‘Leaving the knife where it was?’ said Alleyn. ‘Yes, that’s possible, of course. He may not have noticed the knife, this lurker in the lane. On the other hand—’

Alleyn and Fox stared thoughtfully at each other.

‘As soon as I got here this morning,’ said Fox at last, ‘I looked up this Mr Charleson, the secretary to the board of the New Palace Theatre in Westminster. Had a bit of luck, he was on the premises and answered the telephone. He’s coming in at eleven-thirty, but beyond confirming the business about this statue he can’t help us. Garcia was to order the marble and start work on next Monday. They offered him two hundred pounds and they were going to pay for the marble after he’d chosen it. Mr Charleson says they’d never met anyone else at that price whose work is as good as Garcia’s.’

‘Bloodsucker,’ grunted Alleyn.

‘But he’s no idea where the work was to be done.’

‘Helpful fellow. Well, Fox, we’d better get a move on. We’re going to spend a jolly day checking up alibis. I’ll take Miss Troy’s and Miss Bostock’s to begin with. You start off with young Hatchett and Phillida Lee. To your lot will fall the bearded intelligentsia of the Vortex Experimental Studio theatre, the Lee aunt, and the Hatchett boarding-house keeper. To mine Sir Arthur Jaynes, Cattcherley’s hairdressing establishment, Mr Graham Barnes, and the staff of the United Arts Club.’

‘And this Mr John Bellasca, sir, Miss Troy’s friend.’

‘Yes,’ said Alleyn. ‘Me too.’

‘And then what?’

‘If we get done today we’ll run down to Boxover in the morning and see the people with whom Pilgrim and Miss Seacliff stayed on Friday night.’

He opened a drawer in his desk and took out the photograph of the group at Tatler’s End House.