Mrs Ives blushed. ‘He didn’t, then. He made two or three trips and after last trip he went into private tap. The gentlemen were down there, Mr Parish and Mr Cubitt. You come up here soon after that to change your clothes.’

Alleyn thanked her, spent an uncomfortable quarter of an hour on the roof outside Legge’s window, and returned to the parlour.

‘We’re in luck,’ he said, and gave them Mrs Ives’ story of the eardropper.

‘That’s why he didn’t fill it with lotion again and leave it. He’d just washed it when Mrs Ives walked in, and when she noticed it, he lost his nerve and decided to get rid of it.’

‘The dropper,’ said Harper, ‘had a rubber top.’

‘It’d float,’ said Fox.

‘He didn’t go there, Br’er Fox. Mrs Ives would have seen him. And there isn’t one downstairs. It’s the garage or the yard. Hallo, here’s Oates!’

Oates came in. He was slightly flushed with triumph.

‘Well?’ said Harper.

‘In accordance with instructions, sir,’ said Oates, ‘I proceeded to search the premises—’

‘A truce to these vain repetitions,’ began Colonel Brammington with some violence.

‘Never mind all that, Oates,’ said Harper. ‘Have you found anything?’

‘Smashed glass, sir. Powdered to scatters and under a bit of sacking. The sacking’s been newly shifted, sir.’

‘We’ll look at it,’ said Alleyn. ‘Anything else?’

‘I searched the car, sir, without success. I noted she was low in water, sir, and I took the liberty of filling her up. When she was full, sir, this come up to the top.’

He opened his great hand.

Lying on the palm was a small wet indiarubber cap such as is used on chemist’s lotion droppers for the eye or ear. ‘Goodbye conjecture,’ said Alleyn, ‘and welcome fact.’

May 3rd, 1939, New Zealand.

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