But he seemed to be in no hurry to go in, and began to mutter to himself before the side window. ‘A tidy window, Fox. I like the old-fashioned coloured bottles, don’t you? Writing paper, you see, and combs and ink (that brand went off the market in the war) cheek-by-jowel with cough-lozenges and trusses in their modest boxes. Even some children’s card games. Happy Families. That’s how Troy drew the Ancreds. Let’s give them a pack. Mr Juniper the chemist’s window. Come on.’

He led the way in. The shop was divided into two sections. One counter was devoted to fancy goods, and one, severe and isolated, to Mr Juniper’s professional activities. Alleyn rang a little bell, a door opened, and Mr Juniper, fresh and rosy in his white coat, came out, together with the cleanly smell of drugs.

‘Yes, sir?’ Mr Juniper inquired, placing himself behind his professional counter.

‘Good morning,’ said Alleyn. ‘I wonder if by any chance you’ve got anything to amuse a small girl who’s on the sick list?’

Mr Juniper removed to the fancy-goods department. ‘Happy Families? Bubble-blowing?’ he suggested.

‘Actually,’ Alleyn lied pleasantly. ‘I’ve been told I must bring back some form of practical joke. Designed, I’m afraid, for Dr Withers.’

‘Really? T’t. Ha-ha!’ said Mr Juniper. ‘Well, now. I’m afraid we haven’t anything much in that line. There were some dummy ink-spots, but I’m afraid—No. I know exactly the type of thing you mean, mind, but I’m just afraid—’

‘Somebody said something about a thing you blow up and sit on,’ Alleyn murmured vaguely. ‘It sounded disgusting.’

‘Ah! The Raspberry?’

‘That’s it.’

Mr Juniper shook his head sadly and made a gesture of resignation.

‘I thought,’ said Alleyn, ‘I saw a box in your window that looked—’

‘Empty!’ Mr Juniper sighed. ‘The customer didn’t require the box, so I’m afraid I’ve just left it there. Now isn’t that a pity,’ Mr Juniper lamented. ‘Only last week, or would it be a fortnight ago, I sold the last of that little line to a customer for exactly the same purpose. A sick little girl. Yes. One would almost think,’ he hazarded, ‘that the same little lady—’

‘I expect so. Patricia Kentish,’ said Alleyn.

‘Ah, quite so. So the customer said! Up at the Manor. Quite a little tinker,’ said Mr Juniper. ‘Well, sir, I think you’ll find that Miss Pant—Miss Pat—has already got a Raspberry.’

‘In that case,’ said Alleyn, ‘I’ll take a Happy Families. You want some toothpaste, don’t you, Fox?’

‘Happy Families,’ said Mr Juniper, snatching a packet from the shelf. ‘Dentifrice? Any particular make, sir?’

‘For a plate,’ said Fox stolidly.

‘For the denture. Quite,’ said Mr Juniper, and darted into the professional side of his shop.