‘There he sat,’ said Alleyn, and once more he quoted: ‘“The cakes-and-ale feller. Might as well mix his damn brews with poison. And he’s working with—” Look, Fox, he must have sat in this chair, facing the door. He wouldn’t see anybody coming because of that very charming screen. Imagine our interloper sneaking through the door. He catches a word that arrests his attention, stops for a second and then, realising what Lord Robert is doing, comes round the screen. Lord Robert looks up: “Hullo, I didn’t see you,” and knowing he has just mentioned the Yard, pitches his lost property story and rings off. I’ve left word at the Yard that every name on that guest list is to be traced and each guest asked as soon as possible if he or she butted in on that conversation. I’m using a lot of men on this case, but the AC’s behaving very prettily, thank the Lord. Get that PC, will you?’

The constable who had been left in charge reported that Detective-Sergeant Bailey had been all over the room for prints and had gone to the Yard before lunch.

‘Is the telephone still switched through to this room?’

‘I believe so, sir. Nothing’s been touched.’

‘Fox, ring up the Yard and see if there’s anything new.’

While Fox was at the telephone Alleyn prowled about the room looking with something like despair at the evidence of so many visitors. It was useless to hope that anything conclusive would be deduced from Bailey’s efforts. They might find Lord Robert’s prints on the telephone but what was the good of that? If they could separate and classify every print that had been left in the room it would lead them exactly nowhere.

Fox turned away from the telephone.

‘They’ve got through the list of guests, sir. Very smart work. Five men on five telephones. None of the guests admit to having overheard Lord Robert, and none of the servants.’

‘That’s our line, then. Find the interloper. Somehow I thought it would come to that.’ Alleyn wandered about the room. ‘Davidson was right; it’s a pleasant room.’

‘The house belongs to an uncle of Lady Carrados, doesn’t it?’

‘Yes, General Marsdon. He would appear to be a fellow of taste. The Greuze is charming. And these enamels. Where’s the offensive Cellini conversion, I wonder.’ He bent over the pie-crust table. ‘Nothing like it here. That’s funny. Davidson said it was on this table, didn’t he? It’s neither here nor anywhere else in the room. Rum! Must have belonged to one of the guests. Nothing much in it. Still, we’d better check it. What a hellish bore! All through the guests again, unless we strike it lucky! François might have noticed it sometime when he was doing the ash-trays. Better ask him.’