‘It seemed the only thing to do. Anything else was impossible from the point of view of technique. Ridiculous, in fact. Such preposterous ingredients! You can’t imagine.’

‘Well,’ said Fox, ‘as long as you can testify there was no arsenic. Eh, Mr Alleyn?’

‘I must say,’ said Mr Mortimer, ‘I don’t at all care for the idea of giving evidence in an affair of this sort. Ours is a delicate, and you might say exclusive, profession, Chief Inspector. Publicity of this kind is most undesirable.’

‘You may not be subpoenaed, after all,’ said Alleyn.

‘Not? But I understood Inspector Fox to say—’

‘You never know. Cheer up, Mr Mortimer.’

Mr Mortimer muttered to himself disconsolately and fell into a doze.

‘What about the cat?’ Fox asked. ‘And the bottle of medicine?’

‘No report yet.’

‘We’ve been busy,’ Dr Curtis complained. ‘You and your cats! The report should be in some time today. What’s all this about a cat anyway?’

‘Never you mind,’ Alleyn grunted, ‘you do your Marsh-Berzelius tests with a nice open mind. And your Fresenius process later on, I shouldn’t wonder.’

Dr Curtis paused in the act of lighting his pipe. ‘Fresenius process?’ he said.

‘Yes, and your ammonium chloride and your potassium iodide and your Bunsen flame and your platinum wire. And look for the pretty green line, blast you!’

After a long silence Dr Curtis said: ‘It’s like that, is it?’ and glanced at Mr Mortimer.

‘It may be like that.’

‘Having regard to the general lay-out?’

‘That’s the burden of our song.’

Fox said suddenly: ‘Was he bald when they laid him out?’

‘Not he. Mrs Henry Ancred and Mrs Kentish were both present. They’d have noticed. Besides, the hair was there, Fox. We collected it while you were ministering to Thomas.’

‘Oh!’ Fox ruminated for a time and then said loudly: ‘Mr Mortimer! Mr Mortimer!’

‘Wha—?’

‘Did you notice Sir Henry’s hair when you were working on him?’

‘Eh? Oh, yes,’ said Mr Mortimer, hurriedly, but in a voice slurred with sleep. ‘Yes, indeed. We all remarked on it. A magnificent head of hair.’ He yawned hideously. ‘A magnificent head of hair,’ he repeated.

Alleyn looked at Dr Curtis. ‘Consistent?’ he asked.

‘With your green line? Yes.’

‘Pardon?’ said Mr Mortimer anxiously.

‘All right, Mr Mortimer. Nothing. We’re in London. You’ll be in bed by daybreak.’

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Escape of Miss O.

AT BREAKFAST ALLEYN SAID: ‘This case of ours is doing the usual snowball business, Troy.’

‘Gathering up complications as it goes?’

‘A mass of murky stuff in this instance. Grubby stuff, and a lot of it waste matter. Do you want an interim report?’

‘Only if you feel like making one. And is there enough time?’

‘Actually there’s not. I can answer a crisp question or two, though, if you care to rap them out at me.’

‘You know, I expect, what they’ll be.’