‘Just about Lord Robert’s height,’ said Alleyn, watching him.

Withers stared blankly at him.

‘I suppose there must be some sense in a few of the things you say,’ he said.

‘I hope so. Can you remember what Lord Robert was saying on the telephone when you walked into the room at one o’clock this morning?’

‘What room?’

‘At Marsdon House.’

‘You’re talking through your hat. I never heard him on any telephone.’

‘That’s all right then,’ said Alleyn. ‘Were you on the top landing near the telephone-room round about one o’clock?’

‘How the devil should I know? I was up there quite a bit.’

‘Alone?’

‘No. I was there with Don sometime during the supper dances. We were in the first sitting-out room. Old Carrados was up there then.’

‘Did you hear anyone using a telephone?’

‘Fancy I did, now you mention it.’

‘Ah well, that’s the best we can do at the moment, I suppose,’ said Alleyn, collecting Taylor’s Medical Jurisprudence. ‘By the way, would you object to my searching these rooms? Just to clear your good name, you know.’

‘You can crawl over them with a microscope, if you like.’

‘I see. Thank you very much. Some other time, perhaps. Good morning.’

He’d got as far as the door when Withers said:

‘Here! Stop!’

‘Yes?’

Alleyn turned and saw a flat white finger pointed at his face.

‘If you think,’ said Captain Withers, ‘that I had anything to do with the death of this buffoon you’re wasting, your time. I didn’t. I’m not a murderer and if I was I’d go for big game—not domestic pigs.’

Alleyn said: ‘You are fortunate. In my job we often have to hunt the most unpleasant quarry. A matter of routine. Good morning.’

CHAPTER TWELVE

Report from a Waiter

IN THE STREET outside Alleyn met Detective-Sergeant Thompson, who did not look like a detective-sergeant. As Captain Withers’s windows enjoyed an uninterrupted view of Sling Street Alleyn did not pause to speak to Thompson, but he remarked to the air as they passed:

‘Don’t lose him.’

Fox was waiting outside the post office.

‘He’s a nasty customer, I should say,’ he remarked as they fell into step.

‘Who? Withers? I believe you, my old—’

‘You were pretty well down on him, Mr Alleyn.’

‘I was in a fix,’ said Alleyn. ‘I’d have liked to raid this place at Leatherhead without giving him any warning, but the wretched Donald is sure to let him know what he told us and Withers will close down his gambling activities. The best we can hope for in that direction is that our man will find something conclusive if he gets into the house. We’d better take a taxi to Dimitri’s. What time was he to be at the Yard?’

‘Midday.’

‘It’s a quarter to twelve. He ought to have left. Come on.’

They got a taxi.