‘Mr Fox found some evidence of recent gloved hand-holds on the rail. No prints were obtainable. For a distance of about twelve feet from the bank the actual footway looked to be less thickly encrusted than the remaining stretch of the bridge. Mr Fox reckoned that there was a sort of family resemblance between the appearance of the bridge and the drag over the heel prints on the bank at Crossdyke. Here are Thompson’s blow-ups for comparison. You can see how bad, from our point of view, the conditions were on the bridge.

‘Now, out of all this, what sort of picture do you begin to get. Yes? All right, Carmichael?’

Carmichael rose, fixed Alleyn with his blue stare and delivered.

‘To re-cap, sir,’ Carmichael began ominously. ‘As a wur-r-r-king hypothesis, it could be argued that the bawdy of the deceased had been passed from the deck of the vessel into the possession of the persons who received it and that it had maybe been drawped and dragged in the process, sir, thus pairtially obleeterating the heel prints. Furthermore it could be reasonably deduced, sir, that the bawdy was transported by means of the motorbike to Ramsdyke where it was conveyed by hand to the weir bridge, dragged some twelve feet along it and consigned to the watter.’

He stopped, cleared his throat and raised his hand: ‘As a rider to the above, sir, and proceeding out of it,’ he said. ‘A suitcase, being the personal property of deceased, and packed with her effects, was removed from her cabin and transferred by the means already detailed, with the bawdy, to the said weir and there, weighted with stones and gravel and a half-brick, attached to the bawdy by the cord produced. The bawdy and the suitcase were then as detailed consigned to the watter.’

He resumed his seat and gave Alleyn a modest smile.

‘Yes, Carmichael, yes,’ Alleyn said, ‘and what about the post-mortem marks of the cord?’

Carmichael rose again.

‘For want of an alternative,’ he said with the utmost complacency, ‘I would assume as a wurrking premiss, sir, that the deed bawdy was lashed to the person of the cyclist thus rendering the spurious appearance of a pillion-rider.’

‘Revolting as the picture you conjure up may be,’ Alleyn said. ‘I’m afraid you’re right, Carmichael.’

‘Shall we say deed right, sir?’ Carmichael suggested with an odiously pawky grin.

‘We shall do nothing of the sort, Carmichael. Sit down.’

I

‘It’s a horrid picture that begins to emerge, isn’t it?’ Alleyn said as he eased the diary out of the sponge-bag and laid it with elaborate care on a folded towel. ‘The body is lashed to the cyclist’s back and over it is dragged the dull magenta gown, hiding the cord. The arms are pulled round his waist and the wrists tied. The head, one must suppose, lolls forward on the rider’s shoulder.