‘So you can tell us nothing about the model except that you disliked her intensely?’

Hatchett’s grey eyes narrowed in an extremely insolent smile.

‘That doesn’t exactly make me out a murderer though, does it?’

‘Not precisely.’

‘I’d be one big boob to go talking about how I couldn’t stick her if I’d anything to do with it, wouldn’t I?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. You might be sharp enough to suppose that you would convey just that impression.’

The olive face turned a little paler.

‘Here! You got no call to talk that way to me. What d’you want to pick on me for? I’ve been straight enough with you. I’ve given you a square deal right enough, haven’t I?’

‘I sincerely hope so.’

‘I reckon this country’s crook. You’ve all got a down on the new chum. It’s a blooming nark. Just because I said the girl Sonia made me tired you got to get leery and make me out a liar. I reckon the wonderful London police don’t know they’re alive yet. You’ve as good as called me a murderer.’

‘My dear Mr Hatchett, may I suggest that if you go through life looking for insults, you may be comfortably assured of finding them. At no time during our conversation have I called you a murderer.’

‘I gave you a square deal,’ repeated Hatchett.

‘I’m not absolutely assured of that. I think that a moment ago you deliberately withheld something. I mean, when I asked you if you could tell me anything about the model’s relationship with Mr Pilgrim.’

Hatchett was silent. He moved his head slightly from side to side, and ostentatiously inhaled cigarette smoke.

‘Very well,’ said Alleyn. ‘That will do, I think.’

But Hatchett did not get up.

‘I don’t know where you get that idea,’ he said.

‘Don’t you? I need keep you no longer, Mr Hatchett. We shall probably check your alibi, and I shall ask you to sign a written account of our conversation. That is all at the moment.’

Hatchett rose, hunched his shoulders, and lit a fresh cigarette from the butt of the old one. He was still rather pale.

‘I got nothing in for Pilgrim,’ he said. ‘I got no call to talk to dicks about my cobbers.’

‘You prefer to surround them with a dubious atmosphere of uncertainty, and leave us to draw our own conclusions? You are doing Mr Pilgrim no service by these rather transparent evasions.’

‘Aw, talk English, can’t you!’

‘Certainly. Good evening.’

‘Pilgrim’s a straight sort of a bloke. Him do anything like that! It’s laughable.’