‘Very well,’ said Decima breathlessly. ‘You can have your answer. I meant nothing to him and he meant less to me. Until last Friday he’d never been anything but the vaguest acquaintance.’ She turned on Fox. ‘Write it down. You’ll get no other answer. Write it down.’

‘Thank you, miss,’ said Fox civilly. ‘I don’t think I’ve missed anything. I’ve got it down.’

II

‘Well, have you finished?’ demanded Decima, who had succeeded in working herself up into a satisfactory temper. ‘Is there anything else you want to know? Do you want a list in alphabetical order of my encounters with any other little Luke Watchmans who have come my way?’

‘No,’ said Alleyn. ‘No. We limit our impertinences to the police code. Our other questions are, I hope, less offensive. They concern the brandy you gave Mr Watchman, the glass into which you poured it, and the bottle from which it came.’

‘All right. What about them?’

‘May we have your account of that particular phase of the business?’

‘I told Oates and I told the coroner. Someone suggested brandy. I looked round and saw Luke’s glass on the table, between the settle where he lay and the dart-board. There wasn’t any brandy left in it. I saw the bottle on the bar. I was very quick about it. I got it and poured some into the glass. I did not put anything but brandy in the glass. I can’t prove I didn’t, but I didn’t.’

‘But perhaps we can prove it. Was anyone near the table? Did anyone watch you pour the brandy?’

‘Oh, God!’ said Decima wearily, ‘how should I know? Sebastian Parish was nearest to the table. He may have noticed. I don’t know. I took the glass to Luke. I waited for a moment while Abel Pomeroy put iodine on Luke’s finger, and then I managed to pour a little brandy between his lips. It wasn’t much. I don’t think he even swallowed it, but I suppose you won’t believe that.’

‘Miss Moore,’ said Alleyn suddenly, ‘I can’t tell you how pathetically anxious we are to accept the things people tell us.’ He hesitated and then said, ‘You see, we spend most of our working life asking questions. Can you, for your part, believe that we get a kind of sixth sense and sometimes feel very certain indeed that a witness is speaking the truth, or, as the case may be, is lying? We’re not allowed to recognize our sixth sense, and when it points a crow’s flight towards the truth we may not follow it. We must cut it dead and follow the dreary back streets of collected evidence. But if they lead us anywhere at all it is almost always to the same spot.’

‘Eminently satisfactory,’ said Decima. ‘Everything for the best in the best of all possible police forces.’