"No. He hadn't the guts. I suppose you realise the significance of Gardener's information about the drug coterie at Cambridge?"

"It suggests that Surbonadier might be 'in the know,' that way as well as any other, about his uncle's goings on," said Nigel confusedly.

"I must go," said Alleyn, looking at his watch.

"Where to?"

"The deceased's flat."

"May I come, too?"

"You? I don't know. You're rather a prejudiced party in this case."

"You mean about Felix?"

"Yes. If you come you'll have to give me your word you'll keep quiet about it."

"I will, I swear."

"Not a word to anyone. Nor with arms encumbered thus or this head-shake, or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase—"

"No—no—no."

"Swear!"

"I swear."

"All right. Let's have lunch and go."

They lunched together at Alleyn's flat, and, after a liqueur and a cigarette, made their way to Surbonadier's rooms in Gerald's Row. A police constable was on guard there and produced the keys. At the door Alleyn turned to Nigel.

"I've little idea," he said, "what we shall find in here. It's an ugly case. Are you sure you wouldn't rather keep out of it?"

"How you do go on," said Nigel. "I'm in on the deal."

"So be it. Here we go." He unlocked the door and they walked in.

The flat comprised four rooms and a bathroom and kitchenette, all opening on the right from a passage that ran their length. The first was Surbonadier's bedroom and the second a sitting-room with folding doors leading to a small dining-room. The kitchenette and bathroom came next and another bedroom at the end. This seemed to be unused, and was filled with trunks, boxes, and odds and ends of furniture. The flats were served by a married couple and their son, who all lived in the basement. Alleyn, after a glance at the small bedroom, sighed and rang up the Yard, suggesting that Inspector Fox or Detective Bailey should come and help. The sitting-room was luxuriously and rather floridly furnished. A framed supplement from La Vie Parisienne was a striking note above the sideboard. The cushions, of which there were many, were orange and purple. Alleyn sniffed distastefully.

"May as well begin in here," he said. "He would have a satinwood desk, wouldn'the? Disgusting object."

He produced a bunch of keys, selected one, and fitted it in the lock.

"Are those his keys?" asked Nigel.

"They are, indeed."

The lock clicked and Alleyn let down the front of the desk. A conglomerate welter of paper fell forward and spilled on to the floor.

"Oh, Lord! Come on, Bathgate. Bills in one pile, receipts in another. Circulars here. Letters there. Read everything and tell me if you strike anything interesting. Wait a moment. You'd better hand over all private letters to me. Here we go. Try and get the bills into chronological order, will you?"