‘As an isolated group of facts, perhaps it does.’

They resumed their walk, and Alleyn heard him say fretfully: ‘I wish you’d explain.’ And after another pause he peered rather anxiously at Alleyn. ‘Perhaps it wouldn’t do, though,’ he added.

Alleyn thought for a moment, and then, taking Paul by the elbow, steered him into the shelter of a side street. ‘We can’t go on bawling at each other in a gale,’ he said, ‘but I don’t see that it can do any harm to explain this much. It’s quite possible that if all this dust had not been raised after your grandfather’s death, Miss Orrincourt might still have become Lady Ancred.’

Paul’s jaw dropped. ‘I don’t get that.’

‘You don’t?’

‘Good God,’ Paul roared out suddenly, ‘you can’t mean Cedric?’

‘Sir Cedric,’ said Alleyn, dryly, ‘is my authority. He tells me he has seriously considered marrying her.’

After a long silence Paul said slowly: ‘They’re as thick as thieves, of course. But I never guessed…No, it’d be too much…I’m sorry, sir, but you’re sure—?’

‘Unless he invented the story.’

‘To cover up his tracks,’ said Paul instantly.

‘Extremely elaborate and she could deny it. As a matter of fact her manner suggested some sort of understanding between them.’

Paul raised his clasped hands to his mouth and thoughtfully blew into them. ‘Suppose,’ he said, ‘he suspected her, and wanted to make sure?’

‘That would be an entirely different story.’

‘Is that your theory, sir?’

‘Theory?’ Alleyn repeated vaguely. ‘I haven’t got a theory. I haven’t sorted things out. Mustn’t keep you standing here in the cold.’ He held out his hand. Paul’s was like ice. ‘Goodbye,’ said Alleyn.

‘One minute, sir. Will you tell me this? I give you my word it’ll go no further. Was my Grandfather murdered?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Alleyn. ‘Yes. I’m afraid we may be sure of that. He was murdered.’ He walked down the street, leaving Paul, still blowing on his frozen knuckles, to stare after him.

The canvas walls were faintly luminous. They were laced to their poles with ropes and glowed in the darkness. Blobs of light from hurricane lanterns suspended within formed a globular pattern across the surface. One of these lanterns must have been touching the wall, for the village constable on duty outside could clearly make out shadows of wire and the precise source of light.

He glanced uneasily at the motionless figure of his companion, a police officer from London, wearing a short cape. ‘Bitter cold,’ he said.

‘That’s right.’

‘Be long, d’yew reckon?’

‘Can’t say.’