‘You shall,’ said Alleyn, and bowed to her profile. He tried to remember if he had ever before been quite so pointedly snubbed by a total stranger. Only, he reflected, by persons he was obliged to interview in the execution of his duties as an officer of Scotland Yard. On those occasions he persisted. On this an apologetic exit seemed to be clearly indicated. He walked to the top of the companion-way, and then paused.

‘But if you do anything more, you’ll be a criminal. The thing’s perfect. Even I can see that, and I—’

‘“Don’t know anything about it, but I do know what I like,”’ quoted the lady savagely.

‘I was not about to produce that particular bromide,’ said Alleyn mildly.

For the first time since he had spoken to her, she gave him her full attention. A rather charming grin lifted the corners of her mouth.

‘All right,’ she said, I’m being objectionable. My turn to apologize. I thought at first you were one of the “don’t put me in it” sort of onlookers.’

‘Heaven forbid!’

‘I wasn’t going to do too much,’ she went on, actually as if she had turned suddenly shy. It’s just that figure in the foreground—I left it too late. Worked for an hour before we sailed. There should be a repetition of the bluish grey there, but I can’t remember—’ She paused, worried.

‘But there was!’ exclaimed Alleyn. ‘The reflection off the water up the inside of the thighs. Don’t you remember?’

‘Golly—you’re right,’ she said. ‘Here—wait a bit.’

She picked up a thin brush, broke it through the colour, held it poised for a second, and then laid a delicate touch on the canvas. ‘That?’

‘Yes,’ cried Alleyn excitedly. ‘That’s done it. Now you can stop.’

‘All right, all right. I didn’t realize you were a painting bloke.’

‘I’m not. It’s simply insufferable cheek.’

She began to pack up her box.

‘Well, I must say you’re very observant for a layman. Good memory.’

‘Not really,’ said Alleyn. ‘It’s synthetic’

‘You mean you’ve trained your eye?’

‘I’ve had to try to do so, certainly.’

‘Why?’

‘Part of my job. Let me take your box for you.’

‘Oh—thank you. Mind the lid—it’s a bit painty. Pity to spoil those lovely trousers. Will you take the sketch?’

‘Do you want a hand down?’ offered Alleyn.

‘I can manage, thank you,’ she said gruffly, and clambered down to the deck.

Alleyn had propped the canvas against the rail and now stood looking at it. She joined him, eyeing it with the disinterested stare of the painter.

‘Why!’ murmured Alleyn suddenly. ‘Why, you must be Agatha Troy.’

‘That’s me.’

‘Good Lord, what a self-sufficient fathead I’ve been.’

‘Why?’ said Agatha Troy. ‘You were all right. Very useful.’