‘All right. Well, Florence would have tidied up any earlier goes at the powder and paint. And she’d have done something about these violets. Where do they come in? So this poor thing walks in, pulls out the drawer, does her running repairs and I should say from the smell, has a lavish whack at her scent.’ He sniffed the atomiser. ‘That’s it. Quarter full and stinks like a civet cat, and here’s the bottle it came from, empty. “Unguarded.” Expensive maker. “Abominable” would be more like it. How women can use such muck passes my understanding.’

‘I rather fancy it,’ said Mr Fox. ‘It’s intriguing.’

Alleyn gave him a look. ‘If we’re to accept what appears to be the current explanation, she drenches her azaleas with hexa-ethyl-tetra-phosphate and then turns the spray gun full in her own face and kills herself. D’you believe that?’

‘Not when you put it like that.’

‘Nor I. Bailey and Thompson are down below and Dr Curtis is on his way. Get them up here. We’ll want the complete treatment. Detailed pictures of the body and the room, tell Thompson. And Bailey’ll need to take her prints and search the spray gun, the dressing-table and anything else that may produce dabs, latent or otherwise. We don’t know what we’re looking for, of course.’ The bathroom door was open and he glanced in. ‘Even this place reeks of scent. What’s that on the floor? Broken picture.’ He looked more closely. ‘Rather nice tinsel picture. Madame Vestris, I fancy. Corner of the washbasin freshly chipped. Somebody’s tramped broken glass over the floor. Did she drop her pretty picture? And why in the bathroom? Washing the glass? Or what? We don’t disturb it.’ He opened the bathroom cupboard. ‘The things they take!’ he muttered. ‘The tablets. For insomnia. One with water on retiring. The unguents! The lotions! Here’s some muck like green clay. Lifting mask. Apply with spatula and leave on for ten minutes. Do not move lips or facial muscles during treatment. Here is the spatula with some nice fresh dabs. Florence’s, no doubt. And in the clothes basket, a towel with greenish smears. She had the full treatment before the party. Sal volatile bottle by the hand-basin. Did someone try to force sal volatile down her throat?’

‘Not a chance, I should say, sir.’

‘She must have taken it earlier in the day. Why? Very fancy loo, tarted up with a quilted cover, good lord! All right, Fox. Away we go. I’d better see the husband.’