A huge photograph of Sonia Orrincourt stood in the middle of the dressing-table.

Fox joined Alleyn. ‘Very taking,’ he said. ‘Funny, you know, Mr Alleyn. That’s what they call a pin-up girl. Plenty of teeth and hair and limbs. Sir Henry put it in a silver frame, but that, you might say, is the only difference. Very taking.’

Alleyn opened the top drawer on the left.

‘First pop,’ Fox remarked.

Alleyn pulled on a glove and gingerly took out a pear-shaped wooden bell-push. ‘One takes these pathetic precautions,’ he said, ‘and a hell of a lot of use they are. Now then.’ He unscrewed the end of the bell-push and looked into it.

‘See here, Fox. Look at the two points. Nothing broken. One of the holding-screws and its washer are tight. No bits of wire. The other screw and washer are loose. Got your lens? Have a look at that cord again.’

Fox took out a pocket lens and returned to the bed. ‘One of the wires is unbroken,’ he said presently. ‘No shiny end, and it’s blackened like they do get with time. The other’s different, though. Been dragged through and scraped, I’d say. That’s what must have happened. He put his weight on it and they pulled through.’

‘In that case,’ Alleyn said, ‘why is one of the screws so tight, and only one wire shiny? We’ll keep this bell-push, Fox.’

He had wrapped his handkerchief round it and dropped it in his pocket, when the door was opened and Sonia Orrincourt walked in.

She was dressed in black, but so dashingly that mourning was not much suggested. Her curtain of ashen hair and her heavy fringe were glossy, her eyelids were blue, her lashes incredible and her skin sleek. She wore a diamond clasp and bracelet and ear-rings. She stood just inside the room.

‘Pardon the intrusion,’ she said, ‘but am I addressing the police?’

‘You are,’ said Alleyn. ‘Miss Orrincourt?’

‘That’s the name.’

‘How do you do? This is Inspector Fox.’

‘Now listen!’ said Miss Orrincourt, advancing upon them with a professional gait. ‘I want to know what’s cooking in this icehouse. I’ve got my rights to look after, same as anybody else, haven’t I?’

‘Undoubtedly.’

‘Thank you. Very kind I’m sure. Then perhaps you’ll tell me who asked you into my late fiancé’s room and just what you’re doing now you’ve got there.’

‘We were asked by his family and we’re doing a job of work.’

‘Work? What sort of work? Don’t tell me the answer to that one,’ said Miss Orrincourt angrily. ‘I seem to know it. They’re trying to swing something across me. Is that right? Trying to pack me up. What is it? That’s what I want to know. Come on. What is it?’