‘Unique,’ he said, on two mellifluous notes. ‘U-nique!’

Alleyn wondered what he would say if he knew of Jeremy’s substitution.

‘Well,’ he said lightly. ‘At least Mr Conducis and the American purchaser can breathe again. I can’t help wondering who she may be.’

‘She?’

‘Now, why did I say “she”?’ Alleyn ejaculated. ‘I suppose I must have been thinking of Mrs Constantia Guzman?’

It was formidable to see how rapidly, with what virtuosity, Knight changed colour from deepest plum to parchment and back again. He drew his brows together. He retracted his upper lip. It crossed Alleyn’s mind that it was a pity the role of William Shakespeare didn’t offer an opportunity for a display of these physical demonstrations of fury.

‘What,’ he asked, rising and looming over Alleyn, ‘has that person – Grove – said to you? I demand an answer. What has he said?’

‘About Mrs Constantia Guzman, do you mean? Nothing. Why?’

‘You lie!’

‘I don’t, you know,’ Alleyn said composedly. ‘Grove didn’t mention her to me. Really. She’s an extremely well-known collector. What’s the matter?’

Knight glowered at him in silence for some time. Fox cleared his throat.

‘Do you swear,’ Knight began in the lowest register of his voice, building up a crescendo as he went on. ‘Do you swear the name of Guzman has not – ah – has not been – ah – mentioned to you in connection with My Own. Here in this room. Today. Do you swear to this? Hah?’

‘No, I don’t do that, either. It has.’

‘All!’ he bellowed suddenly. ‘The whole pack of them! He’s lunched and bloody dined on it. Don’t attempt to contradict me. He’s betrayed a deeply, deeply regretted confidence. A moment of weakness. On my part. Before I knew him for what he is: a false, false man.’ He pointed at Alleyn. ‘Has he – has he told – her, Miss Meade? Destiny? You need not answer. I see it in your face. He has.’

‘I’ve not spoken with Miss Meade,’ Alleyn said.

‘They’ve laughed together,’ he roared. ‘At Me!’

‘Perfectly maddening for you if they have,’ Alleyn said, ‘but, if you’ll forgive me, it isn’t as far as I know, entirely relevant to the business under discussion.’

‘Yes, it is,’ Knight passionately contradicted, ‘by God it is and I’ll tell you why. I’ve put a restraint upon myself. I have not allowed myself to speak about this man. I have been scrupulous lest I should be thought biased. But now – now! I tell you this and I speak from absolute conviction: if as you hold, that appalling boy is not guilty and recovers his wits and if he was attacked by the man who killed Jobbins and if he remembers who attacked him, it will be at W. Hartly Grove he points his finger. Now!’