‘Thank you very much,’ said Thomas, ‘for letting me come. I didn’t much want to, of course, but it’s nice of you to have me. It was knowing Mrs Alleyn that put it into their heads.’

‘Whose heads?’ asked Alleyn.

‘Well, Pauline’s and Dessy’s, principally. Paul and Fenella were quite keen too. I suppose Mrs Alleyn has told you about my people?’

‘I think,’ said Alleyn, ‘that it might be best if we adopt the idea that I know nothing about anybody.’

‘Oh, dear!’ said Thomas, sighing. ‘That means a lot of talking, doesn’t it?’

‘What about these letters?’

‘Yes, to be sure,’ said Thomas, beginning to pat himself all over. ‘The letters. I’ve got them somewhere. Anonymous, you know. Of course I’ve had them before in the theatre from disappointed patrons and angry actresses, but this is different—really. Now, where?’ He picked up one corner of his jacket, looked suspiciously at a bulging pocket, and finally pulled out a number of papers, two pencils and a box of matches. Thomas beamed at Alleyn. ‘And there, after all, they are,’ he said. In mild triumph he laid them out on the desk—eight copies of the letter Alleyn had already seen, all printed with the same type of pen on the same type of paper.

‘What about the envelopes?’ Alleyn asked.

‘Oh,’ said Thomas, ‘we didn’t keep them. I wasn’t going to say anything about mine,’ Thomas continued after a pause, ‘and nor were Jenetta and Milly, but of course everybody noticed everybody else had the same sort of letter, and Pauline (my sister, Pauline Kentish) made a great hallabaloo over hers, and there we were, you know.’

‘Eight,’ said Alleyn. ‘And there are nine in the party at Ancreton?’

‘Sonia didn’t get one, so everybody says she’s the person meant.’

‘Do you take that view, Mr Ancred?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Thomas, opening his eyes very wide. ‘It seems obvious, doesn’t it? With the Will and everything. Sonia’s meant, of course, but for my part,’ said Thomas with a diffident cough, ‘I don’t fancy she murdered Papa.’

He gave Alleyn a rather anxious smile. ‘It would be such a beastly thing to do, you know,’ he said. ‘Somehow one can’t quite—however. Pauline actually almost leapt at the idea. Dessy, in a way, too. They’re both dreadfully upset. Pauline fainted at the funeral anyway, and then with those letters on top of it all she’s in a great state of emotional upheaval. You can’t imagine what it’s like at Ancreton.’

‘It was Mrs Kentish, wasn’t it, who suggested you should come to the Yard?’