‘If you look on the back of the right-hand glove,’ said Alleyn, ‘you will see among all the greasy stains and worn patches another very small mark. Look at it, please. There. It is exceedingly small, but it, too, was made by an acid. Can you account for it?’

‘Quite frankly, I can’t. The gloves are always left in the pocket. Anything might happen to them.’

‘I see. Have you ever lent this coat to anyone else? Has anyone else ever worn the gloves?’

‘I don’t know. They may have.’ He looked up quickly and his eyes were suddenly bright with terror. ‘I think it’s quite likely I’ve lent it,’ he said. ‘Or a garage hand might have put it on some time—easily. It may be acid from a battery.’

‘Have you ever lent it to Miss Seacliff, for instance?’

‘Never.’

‘It’s an old riding Burberry, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’

‘You didn’t lend it to her to hack in at your father’s house— Ankerton—during the weekend?’

‘Good Lord, no! Valmai has got very smart riding clothes of her own.’

‘Not even the gloves?’

Pilgrim achieved a laugh. ‘Those gloves! I had just given Valmai six pairs of coloured gloves which she tells me are fashionable. She was so thrilled she even lunched in purple gloves and dined in scarlet ones.’

‘I mean to ride in?’

‘She had her own hunting gloves. What is all this?’

‘She goes well to hounds, doesn’t she?’

‘Straight as the best.’

‘Yes. What sort of horse did you mount her on?’

‘A hunter—one of mine.’

‘Clubbed mane and tail?’

‘Yes.’

‘Look inside the right-hand glove—at the base of the little finger. Do you see that bloodstain?’

‘I see a small stain.’

‘It has been analysed. It is a bloodstain. Do you remember recently cutting or scratching the base of your little finger?’

‘I—yes—I think I do.’

‘How did it happen?’

‘I forget. I think it was at Ankerton— on a bramble or something.’

‘And you had these gloves with you at the time?’

‘I suppose so. Yes.’

‘I thought you said the gloves and coat always lived in the car?’

‘It is rather absurd to go on with this,’ Pilgrim said. ‘I’m afraid I must refuse to answer any more questions.’

‘You are perfectly within your rights. Fox, ask Miss Seacliff if she will be good enough to come in. Thank you, Mr Pilgrim; will you wait outside?’

‘No,’ said Pilgrim. ‘I’m going to hear what you say to her.’

Alleyn hesitated.

‘Very well,’ he said at last. He dropped the coat and gloves behind the desk.

Valmai Seacliff arrived in her black slacks and magenta pullover. She made, as usual, a good entrance, shutting the door behind her and leaning against it for a moment to survey the men.