He took her elbow and they went out into the hall. It was deserted. Two men stood just in the entrance to the cloakroom. They were Captain Withers and Donald Potter. Donald glanced round, saw his uncle, and at once began to move upstairs. Withers followed him. Dimitri came out of the buffet and also went upstairs. The hall was filled with the sound of the band and with the thick confusion of voices and sliding feet.

‘Bunchy,’ whispered Lady Carrados. ‘You must do as I ask you. Leave me for three minutes. I—’

‘I know what’s up, m’dear. Don’t do it. Don’t leave your bag. Face it and let him go to the devil.’

She pressed her hand against her mouth and looked wildly at him.

‘You know?’

‘Yes, and I’ll help. I know who it is. You don’t, do you? See here—there’s a man at the Yard—whatever it is—’

A look of something like relief came into her eyes.

‘But you don’t know what it’s about. Let me go. I’ve got to do it. Just this once more.’

She pulled her arm away and he watched her cross the hall and slowly climb the stairs.

After a moment’s hesitation he followed her.

CHAPTER SIX

Bunchy Goes Back to the Yard

ALLEYN CLOSED HIS FILE and looked at his watch. Two minutes to one. Time for him to pack up and go home. He yawned, stretched his cramped fingers, walked over to the window and pulled aside the blind. The row of lamps hung like a necklace of misty globes along the margin of the Embankment.

‘Fog in June,’ muttered Alleyn. ‘This England!’

Out there in the cold, Big Ben tolled one. At that moment three miles away at Lady Carrados’s ball, Lord Robert Gospell was slowly climbing the stairs to the top landing and the little drawing-room.

Alleyn filled his pipe slowly and lit it. An early start tomorrow, a long journey, and a piece of dull routine at the end of it. He held his fingers to the heater and fell into a long meditation. Sarah had told him Troy was going to the ball. She was there now, no doubt.

‘Oh, well!’ he thought and turned off his heater.

The desk telephone rang. He answered it.

‘Hullo?’

‘Mr Alleyn? I thought you were still there, sir. Lord Robert Gospell.’

‘Right.’

A pause and then a squeaky voice:

‘Rory?’

‘Bunchy?’

‘You said you’d be at it till late. I’m in a room by myself at the Carrados’s show. Thing is, I think I’ve got him. Are you working for much longer?’

‘I can.’

‘May I come round to the Yard?’

‘Do!’

‘I’ll go home first, get out of this boiled shirt and pick up my notes.’

‘Right. I’ll wait.’

‘It’s the cakes-and-ale feller.’

‘Good Lord! No names, Bunchy.’