‘You could force it through the crack between the boards,’ said Garcia suddenly, from the window.

‘How? It’d fall out when she was shoved down.’

‘No, it wouldn’t. Look here.’

‘Don’t break the knife and don’t damage the throne,’ said Troy.

‘I get you,’ said Hatchett eagerly. ‘The dagger’s wider at the base. The boards would press on it. You’d have to hammer it through. Look, I’ll bet you it could be done. There you are, I’ll betcher.’

‘Not interested, I’m afraid,’ said Malmsley.

‘Let’s try,’ said Pilgrim. ‘May we, Troy?’

‘Oh, do let’s,’ cried Phillida Lee. She caught up her enthusiasm with an apologetic glance at Malmsley. ‘I adore bloodshed,’ she added with a painstaking nonchalance.

‘The underneath of the throne’s absolutely filthy,’ complained Malmsley.

‘Pity if you spoiled your nice green pinny,’ jeered Sonia.

Valmai Seacliff laughed.

‘I don’t propose to do so,’ said Malmsley. ‘Garcia can if he likes.’

‘Go on,’ said Hatchett. ‘Give it a pop. I betcher five bob it’ll work. Fair dinkum.’

‘What does that mean?’ asked Seacliff. ‘You must teach me the language, Hatchett.’

‘Too right I will,’ said Hatchett with enthusiasm. ‘I’ll make a dinkum Aussie out of you.’

‘God forbid,’ said Malmsley. Sonia giggled.

‘Don’t you like Australians?’ Hatchett asked her aggressively.

‘Not particularly.’

‘Well, I’ll tell you one thing. Models at the school I went to in Sydney knew how to hold a pose for longer than ten minutes.’

‘You don’t seem to have taken advantage of it, judging by your drawing.’

‘And they didn’t get saucy with the students.’

‘Perhaps they weren’t all like you.’

‘Sonia,’ said Troy, ‘that will do. If you boys are going to make your experiment, you’d better hurry up. We start again in five minutes.’

In the boards of the throne they found a crack that passed through the right spot. Hatchett slid the thin tip of the knife into it from underneath and shoved. By tapping the hilt of the dagger with an easel ledge, he forced the widening blade upwards through the crack. Then he let the throne back on to the floor. The blade projected wickedly through the blue chalk cross that marked the plot of Sonia’s heart on the throne. Basil Pilgrim took the drape, laid it across the cushion, pulled it in taut folds down to the throne, and pinned it there.

‘You see, the point of the knife is lower than the top of the cushion,’ he said. It doesn’t show under the drape.’

‘What did I tell you?’ said Hatchett.

Garcia strolled over and joined the group.

‘Go into your pose, Sonia,’ he said with a grin.

Sonia shuddered.

‘Don’t,’ she said.