‘Send him up,’ said Alleyn. And when Nigel appeared Alleyn talked about Bobbie O’Dawne and suggested that Nigel should get a special interview.

‘This is extraordinarily decent of you, Alleyn,’ said Nigel.

‘It’s nothing of the sort. You’re the tool of the Yard, my boy, and don’t you forget it. Now listen carefully and I’ll tell you what line you’re to take. You must impress upon her that you are to be trusted. If she thinks you’ll publish every word she utters, she’ll say nothing to the point. If you can, write the interview there and then and read it to her. Assure her that you will print nothing without her permission. Photograph the lady in every conceivable position. Then get friendly. Let her think you are becoming indiscreet. You may say that you have had instructions from the Yard to publish a story about Sonia’s blackmailing activities unless we can hear, privately, exactly what they were. You may say that we think of publishing an appeal through the paper to any of her victims, asking them to come forward and tell us without prejudice what they paid her. We hope that this will lead to the arrest of Garcia. Emphasize this. It’s Garcia we’re after, but we can’t lay it home to him without the evidence of the people Sonia blackmailed. We think Sonia refused to give him any more of the proceeds and he killed her to get them. It’s a ridiculous tarradiddle, but I think if you are low and cunning she may believe you. She’ll tell you about Pilgrim and Malmsley, I fancy, because she knows we have already got hold of that end of the stick. If, however, she thinks she may save Sonia’s name by going a bit farther, there’s just a chance she may do it. Do you understand?’

‘I think so.’

‘If you fail, we’ll be no worse off than we were before. Off you go.’

‘Very well.’ Nigel hesitated, his hand in his coat pocket.

‘What is it?’ asked Alleyn.

‘Do you remember that I made a sort of betting list on the case last time you allowed me to Watson for you?’

‘I do.’

‘Well—I’ve done it again,’ said Nigel modestly.

‘Let me have a look.’

Nigel took a sheet of foolscap from his pocket and laid it before Alleyn with an anxious smile.

‘Away you go,’ said Alleyn. ‘Collect your cameraman and use your wits.’

Nigel went out and Alleyn looked at his analysis of the case.

‘I’d half a mind to do something of the sort myself, Fox,’ he said. ‘Let us see what he makes out.’

Fox looked over his shoulder. Nigel had headed his paper: ‘Murder of an Artist’s Model. Possible Suspects.’