‘Very nice job, sir. Tiger on petrol, sir.’

‘Really? What makes you think that?’

‘Well, sir, I asked the gentleman on Saturday morning was she all right for petrol—I’m butler-chauffeur, sir—and he said yes, she was filled up as full as she’d go in Bossicote. Well, sir, I looked at the gauge and she’d eaten up two gallons coming over here. Twelve miles, sir, no more. I looked to see if she was leaking but she wasn’t. Something wrong there, sir, isn’t there?’

‘I agree with you,’ said Alleyn. ‘Thank you very much, I think that’s all.’

‘Thank you very much indeed, sir,’ said the butler-chauffeur, closing his hand gratefully.

Alleyn, Fox and Nigel returned to their car and drove away.

‘Get that tumbler, Fox?’ asked Alleyn.

‘Yes, sir. And the liquid. Had to go down to the car for a bottle.’

‘Good enough. What a bit of luck, Fox! You remember the Seacliff told us Mrs Pascoe was leaving on Saturday and giving the maids a holiday? My golly, what a bit of luck.’

‘Do you think the stuff was the melted aspirin Pilgrim doled out for her on Friday night?’ asked Nigel.

‘That’s my clever little man,’ said Alleyn. ‘I do think so. And if the tumbler has Pilgrim’s prints, and only his, we’ll know.’

‘Are you going to have the stuff analyzed?’

‘Yes. Damn quick about it, too, if possible.’

‘And what then?’

‘Why then,’ said Alleyn, ‘we’ll be within sight of an arrest.’

CHAPTER 20
Arrest

The analyst’s report on the contents of the tumbler came through at nine-thirty that evening. The fluid contained a solution of Bayer’s Aspirin —approximately three tablets. The glass bore a clear imprint of Basil Pilgrim’s fingers and thumb. When Alleyn had read the analyst’s report he rang up his Assistant Commissioner, had a long talk with him, and then sent for Fox.

‘There’s one thing we must make sure of,’ he said wearily, ‘and that’s the position of the light on the figure outside the studio window. Our game with the string wasn’t good enough. We’ll have to get something a bit more positive, Brer Fox.’

‘Meaning, sir?’

‘Meaning, alas, a trip to Tatler’s End.’

‘Now?’

‘I’m afraid so. We’ll have a Yard car. It’ll be needed in the morning. Come on.’

So for the last time Alleyn and Fox drove through the night to Tatler’s End House. The Bossicote church clock struck midnight as Fox took up his old position outside the studio window. A fine drizzle was falling, and the lane smelt of leaf-mould and wet grass. The studio lights were on and the blind was drawn down.

‘I shall now retire to the shady spot where Ethel and her boy lost themselves in an interlude of modified rapture,’ said Alleyn.

He walked down the lane and returned in a few minutes.