‘Yes. If he does know he didn’t bother to mention it when I asked them all about the warehouse. Of course, that might have been bluff, but the whole warehouse story is rather tricky. Suppose Garcia planned this murder in cold blood. He would have to give up all idea of carrying out his commission for the marble group unless he meant to brazen it out, go for his walk, and turn up at the warehouse to get on with his work. If he meant to do this it would be no good to tell preliminary lies about the site, would it? Suppose, on the other hand, he meant to disappear. He wouldn’t have mentioned a warehouse at all if he meant to lie doggo in it.’

‘That’s right enough. Well, sir, what if he planned the murder while he was still dopey after the opium?’

‘That, to me, seems more probable. Malmsley left the pipe, the jar and the lamp in a box under Garcia’s bed because he was afraid of your friend Sadie catching him if he returned them to his bedroom. Bailey found Garcia’s as well as Malmsley’s prints on the jar. There’s less opium than Malmsley said there would be. It’s at least possible that Garcia had another go at it after Malmsley had gone. He may have woken up, felt very dreary, and sought to recapture the bliss. He may have smoked another pipe or taken a pull at his whisky. He may have done both. He may even have laid the trap with the dagger while still under the influence of the opium and—or—whisky. This is shamefully conjectural, Fox, but it seems to me that it is not too fantastic. The macabre character of the crime is not inconsistent, I fancy, with the sort of thing one might expect from a man in Garcia’s condition. So far—all right. Possible, at any rate. But would he be sensible enough to get Miss Troy’s caravan, back it, however clumsily, up to the window, put the empty case on board and wheel the model through the window and into the case? And what’s more, my old Foxkin, would he have the gumption to drive to this damnable warehouse, dump his stuff, return the caravan to Tatler’s End House, and set out on his walking tour? Would he not rather sink into a drugged and disgusting slumber lasting well into Saturday morning? And having come to himself would he not undo his foul trap for Sonia?’

‘But if he wanted her out of the way,’ persisted Fox.

‘I know, I know. But if he was going to bolt he had so much to lose. His first big commission?’