‘Working?’ demanded a new voice.

‘Like a black,’ said Alleyn crossly, and hung up.

He found Fabian sitting on the bottom step of the stairs, a cigarette in his mouth. He hummed a dreary little air to himself. ‘Get through?’ he asked.

‘They’re going to call me back.’

‘If you’re very very lucky. It’ll be some considerable time, at the best, if I know Toll. I’m going up to the workroom. Would you care to join me? You can hear the telephone from there.’

‘Right.’ Alleyn felt in his breast pocket. ‘Damn!’ he said.

‘What’s up?’

‘My cigarette case.’

‘Did you leave it in the drawing-room?’

‘I don’t think so.’ He returned to the drawing-room. Its four occupants who seemed to be about to go to bed, broke off what appeared to be a lively discussion and watched him. The case was not there. Douglas hunted about politely, and Mrs Aceworthy clucked. While they were at this employment there was a tap on the door and Cliff came in with a rolled periodical in his hand.

‘Yes?’ said Douglas.

‘Dad asked me to bring this in,’ said Cliff. ‘It came up with our mail by mistake. He says he’s sorry.’

‘Thank you, Cliff,’ they murmured. He shuffled his feet and said awkwardly, ‘Goodnight, then.’

‘Goodnight, Cliff,’ they said, and he went out.

‘Oh Lord!’ Alleyn said. ‘I’ve remembered. I left it in the annexe. I’ll run up there and fetch it.’

He saw Terence Lynne’s hands check at their work.

‘Shall I dodge up and get it?’ Douglas offered.

‘Not a bit of it, thanks, Grace. I’ll do my own tedious job. I’m sorry to have disturbed you. I’ll get a coat and run up there.’

He returned to the hall. Cliff was in the passage leading to the kitchen. Fabian had gone. Alleyn ran upstairs. A flashlight bobbed in the long passage and came to rest on the workroom door. Fabian’s hand reached out to the lock. ‘Hi!’ Alleyn called down the passage, ‘you had it.’ The light shone in his eyes.

‘What?’

‘My cigarette case. You took it away from the unspeakable Albert.’

‘Oh, help! I put it on the piano. It’ll be all right.’

‘I think I’ll get it. It’s rather special. Troy—my wife—gave it to me.’

‘I’ll get it,’ Fabian said.

‘No, you’re going to work. It won’t take me a moment.’

He got his overcoat from his room. When he came out he found Fabian, hovering uncertainly on the landing. ‘Look here,’ he said, ‘you’d better let me—I mean—’

The telephone in the study gave two long rings. ‘There’s your call,’ Fabian said. ‘Away with you. Lend me your coat, will you, it’s perishing cold.’