‘I’m sorry,’ said Alleyn at last. ‘Give me a moment.’

‘Shall I get someone else, sir?’ asked the sergeant. ‘It’s a friend of yours, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ said Alleyn. ‘It’s a friend of mine.’

He turned on the taxi-driver and took him fiercely by the arm.

‘Come here,’ he said and marched him to the front of the car.

‘Switch on the headlights,’ he said.

The sergeant reached inside the taxi and in a moment the driver stood blinking in a white flood of light.

‘Now,’ said Alleyn. ‘Why are you so certain it was murder?’

‘Gorblimy, governor,’ said the driver, ‘ain’t I seen wiv me own eyes ’ow the ovver bloke gets in wiv ’im, and ain’t I seen wiv me own eyes ’ow the ovver bloke gets out at ’is lordship’s ’ouse dressed up in ’is lordship’s cloak and ’at and squeaks at me in a rum little voice same as ’is lordship: ‘Sixty-three Jobbers Row, Queens Gate’? Ain’t I driven ’is corpse all the way there, not knowing? ’Ere! You say ’is lordship was a friend of yours. So ’e was o’ mine. This is bloody murder, this is, and I want to see this Mr Clever, what’s diddled me and done in as nice a little gent as ever I see, swing for it. That’s me.’

‘I see,’ said Alleyn. ‘All right. I’ll get a statement from you. We must get to work. Call up the usual lot. Get them all here. Get Dr Curtis. Photograph the body from every angle. Note the position of the head. Look for signs of violence. Routine. Case of homicide. Take the name, will you? Lord Robert Gospell, two hundred Cheyne Walk—’

CHAPTER SEVEN

Stop Press News

LORD ROBERT GOSPELL DIES IN TAXI
Society Shocked. Foul Play Suspected
Full Story of Ball on Page 5

Evelyn Carrados let the paper fall on the counterpane and stared at her husband.

‘The papers are full of it,’ she said woodenly.

‘Good God, my dear Evelyn, of course they are! And this is only the ten o’clock racing edition brought in by a damn pup of a footman with my breakfast. Wait till we see the evening papers! Isn’t it enough, my God, that I should be rung up by some jack-in-office from Scotland Yard at five o’clock in the morning and cross-examined about my own guests without having the whole thing thrust under my nose in some insulting bloody broadsheet!’

He limped angrily about the room.

‘It’s perfectly obvious that the man has been murdered. Do you realize that at any moment we’ll have some damned fellow from Scotland Yard cross-questioning us and that all the scavengers in Fleet Street will be hanging about our door for days together? Do you realize—’

‘I think he was perhaps my greatest friend,’ said Evelyn Carrados.