‘Well, darling, what’s she like? Has she got the brains to think it up? Would she work out the idea from reading the book on embalming that arsenic would be found in the body anyway?’

‘I shouldn’t have thought,’ said Troy cheerfully, ‘that she’d make head or tail of the book. It was printed in very dim italics with the long “s” like an “f”. She’s not at all the type to pore over literary curiosa unless she thought they were curious in the specialized sense.’

‘Feeling better?’ he asked.

‘Yes, thank you. I’m thinking of other things for myself. Arsenic takes effect pretty quickly, doesn’t it? And tastes beastly? He couldn’t have had it at dinner, because, apart from being in a foul rage, he was still all right when he left the little theatre. And—if Sonia Orrincourt had put it in his Ovaltine, or whatever he has in his bedside Thermos, could he have sipped down enough to kill him without noticing the taste?’

‘Unlikely,’ Alleyn said. Another silence fell between them. Alleyn thought: ‘I’ve never been able to make up my mind about telepathy. Think of something else. Is she listening to my thoughts?’

‘Rory,’ said Troy. ‘It is all right, isn’t it?’

The telephone rang and he was glad to answer it. Inspector Fox was speaking from the Yard.

‘Where have you been, you old devil?’ said Alleyn, and his voice held that cordiality with which we greet a rescuer.

‘Good evening, Mr Alleyn,’ said Fox. ‘I was wondering if it would inconvenience you and Mrs Alleyn very much if—’

‘Come along!’ Alleyn interrupted. ‘Of course it won’t. Troy will be delighted; won’t you, darling? It’s Fox.’

‘Of course I shall,’ said Troy loudly. ‘Tell him to come.’

‘Very kind, I’m sure,’ Fox was saying in his deliberate way. ‘Perhaps I ought to explain though. It’s Yard business. You might say very unusual circumstances, really. Quite a contretemps.’

‘The accent’s improving, Fox.’

‘I don’t get the practice. About this business, though. In a manner of speaking, sir, I fancy you’ll want to consult Mrs Alleyn. She’s with you, evidently.’

‘What is it?’ Troy asked quickly. ‘I can hear him. What is it?’

‘Well, Fox,’ said Alleyn after a pause, ‘what is it?’

‘Concerning the late Sir Henry Ancred, sir. I’ll explain when I see you. There’s been an Anonymous Letter.’

‘Coincidence,’ said Fox, putting on his spectacles and flattening out a sheet of paper on his knee, ‘is one of the things you get accustomed to in our line of business, as I think you’ll agree, sir. Look at the way one of our chaps asked for a lift in the Gutteridge case. Look at the Thompson-Bywaters case—’