There were a great many bills, and the separate accounts had been sent in a great many times, with added reminders that began obsequiously and worked their way through the humble, the plaintive, the reproachful, and the exasperated tenor, until they reached the final and threatening note that indicates "Immediate proceedings." These, however, never appeared to eventuate, and after half an hour's work Nigel made a discovery.

"I say, Alleyn," he said. "He paid all his bills about a year ago, when the shops threatened to dun him, and, as far as I can see, he hasn't paid one since, and they're all threatening to dun him again! I suppose old Saint must have made him a yearly allowance!"

"Old Saint says he made Surbonadier no allowance. He cleared up his debts at Cambridge, gave him a start on the stage, and intimated it was up to little Arthur."

"Really? Well, he was evidently expecting something to come in as far as one can judge by the letters from the shops."

"What did the total of his last pay-out amount to?"

"Wait a bit."

Nigel did some feverish sums, swore under his breath, began again, and finally said, triumphantly:

"Two thousand pounds. That's what he paid out last May and he owes about the same amount again now."

"What's that you've got?" asked Alleyn.

"It's his pass-book. He's overdrawn. Let me see now. May, last year. There's no note of any large sum to his credit. It must have been cash. No, by Jove—here it is. Two thousand paid in on the twenty-fifth of May last year."

"I see," said Alleyn thoughtfully. "I see."

"Doesn't that look like blackmail money?"

"It does."

"From Saint. I bet it was from Saint."

"Maybe."

"You sound dubious."

"I am. Here's old Fox."

Inspector Fox heard the news without enthusiasm.

"He's still wedded to Props," said Alleyn. "Let's get on with the horrid job."

"Deceased seems to have kept every letter that was ever sent to him," said Fox. "Here's a little pile from somebody called Steff."

"Steff?" echoed Alleyn sharply. "Let me see."

He took the letters and walked to the window with them. He stood very still, glancing swiftly at page after page, and placing each face downwards on the sill as he finished it.

"A pig of a man," he said suddenly.

"That's what Felix called him," remarked Nigel.

"So she told me."

"She?"

"Stephanie—Vaughan."

"Steff—oh, I see," said Nigel eagerly. "The letters are from her."

"Oh, Lord," said Alleyn, looking at him wearily, "you're there, are you?"

"Is there anything useful, sir?" asked Fox.