But as Alleyn moved, Mr Rattisbon laid a claw on his arm. ‘I shall always remember him that night,’ he said. ‘He stopped me as I reached the door and I turned and saw him, sitting upright in bed with his gown spread about him. He was a fine-looking old fellow. I was quite arrested by his appearance. He made an unaccountable remark, too, I recollect. He said: “I expect to be very well attended, in future, Rattisbon. Opposition to my marriage may not be as strong in some quarters as you anticipate. Goodnight.” That was all. It was, of course, the last time I ever saw him.’

The Hon Mrs Claude Ancred had a small house in Chelsea. As a dwelling-place it presented a startling antithesis to Ancreton. Here all was lightness and simplicity. Alleyn was shown into a white drawing-room, modern in treatment, its end wall one huge window overlooking the river. The curtains were pale yellow, powdered with silver stars, and this colour, with accents of clear cerise, appeared throughout the room. There were three pictures—a Matisse, a Christopher Wood, and, to his pleasure, an Agatha Troy. ‘So you still stick around, do you?’ he said, winking at it, and at that moment Jenetta Ancred came in.

An intelligent looking woman, he thought. She greeted him as if he was a normal visitor, and, with a glance at the painting, said: ‘You see that we’ve got a friend in common,’ and began to talk to him about Troy and their meeting at Ancreton.

He noticed that her manner was faintly and recurrently ironic. Nothing, she seemed to say, must be insisted upon or underlined. Nothing really matters very much. Overstatement is stupid and uncomfortable. This impression was conveyed by the crispness of her voice, its avoidance of stresses, and by her eyes and lips, which constantly erected little smiling barriers that half-discredited the frankness of her conversation. She talked intelligently about painting, but always with an air of self-deprecation. He had a notion she was warding off the interview for which he had asked.

At last he said: ‘You’ve guessed, of course, why I wanted you to let me come?’

‘Thomas came in last night and told me he’d seen you and that you’d gone down to Ancreton. This is an extremely unpleasant development, isn’t it?’

‘I’d very much like to hear your views.’

‘Mine?’ she said, with an air of distaste. ‘They can’t possibly be of the smallest help, I’m afraid. I’m always a complete onlooker at Ancreton. And please don’t tell me the onlooker sees most of the game. In this instance she sees as little as possible.’

‘Well,’ said Alleyn cheerfully, ‘what does she think?’

She waited for a moment, looking past him to the great window. ‘I think,’ she murmured, ‘that it’s almost certain to be a tarradiddle. The whole story.’