‘Don’t!’ Charles exclaimed. But Alleyn had already removed it. The smell, ponderable, sweet and improper, was disturbingly strong.

‘Extraordinary!’ Gantry ejaculated. ‘She only wore it for an afternoon and yet – the association.’

‘Will you be quiet, sir!’ Warrender shouted. ‘My God, what sort of a cad do you call yourself? Can’t you see …’ He made a jerky, ineloquent gesture.

Alleyn replaced the stopper.

‘Did you, do you think,’ he asked Warrender, ‘use so much that the spray could then accommodate what was left in the bottle?’

‘I wouldn’t have thought so.’

‘No,’ said Florence.

‘And even if it was filled up again, the spray itself now only contains about that same amount. Which means, to insist on the point, that somehow or another three-quarters of the whole amount of scent has disappeared.’

‘That’s impossible,’ Pinky said bluntly. ‘Unless it was spilt.’

‘No,’ said Florence again. Alleyn turned to her.

‘And the spray and bottle were on the dressing-table when you found Miss Bellamy?’

‘Must of been. I didn’t stop,’ Florence said bitterly, ‘to tidy up the dressing-table.’

‘And the tin of Slaypest was on the floor?’

Fox placed the tin beside the other exhibits and they looked at it with horror.

‘Yes?’ Alleyn asked.

‘Yes,’ said Warrender, Harkness and Gantry together and Charles suddenly beat with his hand on the table.

‘Yes, yes, yes,’ he said violently. ‘My God, must we have all this!’

‘I’m very sorry, sir, but I’m afraid we must.’

‘Look here,’ Gantry demanded, ‘are you suggesting that – what the hell are you suggesting?’

‘I suggest nothing. I simply want to try and clear up a rather odd state of affairs. Can anybody offer an explanation?’

‘She herself – Mary – must have done something about it. Knocked it over perhaps.’

‘Which?’ Alleyn asked politely. ‘The bottle or the spray?’

‘I don’t know,’ Gantry said irritably. ‘How should I? The spray, I suppose. And then filled it up.’

‘There’s no sign of a spill, as Florence has pointed out.’

‘I know!’ Bertie Saracen began. ‘You think it was used as a sort of blind to – to …’

‘To what, Mr Saracen?’

‘Ah, no,’ Bertie said in a hurry. ‘I – thought – no, I was muddling. I don’t know.’

‘I think I do,’ Pinky said, and turned very white.

‘Yes?’ Alleyn said.

‘I won’t go on. I can’t. It’s not clear enough. Please.’

She looked Alleyn straight in the eyes. ‘Mr Alleyn,’ Pinky said. ‘If you prod and insist you’ll winkle out all sorts of odd bits of information about – about arguments and rows. Inside the theatre and out. Mostly inside. Like a good many other actresses, Mary did throw the odd temperament. She threw one,’ Pinky went on against an almost palpable surge of consternation among her listeners, ‘for a matter of that, this morning.’

‘Pinky!’ Gantry warned her on a rising note.

‘Timmy, why not? I dare say Mr Alleyn already knows,’ she said wearily.