‘And the same goes, I imagine, for the pails and cloths?’

‘The pails are no good, but I found some tag-ends of rag.’

‘Where have you put these delicious exhibits?’

‘Isabel,’ said Fox primly, ‘hunted out a case. I told her I had to buy pyjamas in the village, being obliged unexpectedly to stay the night, and I mentioned that a man doesn’t like to be seen carrying parcels. I’ve promised to return it.’

‘Didn’t they spot you were taking these things?’

‘Only the patent food. I let on that the police were a bit suspicious about the makers and it might have disagreed. I dare say they didn’t believe me. Owing to the behaviour of the family I think they know what’s up.’

‘They’d be pretty dumb if they didn’t.’

‘Two other points came out that might be useful,’ said Fox.

Alleyn had a clear picture of the tea-party. Fox, no doubt, had sipped and complimented, had joked and sympathized, had scarcely asked a question, yet had continually received answers. He was a past master at the game. He indulged his hostesses with a few innocuous hints and was rewarded with a spate of gossip.

‘It seems, Mr Alleyn, that the young lady was, as Isabel put it, leading Sir Henry on and no more.’

‘D’you mean—’

‘Relationship,’ said Fox sedately, ‘according to Isabel, had not taken place. It was matrimony or nothing.’

‘I see.’

‘Isabel reckons that before this business with the letters came out, there was quite an understanding between Miss O. and Sir Cedric.’

‘What sort of understanding, in the name of decency?’

‘Well, sir, from hints Miss O. dropped, Isabel works it out that after a discreet time had elapsed Miss O. would have turned into Lady A. after all. So that what she lost on the swings she would, in a manner of speaking, have picked up on the roundabouts.’

‘Good Lord!’ said Alleyn. ‘ “What a piece of work is man!” That, if it’s true, would explain quite a number of the young and unlovely baronet’s antics.’

‘Supposing Miss Orrincourt did monkey with the Thermos, Mr Alleyn, we might have to consider whether Sir Cedric knew what she was up to.’

‘We might indeed.’

‘I know it’s silly,’ Fox went on, rubbing his nose, ‘but when a case gets to this stage I always seem to get round to asking myself whether such-and-such a character is a likely type for homicide. I know it’s silly, because there isn’t a type, but I ask myself the question just the same.’

‘And at the moment you ask it about Sonia Orrincourt?’

‘That’s right, sir.’