‘What?’ Bridget became rather pink. ‘I can’t say he’s exactly my cup of tea. I suppose he is rather ghastly in a way, but he’s a marvellous dancer and he can be quite fun. I can forgive anybody almost anything if they’re amusing, can’t you?’

‘What sort of amusement does Captain Withers provide?’

‘Well, I mean he’s gay. Not exactly gay but he goes everywhere and everybody knows him, so he’s always quite good value. Donald says Wits is a terribly good business man. He’s been frightfully nice about advising Donald and he knows all sorts of people who could be useful.’

‘Useful in what way? Donald is going in for medicine, isn’t he?’

‘Well—’ Bridget hesitated. ‘Yes. That was the original idea, but Wits rather advises him not to. Donald says there’s not much in medicine nowadays and, anyway, a doctor is rather a dreary sort of thing to be.’

‘Is he?’ asked Alleyn. ‘You mean not very smart?’

‘No, of course I don’t mean that,’ said Bridget. She glared at Alleyn. ‘You are a pig,’ she said. ‘I suppose I do. I hate drab, worthy sort of things and, anyway, it’s got nothing to do with the case.’

‘I should like to know what career Captain Withers has suggested for Donald.’

‘There’s nothing definite yet. They’ve thought of starting a new night club. Wits has got wonderfully original ideas.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Alleyn. ‘I can quite imagine it. He’s doing quite well with the place at Leatherhead, isn’t he? Why doesn’t he take Donald in there?’

Bridget looked surprised.

‘How did you know about that?’ she asked.

‘You must never say that to policemen,’ said Alleyn. ‘It steals their thunder. As a matter of fact, I have been talking to Withers and the Leatherhead venture cropped up.’

‘Well, I dare say you know more about it than I do,’ said Bridget. ‘Donald says it’s just a small men’s club. More for fun than to make money. They play bridge and things. I don’t think there’s any opening there.’

‘Have you spoken to Donald since his uncle died?’ Bridget clenched her hands and thumped them angrily on her knees.

‘Of course, he rang me up. I’d just got to the telephone when Bart came in looking like a beastly old Cochin China rooster and took the receiver from me. I could have killed him, he was so infuriating! He was all sort of patient and old-world. He sympathized with Donald and then he said: ‘If you don’t mind old fellow speaking frankly, I think it would be better if you didn’t communicate with my stepdaughter for the time being!’ I said: ‘No! Give it to me,’ but he simply turned his back on me and went on: ‘You understand. I’m afraid I must forbid it,’ and put the receiver down. I stormed at him but we were in Donna’s room and she was so upset I had to give in and promise I wouldn’t write or anything. It’s so beastly, beastly unfair. And it’s all because Bart’s such a filthy old snob and is afraid of all the reporters and scandal and everything. Horrid bogus old man. And he’s absolutely filthy to darling Donna. How she ever married him! After daddy, who must have been so gay, and charming, and who loved her so much. How she could! And if Bart thinks I’m going to give Donald up he’s jolly well got another think coming.’