‘Do you know,’ Caley said, ‘I had a strong premonition you were going to say that. But why? Why should you suppose one of us—? I mean we’re a cross-section of middle-class people from four different countries of origin who have never met before. We none of us knew that unfortunate eccentric before she, to speak frankly, bored the pants off us in the Zodiac. With the exception of her brother we’d none of us ever set eyes on Miss Hewson. Earlier tonight, Alleyn, you seemed to be suggesting there was some kind of conspiracy at work among us. All this carry-on about people being overheard muttering together in a side street in Tollardwark. And then you started a line about Miss Rickerby-Carrick having been robbed of a Fabergé bibelot. And what’s the strength of the bit about Pollock and his doodles? I must apologize,’ Caley said with a change of tone. ‘I didn’t mean to address the meeting at such length, but really, Alleyn, when you coolly announce that one of us is a murderer it’s bloody frightening and I for one want to know what it’s all about.’

Alleyn waited for a little and then said: ‘Yes. Of course. I’m sure you do. Under ordinary conditions it wouldn’t be proper for me to tell you but in several ways this is an extraordinary case and I propose to be a damn’ sight more candid than I dare say I ought to be.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Caley said wryly.

Alleyn said, ‘Here goes, then. Conspiracy? Yes. We think there is a conspiracy at work in the Zodiac and we think all but one of the passengers is involved. Murder? Yes. We think one of you is a murderer and hope to prove it. His name? Foljambe, alias the Jampot. At present, however, known by the name of another person. And his record? International bad lot with at least five homicides to his discredit.’

The silence that followed was broken by Pollock. ‘You must be barmy,’ he said.