‘Peculiar party in there,’ he said. ‘Boy meets father. Both heavily embarrassed. They manage these things better in France. What goes on at your end of the table?’

‘I came out to tell you, sir. Mr Templeton’s come over very poorly again, and Dr Harkness thinks he’s had about as much as he can take. He’s lying down in the drawing-room, but as soon as he can manage it the doctor wants to get him into bed. The idea is to make one up in his study and save the stairs. I thought the best thing would be to let those two – Florence and Mrs Plumtree – fix it up. The doctor’ll help him when the time comes.’

‘Yes. All right. What a hell of a party this is, by and large. All right. But they’ll have to bung the mixed-up playwright and his custom-built poppa out of it. Where? Into mama-deceased’s boudoir, I suppose. Or they can rejoin that Goon show round the dining-room table. I don’t know. Nobody tells me a thing. What else?’

‘None of them will own up to knowing anything about the Parma violets. They all say she had no time for violets.’

‘Blast and stink! Then who the devil put them on her dressing-table? The caterer in a fit of frustrated passion? Why the devil should we be stuck with a bunch of Parma violets wilting on our plates.’

Like Scheherazade, Fox discreetly fell silent.

‘Pardon me, sir, but did I hear you mention violets?’

It was Gracefield, wan in the countenance, who had emerged from the far end of the hall.

‘You did indeed,’ Alleyn said warmly.

‘If it is of any assistance, sir, a bunch of violets was brought in immediately prior to the reception. I admitted the gentleman myself, sir, and he subsequently presented them to madam on the first floor landing.’

‘You took his name, I hope, Gracefield?’

‘Quite so, sir. It was the elderly gentleman from the bookshop. The name is Octavius Browne.’

III

‘And what the merry hell,’ Alleyn ejaculated when Gracefield had withdrawn, ‘did Octavius think he was up to, prancing about with violets at that hour of the day? Damnation, I’ll have to find out, and Marchant’s due any minute. Come on.’

They went out at the front door. Light still glowed behind the curtains at the Pegasus.

‘You hold the fort here, Fox, for five minutes. Let them get Templeton settled down in the study and, if Marchant turns up, keep him till I’m back. Don’t put him in with that horde of extroverts in the dining-room. Save him up. What a go!’

He rang the bell and Octavius opened the door.

‘You again!’ he said. ‘How late! I thought you were Anelida.’

‘Well, I’m not and I’m sorry it’s late but you’ll have to let me in.’

‘Very well,’ Octavius said, standing aside. ‘What’s up, now?’