‘How could she speak when he’d fixed her? That was earlier: “Ladies and gentlemen.” Gawd, what a go!’

‘Where was he?’

‘Alleyn, for God’s sake—’ Fabian began, and Alleyn turned on him. ‘If you can’t be quiet, Losse, you’ll have to clear out. Now, Black, where was Cliff?’

‘Aren’t I telling you? Coming out of the shed.’

Alleyn looked through the annexe window. He saw a rough track running downhill, past the yards, past a side road to the wool-shed, down to a narrow water race above the gate that Florence Rubrick came through when she left the lavender path and struck uphill to the wool-shed.

‘Was it then that you asked him to say nothing about the previous night when he caught you stealing the whisky?’ Alleyn held his breath. It was a long shot and almost in the dark.

‘Not then,’ said Albert.

‘Did you speak to him?’

‘Not then.’

‘Had you already spoken about the whisky?’

‘I’m not saying anything about that. I’m telling you what he done.’

‘And I’m telling you what you did. That was the bargain, wasn’t it? He found you making away with the bottles. He ordered you off and was caught trying to put them back. He didn’t give you away. Later, when the murder came out and the police investigation started, you struck your bargain. If Cliff said nothing about the whisky, you’d say nothing about seeing him come out of the shed?’

Albert was considerably sobered. He looked furtively from Alleyn to Fabian. ‘I got to protect myself,’ he said. ‘Asking a bloke to put himself away.’

‘Very good. You’d rather I tell him you’ve blown the gaff and get the whole story from him. The police will be interested to know you’ve withheld important information.’

‘All right, all right,’ said Albert shrilly. ‘Have it your own way, you blasted cow,’ and burst into tears.

Fabian and Alleyn groped their way down the hill in silence. They turned off to the wool-shed, where Alleyn paused and looked at the sacking-covered door. Fabian watched him miserably.

‘It must have been in about this light,’ Alleyn said. ‘Just after dark.’

‘You can’t do it!’ Fabian said. ‘You can’t believe a drunken sneakthief’s story. I know young Cliff. He’s a good chap. You’ve talked to him. You can’t believe it.’

‘A year ago,’ Alleyn said, ‘he was an over-emotionalized, slightly hysterical and extremely unhappy adolescent.’

‘I don’t give a damn! Oh, God!’ Fabian muttered, ‘why the hell did I start this?’

‘I did warn you,’ Alleyn said with something like compassion in his voice.