‘Do you suppose policemen only take statements from people they fall in love with? Come in. I want to get that call through before the bureau shuts.’

They found the members of the household assembled in the pleasant colonial-Victorian drawing-room, overlooking the lawn on the wool-shed side of the house.

‘We rather felt we couldn’t face the study again,’ Ursula said. ‘After last night, you know. We felt it could do with an airing. And I’m going to bed at eight. If Mr Alleyn lets me, of course. Does every one realize we got exactly five and a half hours of sleep last night?’

‘I should certainly prefer that Flossie’s portrait did not preside over another session,’ Fabian agreed. ‘If there was to be another session, of course. Having never looked at it for three years I’ve suddenly become exquisitely self-conscious in its presence. I suppose, Ursy darling, you wouldn’t care to have it in your room?’

‘If that’s meant to be a joke, Fabian,’ said Ursula, ‘I’m not joining in it.’

‘You’re very touchy. Mr Alleyn is going to dash off a monograph on one of the less delicious aspects of the merino sheep, Douglas. We are to take up the floor of the wool-shed pens.’

Alleyn, standing in the doorway, watched the group round the fire. Mrs Aceworthy wore her almost habitual expression of half-affronted gentility. Terence Lynne, flashing the needles in her scarlet knitting, stared at him, and drew her thin brows together. Ursula Harme, arrested in the duelling mood she kept for Fabian, paused, her lips parted. Douglas dropped his newspaper and began his usual indignant expostulation: ‘What in Heaven’s name are you talking about, Fab? Good Lord—’

‘Yes, Douglas, my dear,’ said Fabian, ‘we know how agitating you find your present condition of perpetual astonishment, but there it is. Up with the slats and down goes poor Mr Alleyn.’

Douglas retired angrily behind his newspaper. ‘The whole thing’s a farce,’ he muttered obscurely. ‘I always said so.’ He crackled his paper. ‘Who’s going to do it?’

‘If you’ll trust me,’ said Alleyn, ‘I will.’

‘I don’t envy you your job, sir.’

‘The policeman’s lot,’ Alleyn said lightly.

‘I’ll tell the men to do it,’ Douglas grunted ungraciously from behind his paper. He peeped round the corner of it at Alleyn. The solitary, rather prominent eye he displayed was reminiscent of Florence Rubrick’s in her portrait. ‘I’ll give you a hand, if you like,’ he added.

‘That’s the spirit that forged the empire,’ said Fabian. ‘Good old Duggie.’

‘If you’ll excuse me,’ Alleyn said and moved into the hall. Fabian joined him there.