Alleyn threw his coat to him and ran downstairs. As he shut the study door he heard the rest of the party come out of the drawing-room. A moment later the front door banged.

The telephone repeated its double ring.

‘There you are, Mr Losse,’ said the operator. ‘We’ve kept open for you. They’re waiting.’

It was PC Wetherbridge. ‘Message from the Sub-Inspector, sir. He’s left by car and ought to make it in four hours.’

‘Gemini!’

‘I beg pardon, Mr Alleyn?’

‘Great work, Wetherbridge. Hope I haven’t cried Wolf.’

‘I don’t get you too clear, sir. We’ve done that little job for you. I’ve got it noted down here. There are three likely stations.’

‘Good for you,’ said Alleyn warmly.

‘Do you want to write the programmes out, Mr Alleyn?’

‘No, no. Just read them to me.’

Wetherbridge cleared his throat and began: ‘Starting at 7.30, sir, and continuing till nine.’ His voice droned on through a list of items. ‘…Syd Bando and The Rhythm Kids…I got a Big Pink Momma…Garden Notes and Queries… Racing Commentary…News Summary…Half an Hour with the Jitterbugs…Anything there, Mr Alleyn?’

‘Nothing like it so far, but carry on. We’re looking for something a bit highbrow, Wetherbridge.’

‘Old Melodies Made New?’

‘Not quite. Carry on.’

‘There’s only one other station that’s likely to come through clearly, up where you are.’

Alleyn thought: ‘I hope to God we’ve drawn a blank.’

‘Here we go, sir. 7.30, Twenty-first instalment of: “The Vampire”. 7.45, Reading from Old Favourites. 8.05, An Hour with the Masters.’

Alleyn’s hand tightened on the receiver. ‘Yes?’ he said, ‘any details?’

‘There’s a lot of stuff in small print. Wait a jiffy, sir, if you don’t mind. I’m putting on my glasses.’ Alleyn waited. ‘Here we are,’ said Wetherbridge, and two hundred miles away a paper crackled. ‘8.25,’ said Wetherbridge, ‘Polonaise by Chopping but there’s a lot more. Back,’ said Wetherbridge uncertainly, ‘or would it be Bark? The initials are J.S. It’s a pianna solo.’

‘Go on, please.’

‘The Art of Fewje,’ said Wetherbridge. ‘I’d better spell that, Mr Alleyn. F for Freddy, U for Uncle, G for George, U for Uncle, E for Edward. Any good?’

‘Yes.’

‘It seems to have knocked off at 8.57.’

‘Yes.’

‘Last on the list,’ said Wetherbridge. ‘Will that be the article we’re looking for, sir?’

‘I’m afraid so,’ said Alleyn.

After they’d rung off he sat on for a minute or two, whistling dolefully. His hand went automatically to the pocket where he kept his cigarette case. It was quite ten minutes since Fabian went out. Perhaps he was waiting in the hall.