Cedric’s manner was both effusive and uneasy. He made a little dart at Alleyn and flapped at his hand. He began at once to talk about Troy. ‘She was too marvellous, a perfect darling. So thrilling to watch her at work: that magical directness, almost intimidating, one felt. You must be madly proud of her, of course.’

His mouth opened and shut, his teeth glinted, his pale eyes stared and his voice gabbled on and on. He was restless too, and wandered about the room aimlessly, lifting lids of empty cigarette boxes and moving ornaments. He recalled acquaintance with Alleyn’s nephews, with whom, he said, he had been at school. He professed a passionate interest in Alleyn’s work. He returned again to Troy, suggesting that he alone among the Philistines had spoken her language. There was a disquieting element in all this, and Alleyn, when an opportunity came, cut across it.

‘One moment,’ he said. ‘Our visit is an official one. I’m sure you will agree that we should keep it so. May we simply think the fact of my wife having been commissioned to paint Sir Henry a sort of freakish coincidence and nothing to do with the matter in hand? Except, of course, in so far as her job may turn out to have any bearing on the circumstances.’

Cedric’s mouth had remained slightly open. He turned pink, touched his hair, and said: ‘Of course if you feel like that about it. I merely thought that a friendly atmosphere—’

‘That was extremely kind,’ said Alleyn.

‘Unless your somewhat muscular sense of the official proprieties forbids it,’ Cedric suggested acidly, ‘shall we at least sit down?’

‘Thank you,’ said Alleyn tranquilly, ‘that would be much more comfortable.’

He sat in a vast armchair, crossed his knees, joined his hands, and with what Troy called his donnish manner, prepared to tackle Cedric.

‘Mr Thomas Ancred tells me you share the feeling that further inquiries should be made into the circumstances of Sir Henry’s death.’

‘Well, I suppose I do,’ Cedric agreed fretfully. ‘I mean, it’s all pretty vexing, isn’t it? Well, I mean one would like to know. All sorts of things depend…And yet again it’s not very delicious…Of course, when one considers that I’m the one who’s most involved…Well, look at me. Incarcerated, in this frightful house! And the entail a pittance. All those taxes too, and rapacious death duties. Never, never will anybody be found mad enough to rent it, and as for schools, Carol Able does nothing but exclaim how inconvenient and how damp. And now the war’s over the problem children will be hurried away. One will be left to wander in rags down whispering corridors. So that you see,’ he added, waving his hands, ‘one does rather wonder—’

‘Quite so.’