‘No. She says she tapped on the door, but I must have been asleep. The maid came in at seven with my tea, but I’d have had time to go out, get Troy’s car and drive down here and back, between twelve-thirty and seven, you know.’

‘True,’ said Alleyn. ‘Did you?’

‘No.’

‘Well—we’ll have to do our best with night porters, garage attendants, and petrol consumption.’

‘Wish you luck,’ said Katti.

‘Thank you, Miss Bostock. You got back here for lunch, I understand. How did you spend the afternoon?’

‘Dishing up bilge for The Palette. I was in here.’

‘Did you at any time go to the studio?’

‘No.’

‘Was Miss Troy with you on Saturday afternoon?’

‘She was in and out. Let’s see. She spent a good time turning out that desk over there and burning old papers. Then she tidied her sketching-kit. We had tea in here. After tea we went out to look at a place across the fields where Troy thought of doing a sketch. We dined out with some people at Bossicote—the Haworths—and got home about eleven.’

‘Thank you. Sunday?’

‘I was at my article for The Palette all day. Troy painted in the morning and came in here in the afternoon. The others were all back for dinner.’

‘Did you hear the model say anything about her own movements during the weekend?’

‘No. Don’t think so. I fancy she said she was going to London.’

‘You engaged her for this term before Miss Troy returned, didn’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘How did you get hold of her?’

‘Through Graham Barnes. He gave me her address.’

‘Have you got it?’

‘Oh Lord, where was it? Somewhere in Battersea, I think. Battersea Bridge Gardens. That’s it. I’ve got it written down somewhere. I’ll try and find it for you.’

‘I wish you would. It would save us one item in a loathsome itinerary of dull jobs. Now, about this business with the model and your picture. The trapeze-artiste subject, I mean. Did she pose for you again after the day when there was the trouble described by Miss Phillida Lee?’

Again that dull crimson stained the broad face. Katti’s thick eyebrows came together and her lips protruded in a sort of angry pout.

‘That miserable little worm Lee! I told Troy she was a fool to take her, fees or no fees. The girl’s bogus. She went to the Slade and was no doubt made to feel entirely extraneous. She tries to talk “Slade” when she remembers, but the original nice-girl gush oozes out all over the place. She sweats suburbia from every pore. She deliberately sneaked in and listened to what I had to say.’

‘To the model?’

‘Yes. Little drip!’

‘It was true, then, that you did have a difference with Sonia?’

‘If I did, that doesn’t mean I killed her.’