, one supposes.’

‘If we consider Mr Malmsley, Lady Alleyn,’ said Fox with perfect gravity, ‘his only motive, as far as we know, would be vanity.’

‘And a very good motive, too, Mr Fox. Mr Bathgate tells me Malmsley is an extremely affected and conceited young man. No doubt this poor murdered child threatened him with exposure. No doubt she said she would make a laughing-stock of him by telling everybody that he cribbed his illustration from Pol de Limbourge. I must say, Roderick, he showed exquisite taste. It is the most charming little picture imaginable. Do you remember we saw it at Chantilly?’

‘I do, but I’m ashamed to say that I didn’t at first spot it when I looked at his drawing.’