‘The cigarette butt,’ he said, ‘has been derided by our detective novelists. It has lost caste and now ranks with the Chinese and datura. No self-respecting demi-highbrow will use it. That’s because old Conan Doyle knew his job and got in first. But you and I Br’er Fox, sweating hacks that we are, are not so superior. This cigarette was a Dahabieh, an expensive Egyptian. Harper said they found some Egyptian cigarettes in Watchman’s pockets. Not many Dahabiehsmokers in Ottercombe, I imagine. Parish and Cubitt smoke Virginians. This one has lipstick on it. Orange-brown.’

‘Not Miss Darragh,’ said Fox.

‘No, Fox. Nor yet Mrs Ives. Let’s have a peer. There’s been rain since the Dahabiehs were smoked. Look at those heelmarks. Woman’s heels. Driven into the bank.’

‘She must have been sitting down,’ said Fox. ‘Or lying. Bit of a struggle seemingly. What had the gentleman been up to?’

‘What indeed? What did Miss Darragh mean by her “look further and look nearer home”? We’ve no case for a jury yet, Fox. We mustn’t close down on a theory. Can you find any masculine prints? Yes. Here’s one. Not a very good one.’

‘Watchman’s?’

‘We may have to find out. May be nothing in it. Wait a bit, though. I’m going back to the pub.’

Alleyn disappeared over the ridge and was away for some minutes. He returned with two stones, a bit of an old box, and a case.

‘Better,’ he said, ‘in your favourite phrase, Br’er Fox, to be sure than sorry.’

He opened the case. It contained a rubber cup, a large flask of water, some plaster-of-Paris, and a spray-pump. Alleyn sprayed the footprints with shellac, and collected twigs from under the furze bushes, while Fox mixed plaster. They took casts of the four clearest prints, reinforcing the plaster with the twigs and adding salt to the mixture. Alleyn removed the casts when they had set, covered the footprints with the box, weighted it with stones, and dragged branches of the furze bush down over the whole. The casts he wrapped up and hid.

‘You never know,’ he said. ‘Let’s move on.’

They mounted the rise and away on the headland saw Cubitt, a manikin, moving to and fro before his easel.

‘We’ll have to join the infamous company of gapers,’ said Alleyn. ‘Look, he’s seen us. How eloquent of distaste that movement was! There’s Parish beyond. He’s doing a big thing. I believe I’ve heard Troy speak of Norman Cubitt’s work. Let’s walk along the cliffs, shall we?’

They struck out to the right and hadn’t gone many yards before they came to a downward slope where the turf was trampled. Alleyn stooped and examined it.