‘I didn’t know what to think. I don’t now. And I must say that with everybody so excited and foolish about it one can’t think very clearly.’

‘About the book that turned up in the cheese-dish…’ he began.

Millamant jerked her head in the direction of the glass case. ‘It’s over there. Someone replaced it.’

He walked over to the case and raised the lid. ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll take charge of it presently. You saw her reading it?’

‘Looking at it. It was one evening before dinner. Some weeks ago, I think.’

‘Can you describe her position and behaviour? Was she alone?’

‘Yes. I came in and she was standing as you are now, with the lid open. She seemed to be turning over the leaves of the book as it lay there. When she saw me she let the lid fall. I was afraid it might have smashed, but it hadn’t.’

Alleyn moved away to the cold hearth, his hands in his pockets, ‘I wonder,’ said Milly, ‘if you’d mind putting a match to the fire. We light it at four-thirty, always.’

Glad of the fire, for the crimson and white room was piercingly cold, and faintly amused by her air of domesticity, he did as she asked. She moved, with her embroidery, to a chair before the hearth. Alleyn and Fox sat one on each side of her.

‘Mrs Ancred,’ Alleyn said, ‘do you think any one in the house knew about this second Will?’

‘She knew. She says he showed it to her that night.’

‘Apart from Miss Orrincourt?’

‘They were all afraid he might do something of the sort. He was always changing his Will. But I don’t think any of them knew he’d done it.’

‘I wondered if Sir Cedric—’

The impression that with Millamant all would be plain speaking was immediately dispelled. Her short hands closed on her work like traps. She said harshly: ‘My son knew nothing about it. Nothing.’

‘I thought that as Sir Henry’s successor—

‘If he had known he would have told me. He knew nothing. It was a great shock to both of us. My son,’ Millamant added, looking straight before her, ‘tells me everything—everything.’

‘Splendid,’ murmured Alleyn after a pause. Her truculent silence appeared to demand comment. ‘It’s only that I should like to know whether this second Will was made that night when Sir Henry went to his room. Mr Rattisbon, of course, can tell us.’

‘I suppose so,’ said Millamant, selecting a strand of mustard-coloured silk.

‘Who discovered the writing on Sir Henry’s looking-glass?’