When she went into the room, Mary Bellamy was on her knees, her hands to her throat and her eyes starting. She had tried to speak but had succeeded only in making a terrible retching noise. Florence had attempted to raise her, to ask her what had happened, but her mistress, threshing about on the floor, had been as unresponsive to these ministrations as an animal in torment. Florence had thought she heard the word ‘doctor.’ Quite beside herself, she had rushed out of the room and downstairs. ‘Queer,’ she said. That was what she had felt. ‘Queer.’ It was ‘queer’ that at such a moment she should concern herself with Miss Bellamy’s nonappearance at her party. It was ‘queer’ that a hackneyed theatre phrase should occur to her in such a crisis but it had and she remembered using it: ‘Is there a doctor in the house?’ though, of course, she knew, really, that Dr Harkness was one of the guests. On the subject of Dr Harkness she was violent.

‘Him! Nice lot of help he give, I don’t think I Silly with what he’d taken and knew it. Couldn’t make up his mind where he was or what he was wanted for till the colonel shoved ice down his neck. Even then he was stupid-like and ’ad to be pushed upstairs. For all we know,’ Florence said, ‘ ’e might of saved ’er. For all we know! But when ’e got there it was over and in my opinion ’e’s got it on ’is conscience for the rest of ’is days. And that’s no error. Dr Harkness!’

Alleyn asked her to describe, in detail, the state of the room when she first went into it. She remembered nothing but her mistress and when he pressed her to try, he thought she merely drew on what she saw after she returned.

He said: ‘We’ve almost finished but there’s one question I must ask you. Do you know of anyone who had cause to wish for her death?’

She thought this over, warily. ‘ There’s plenty,’ she said, ‘that was jealous of her and there’s some that acted treacherous. Some that called themselves friends.’

‘In the profession?’ Alleyn ventured.

‘Ah! Miss Kate Cavendish who’d never have got farther than Brighton Pier in the off-season without The Lady hadn’t looked after ’er! Mr Albert Smith, pardon the slip, I should of said Saracen. But for her ’e’d of stuck behind ’is counter in the Manchester department. Look what she done for them and how do they pay ’er back? Only this morning!’

‘What happened this morning?’

‘Sauce and treachery was what happened.’

‘That doesn’t really answer my question, does it?’

She stood up. ‘It’s all the answer you’ll get. You know your own business best, I suppose. But if she’s been murdered, there’s only one that had the chance. Why waste your time?’