‘Well, we got a description of Garcia last night, of course, but to make sure, I asked the Hipkins and Sadie and Ethel to repeat it. They gave the same story. He always wears a very old mackintosh, whether it’s wet or fine, and it’s their belief he hasn’t got a jacket. Miss Troy gave him a grey sweater and he wears that with a pair of old flannel trousers. Mrs Hipkin says Miss Troy had given him two shirts and Mr Pilgrim gave him some underclothes. He doesn’t often wear anything on his head, but they have seen him in a black beret. Sadie says he looks as rough as bags. Ethel said straight out that she thought the figure outside the window was Garcia. She said so to her boy. She says it was the dead spit of Garcia, but then, we’ve got to remember it wasn’t at all distinct, and she may think differently now that she knows Garcia has gone. You know how they make up all sorts of things without scarcely knowing what they’re up to.’

‘I do indeed. Had this figure by the window anything on its back— like a rucksack, for instance?’

‘They say he hadn’t, but of course, if it was Garcia, he might not have picked up his gear when they saw him.’

‘No.’

‘I look at it this way. He might have gone through the window to take a short cut to the garage by way of the lane, and he might have stood there, having a last look at the arrangement on the model’s throne.’

‘Through the hole in the blind? Rather a sinister picture, Fox. Wouldn’t they have heard him open the window?’

‘Um,’ said Fox.

‘It makes a fair amount of noise.’

‘Yes. Yes, that’s so.’

‘Anything else?’

‘No. They ambled off home. Hullo, sir, what’s up?’

Alleyn had pulled up and now began to turn the car in the narrow lane.

‘Sorry, Fox, but we’re going back to have a look at the hole in the blind.’

And back to the studio they went. Alleyn measured the distance from the window-sill to the hole—a triangular tear, of which the flap had been turned back. He also measured the height of the lamps from the floor. He climbed on Fox’s shoulders and tied a thread to the light nearest the window. He stretched the thread to the hole in the blind. Fox stood outside in the pouring rain. Alleyn threw the window up, passed the thread through the hole to Fox, who drew it tight and held it against his diaphragm.

‘You see?’ said Alleyn.

‘Yes,’ said Fox, ‘I’m six foot two in my socks and it hits me somewhere—let’s see—’

‘About the end of the sternum.’

‘That’s right, sir.’

‘Good enough, but we’ll take a look at night. Let’s go and have breakfast.’