He wondered if she would deny it and what he could say if she did. Very little. His assumption had been based largely on a hunch and he liked to tell himself that he didn’t believe in hunches. He knew that she was deeply shocked. Her white face and the movement of her hands gave her away completely but she was, as Miss Emily had remarked, a woman of character.

She said: ‘I have been very stupid. You may, I suppose, congratulate yourself. What gave you the idea?’

‘I happened to notice your expression when that monstrous girl walked out from behind the boulder. You looked angry. But, more than that, I’ve been told Wally sticks to it that his Green Lady was tall and very beautiful. Naturally, I thought of you.’

A door slammed upstairs. Someone, a man, cleared his throat raucously.

She twisted her hands into his. Her face was a mask of terror. ‘Mr Alleyn, promise me, for God’s sake, promise me you won’t speak about this to my husband. It won’t help you to discuss it with him. I swear it won’t. You don’t know what would happen if you did.’

‘Does he not know?’

She tried to speak but only looked at him in terror.

‘He does know?’

‘It makes no difference. He would be – he would be angry. That you knew.’

‘Why should he mind so much? You said what you said, I expect, impulsively. And it worked. Next morning the boy’s hands were clean. You couldn’t undo your little miracle.’

‘No, no, no, you don’t understand. It’s not that. It’s – O God, he’s coming down. O God, how can I make you? What shall I do! Please, please.’

‘If it’s possible I shall say nothing.’ He held her hands firmly for a moment until they stopped writhing in his. ‘Don’t be frightened,’ he said and let her go. ‘He’d better not see you like this. Where does that door lead to? The kitchen?’ He opened it. ‘There you are. Quickly.’

In a moment she was gone.

Major Barrimore came heavily downstairs. He yawned, crossed the little hall and went into the old private bar. The slide between it and the parlour was still there. Alleyn heard the clink of glass. A mid-afternoon drinker; he thought and wondered if the habit was long-established. He picked up his suitcase, went quietly into the hall and out at the front door. He then noisily returned.

‘Anyone at home?’ he called.

After an interval, the door of the private opened and Barrimore came out, dabbing at his mouth with a freshly-laundered handkerchief and an unsteady hand. He was, as usual, impeccably turnedout. His face was puffy and empurpled and his manner sombre.

‘Hallo,’ he said. ‘You.’