‘Seb,’ interrupted Cubitt quietly, ‘you would do better to answer these questions as they are put to you. Mr Alleyn will meet Decima. He will find out for himself that, as far as this affair is concerned, she is a figure of no importance. You must see that he’s got to ask about these things.’ He turned to Alleyn with his pleasant lop-sided grin, ‘I believe the word is “routine”,’ said Cubitt. ‘You see I know my detective fiction.’

‘Routine it is,’ said Alleyn. ‘And you’re perfectly correct. Routine is the very fibre of police investigation. Your novelist too has now passed the halcyon days when he could ignore routine. He reads books about Scotland Yard, he swots up police manuals. He knows that routine is deadly dull and hopelessly poor material for a thriller; so, like a wise potboiler, he compromises. He heads one chapter “Routine”, dismisses six weeks of drudgery in as many phrases, cuts the cackle and gets to the ‘osses. I wish to the Lord we could follow his lead.’

‘I’ll be bound you do,’ said Cubitt. ‘Well, if it’s any help, I didn’t notice much when Decima poured out the brandy except that she was very quick about it. She stood with the rest of us round the settle, someone suggested brandy, she said something about his glass being empty, and went to the bar for the bottle. I got the impression that she simply slopped some brandy in the glass and brought it straight to Watchman. If I may, I should like to add that she was on the best of terms with Watchman and, as far as I know, had no occasion in the world to wish him dead.’

‘Good God!’ said Parish in a hurry, ‘Of course not. Of course not.’

‘Yes,’ said Alleyn. ‘I see. Thank you so much. Now then, Mr Parish until the accident stood by the table where Mr Watchman had left his empty glass. I take it that Mr Parish would have noticed, would have been bound to notice, if anyone came near enough to interfere with the glass. He tells me that the rest of the party were grouped behind Legge. Do you agree to that, Mr Cubitt?’

‘Yes. Except Will. Will was in the corner beyond the dart-board. He couldn’t have got at the glass. Nobody—’ Again Cubitt caught his breath.

‘Yes?’

‘In my opinion,’ said Cubitt, ‘nobody touched the glass, could have touched it, either before or after Decima fetched the brandy bottle. Nobody.’

‘Thank you very much,’ said Alleyn. ‘That’s all for the moment.’

II

‘What’s the time, Fox?’ asked Alleyn, looking up from his notes.

‘Half-past nine, sir.’

‘Has Legge come in yet?’