‘That’s the one. Look for this case yourself. It’s worth seeing in a horrible sort of way.’

‘When did you visit this room?’

‘When? Let me see. It must have been about half-past eleven. I had an urgent case yesterday and the assistant surgeon rang me up to report.’

‘You didn’t go there again?’

‘No. I don’t think so. No, I didn’t.’

‘You didn’t,’ persisted Alleyn, ‘happen to hear Lord Robert telephone from that room?’

‘No. No, I didn’t return to it at all. But it was a charming room. A Greuze above the mantelpiece and three or four really nice little pieces on a pie-crust table and with them this hell-inspired crime. I could not imagine a person with enough taste to choose the other pieces, allowing such a horror as a Benvenuto medallion—and a very lovely one—sunk, no doubt cemented, by its perfect reverse, to this filthy cigarette-case.’

‘Awful,’ agreed Alleyn. ‘Speaking of cigarettes, what sort of case did you carry last night?’

‘Hullo!’ Davidson’s extraordinary eyes bored into his. ‘What sort of—’ He stopped and then muttered to himself: ‘Knocked out, you said. Yes, I see. On the temple.’

‘That’s it,’ said Alleyn.

Davidson pulled a flat silver case from his pocket. It was beautifully made with a sliding action and bevelled edges. Its smooth surface shone like a mirror between the delicately tooled margins. He handed it to Alleyn.

‘I don’t despise frank modernity, you see.’

Alleyn examined the case, rubbing his fingers over the tooling. Davidson said abruptly:

‘One could strike a sharp blow with it.’

‘One could,’ said Alleyn, ‘but it’s got traces of plate-powder in the tooling and it’s not the right kind, I fancy.’

‘I wouldn’t have believed it possible that I could have been so profoundly relieved,’ said Davidson. He waited for a moment and then with a nervous glance at Fox, he added: ‘I suppose I’ve no alibi?’

‘Well, no,’ said Alleyn, ‘I suppose you haven’t, but I shouldn’t let it worry you. The taximan may remember passing you.’

‘It was filthily misty,’ said Davidson peevishly. ‘He may not have noticed.’

‘Come,’ said Alleyn, ‘you mustn’t get investigation nerves. There’s always Lucy Lorrimer.’

‘There is indeed always Lucy Lorrimer. She has rung up three times this morning.’

‘There you are. I’ll have to see her myself. Don’t worry; you’ve given us some very useful information, hasn’t he, Fox?’

‘Yes, sir. It’s kind of solidified what we had already.’

‘Anything you’d like to ask Sir Daniel, Fox?’

‘No, Mr Alleyn, thank you. I think you’ve covered the ground very thoroughly. Unless—’

‘Yes?’ asked Davidson. ‘Come on, Mr Fox.’

‘Well, Sir Daniel, I was wondering if you could give us an opinion on how long it would take a man in Lord Robert Gospell’s condition to die under these circumstances.’