‘I see. Is Captain Withers doing a job of work himself?’

‘Well, not exactly. He’s got a pretty decent income, but he’s thinking of doing something one of these days. He hates being idle, really.’

‘Will you tell me, please, why you were in debt to him for fifty pounds?’

‘I—simply owed it to him.’

‘Evidently. For what? Was it a bet?’

‘Yes. Well, one or two side bets, actually.’

‘On what—horses?’

‘Yes,’ said Donald quickly.

‘Anything else?’

Silence.

‘Anything else?’

‘No. I mean … I can’t remember exactly.’

‘You must remember. Was it at poker? Cards of any sort?’

‘Yes, poker.’

‘There’s something else,’ said Alleyn. ‘Donald, I can’t exaggerate the harm you may do if you insist on hedging with us. Don’t you see that with every fresh evasion you put your friend in an even more dubious light than the one in which he already appears? For God’s sake think of your uncle’s death and your mother’s sensibilities and your own foolish skin. How else did you lose money to Captain Withers?’

Alleyn watched Donald raise his head, knit his brows, and put his fingers to his lips. His eyes were blank but they were fixed on Alleyn’s and presently an expression of doubtful astonishment crept into them.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ he said naïvely.

‘You mean you owe something to Withers. You have made some promise, I suppose. Is that it?’

‘Yes.’

‘To me the young men of your generation are rather bewildering. You seem to be a great deal more knowing then we were and yet I swear I would never have been taken in by a flashy gentleman with persuasive manners and no occupation, unless running an illicit hole-and-corner casino may be called an occupation.’

‘I never mentioned roulette,’ said Donald in a hurry.

‘It is indeed a shame to take your money,’ rejoined Alleyn.

Fox gave a curious little cough and turned a page of his notebook.

Alleyn said: ‘Has Captain Withers, by any chance, suggested that you should earn an honest penny by assisting him?’

‘I can’t answer any more questions about him,’ said Donald in a high voice. He looked as if he would either fly into a violent rage or burst into tears.

‘Very well,’ said Alleyn. ‘When did you hear of this tragedy?’

‘This morning when the sporting edition came in.’

‘About an hour and a half ago?’

‘Yes.’

‘How long does it take to get here from Captain Withers’s flat? It’s in Sling Street, Chelsea, isn’t it? About five minutes’ walk. Why were you so long coming here?’

‘I wasn’t dressed, and though you may not believe it, I got a shock when I heard of my uncle’s death.’

‘No doubt. So did your mother. I wonder she didn’t ring you up.’

‘The telephone’s disconnected,’ said Donald.

‘Indeed? Why is that?’

‘I forgot to pay the bloody bill. Wits left it to me. I rang her from a call-box.’