‘Hallo,’ she said. ‘More investigations? What’s the matter with you, Basil, you look as if you’d murdered somebody?’

Pilgrim didn’t answer.

Alleyn said: ‘I have sent for you, Miss Seacliff, to know if you can help us.’

‘But I should adore to help you, Mr Alleyn.’

‘Did you drink the solution of aspirin that Mr Pilgrim prepared for you on Friday night?’

‘Not all of it. It was too bitter.’

‘But you said, before, that you drank it.’

‘Well, I did have a sip. I slept all right without it.’

‘How is your cut hand?’

‘My—? Oh, it’s quite recovered.’

‘May I see it, please?’

She held it out with the same gesture that she had used on Monday night, but this time the fingers trembled. Below the base of the little finger there was still a very thin reddish scar.

‘What’s this?’ said Pilgrim violently. ‘Valmai—don’t answer any of his questions. Don’t answer!’

‘But, why not, Basil!’

‘You told me that you cut your hand on your horse’s mane,’ said Alleyn.

‘No. You told me that, Mr Alleyn.’

‘You accepted the explanation.’

‘Did I?’

‘How do you say, now, that you cut your hand?’

‘I did it on the reins.’

‘Mr Pilgrim, did you see this cut on Saturday evening? It must have been quite sore then. A sharp, thin cut.’

‘I didn’t see her hand. She wore gloves.’

‘All through dinner?’

‘Scarlet gloves. They looked lovely,’ she said, ‘didn’t they, Basil?’

‘Do you remember that on Monday night you told me you had no pretensions to being a good horsewoman?’

‘Modesty, Mr Alleyn.’

Alleyn turned aside. He moved behind the desk, stooped, and in a second the old raincoat and the gloves were lying on the top of the desk.

‘Have you ever seen those before?’ asked Alleyn.

‘I—don’t know. Oh yes. It’s Basil’s, isn’t it?’

‘Come and look at it.’

She walked slowly across to the desk and looked at the coat and gloves. Alleyn picked up the sleeve and without speaking pointed a long forefinger to the acid hole in the cuff. He lifted the collar, and turned it back, and pointed to a whitish stain. He dropped the coat, took up the left-hand glove and turned it inside out. He pointed to a small stain under the base of the little finger. And still he did not speak. It was Basil Pilgrim who broke the silence.

‘I don’t know what he’s driving at, Val, but you’ve never worn the things. I know you haven’t. I’ve told him so. I’ll swear it—I’ll swear you’ve never worn them. I know you haven’t.’

‘You bloody fool,’ she screamed. ‘You bloody fool!’

‘Valmai Seacliff,’ began Alleyn, ‘I arrest you for the murder of Wolf Garcia on—’

CHAPTER 21
Epilogue in a Garden