She stared at him. An indescribable look of – what?

Pity? Contempt? Mere astonishment? – broke across her face. Her mouth twisted and she began to laugh.

‘Oh, you poor darling,’ said Destiny Meade. ‘Harry? He wouldn’t hurt a fly. No, no, no, my dear, this is Mr Marcus Knight. His mark.’

Alleyn digested this information and Miss Meade watched him apparently with some relish.

‘Do you mind telling me,’ he said at length, ‘why all this blew up? I mean, specifically why. If, as I understand, you have finally broken with Knight.’

‘I had,’ she said, ‘but you see he hadn’t. Which made things so very tricky. And then he wouldn’t give me back the key. He has, now. He threw it at me,’ she looked vaguely round the drawing-room. ‘It’s somewhere about,’ she said. ‘It might have gone anywhere or broken anything. He’s so egotistic.’

‘What had precipitated this final explosion, do you think?’

‘Well – ’ She dropped the raven wing over her cheek. ‘This and that. Harry, of course, has driven him quite frantic. It’s very bad of Harry and I never cease telling him so. And then it really was too unfortunate last night about the orchids.’

‘The orchids?’ Alleyn’s gaze travelled to a magnificent stand of them in a Venetian goblet.

‘Yes, those,’ she said. ‘Vass had them sent round during the show. I tucked his card in my décolletage like a sort of Victorian courtesan, you know, and in the big love scene Marco spotted it and whipped it out before I could do a thing. It wouldn’t have been so bad if they hadn’t had that flare-up in the yacht a thousand years ago. He hadn’t realized before that I knew Vass so well. Personally, I mean. Vassy has got this thing about no publicity and of course I respect it. I understand. We just see each other quietly from time to time. He has a wonderful brain.’

‘ “Vassy”? “Vass”?’

‘Vassily, really. I call him Vass. Mr Conducis.’

CHAPTER 10
Monday

As Fox and Alleyn left the flat in Cheyne Walk they encountered, in the downstairs entrance, a little old man in a fusty overcoat and decrepit bowler. He seemed to be consulting a large envelope.

‘Excuse me, gentlemen,’ he said, touching the brim of the bowler, ‘but can you tell me if a lady be-the-namer Meade resides in these apartments? It seems to be the number but I can’t discover a name board or indication of any sort.’

Fox told him and he was much obliged.

When they were in the street Alleyn said: ‘Did you recognize him?’

‘I had a sort of notion,’ Fox said, ‘that I ought to. Who is he? He looks like a bum.’

‘Which is what he is. He’s a Mr Grimball who, twenty years ago and more was the man in possession at the Lampreys.’

‘God bless my soul!’ Fox said. ‘Your memory!’