‘Lazenby is a one-eyed man and conceals the condition. Troy, who can give no valid reason, thinks he’s not a parson, an opinion that evidently is not shared by the Bishop of Norminster who had him to stay and sent him in the episcopal car to the Zodiac. He says he’s an Australian. We send his prints and a description to the Australian police. We also send the Hewsons’ over to the FB in New York.’

Fox made a note of it.

‘The Hewsons,’ Alleyn continued, ‘are expensively equipped photographers.

‘Pollock irritates Caley Bard. Miss Rickerby-Carrick irritates everybody. Caley Bard irritates the Hewsons, Pollock, and possibly, Lazenby.

‘Pollock and the Hewsons are racially prejudiced against Natouche. Bard and Lazenby are not.

‘A preliminary examination of the body in question supports the theory that she was killed by an attack from behind on the carotids.

‘Andropulos would have been a passenger in the Zodiac if Foljambe hadn’t killed him—by sudden and violent pressure from behind on the carotids.’

Alleyn broke off, stared absently at the diary, waited for a moment and then said: ‘Some of these items are certainly of the first importance, others may be of none at all. Taken as a whole do you think they point to any one general conclusion?’

‘Yes,’ Fox said. ‘I do. I certainly do.’

‘What?’ Tillottson asked.

‘Conspiracy.’

‘I agree with you,’ said Alleyn. ‘Between whom?’

‘You mean—what’s the gang?’

‘Yes.’

‘Ah. Now.’ Fox dragged his great palm across his mouth. ‘Why don’t we say it?’ he asked.

‘Say what? That the real question is not only one of conspiracy but of who’s running the show? And more particularly: is it the Jampot?’

‘That’s right. That’s it. Cherchez,’ said Mr Fox with his customary care, ‘le Folichon. Ou,’ he added, ‘le Pot à Confiture, which is what they’re beginning to call him in the Sûreté.

‘You made your mark, evidently, in Paris.’

‘Not so’s you’d notice,’ Fox said heavily. ‘But let it pass. Yes, Mr Alleyn. I reckon it’s the Jampot on this job.’

‘Why,’ Tillottson asked, ‘are you so sure, Teddy?’

‘Well, take a look at it, Bert. Take a look at the lot Mr Alleyn’s just handed us. Three items point to it, you know, now don’t they?’

‘Yerse,’ Mr Tillottson concurred after a long pause. ‘I get you. Yerse.’