A vague huge melancholy possessed Alleyn. He felt at once nerveless and over-sensitized. His spirit seemed to rise thinly and separate itself from his body. He saw himself as a stranger. It was a familiar experience and he had grown to regard it as a precursor of evil. ‘I must get back,’ cried his mind and with the thought the return was accomplished. He was in the yard. The stones rang under his feet. A taxi loomed up vaguely with the overcoated figure of its driver standing motionless by the door as if on guard.

‘Cold,’ said the sergeant.

‘It’s the dead hour of the night,’ said Alleyn.

The taxi-driver did not move until they came right up to him.

‘Hullo,’ said Alleyn, ‘what’s it all about?’

‘’Morning, governor.’ It was the traditional hoarse voice. He sounded like a cabby in a play. ‘Are you one of the inspectors?’

‘I am.’

‘I won’t make no report to any copper. I got to look after meself, see? What’s more, the little gent was a friend of mine, see?’

‘This is Chief Detective-Inspector Alleyn, daddy,’ said the sergeant.

‘All right. That’s the stuff. I got to protect meself, ain’t I? Wiv a blinking stiff for a fare.’

He suddenly reached out a gloved hand and with a quick turn flung open the door.

‘I ain’t disturbed ’im,’ he said. ‘Will you switch on the glim?’

Alleyn’s hand reached out into the darkness of the cab. He smelt leather, cigars and petrol. His fingers touched a button and a dim light came to life in the roof of the taxi.

He was motionless and silent for so long that at last the sergeant said loudly:

‘Mr Alleyn?’

But Alleyn did not answer. He was alone with his friend. The small fat hands were limp. The feet were turned in pathetically, like the feet of a child. The head leant sideways, languidly, as a sick child will lean its head. He could see the bare patch on the crown and the thin ruffled hair.

‘If you look froo the other winder,’ said the driver, ‘you’ll see ’is face. ’E’s dead all right. Murdered!’

Alleyn said: ‘I can see his face.’

He had leant forward and for a minute or two he was busy. Then he drew back. He stretched out his hand as if to close the lids over the congested eyes. His fingers trembled.

He said: ‘I mustn’t touch him any more.’ He drew his hand away and backed out of the taxi. The sergeant was staring in astonishment at his face.

‘Dead,’ said the taxi-driver. ‘Ain’t he?’

‘—you!’ said Alleyn with a violent oath. ‘Can’t I see he’s dead without—’

He broke off and took three or four uncertain steps away from them. He passed his hand over his face and then stared at his fingers with an air of bewilderment.

‘Wait a moment, will you?’ he said.