Miss Bostock spread out the letter on her painting-table, adding several cobalt finger-prints in the process. It was a single sheet of pre-war notepaper, thick, white, with an engraved heading surmounted by a crest—a cross with fluted extremities.

‘Crikey!’ said Miss Bostock. ‘Ancreton Manor. That’s the—Crikey!’ Being one of those people who invariably read letters aloud she began to mutter:

Miss Agatha Troy (Mrs Roderick Alleyn)

Tatlers End House

Bossicot, Bucks.

Dear Madam,

My father-in-law, Sir Henry Ancred, asks me to write to you in reference to a portrait of himself in the character of Macbeth, for which he would be pleased to engage your services. The picture is to hang in the entrance hall at Ancreton Manor, and will occupy a space six by four feet in dimension. As he is in poor health he wishes the painting to be done here, and will be pleased if you can arrange to stay with us from Saturday, November 17th, until such time as the portrait is completed. He presumes this will be in about a week. He will be glad to know, by telegram, whether this arrangement will suit you, and also your fee for such a commission.

I am,

Yours faithfully,

MILLAMANT ANCRED.

‘Well,’ said Miss Bostock, ‘of all the cheek!’

Troy grinned. ‘You’ll notice I’m to dodge up a canvas six by four in seven days. I wonder if he expects me to throw in the three witches and the Bloody Child.’

‘Have you answered it?’

‘Not yet,’ Troy mumbled.

‘It was written six days ago,’ scolded Miss Bostock.

‘I know. I must. How shall I word the telegram: “Deeply regret am not house painter”?’

Katti Bostock paused, her square fingers still planted under the crest. ‘I thought only peers had those things peppered about on their notepaper,’ she said.

‘You’ll notice it’s a cross, with ends like an anchor. Hence Ancred, one supposes.’

‘Oh! I say!’ said Katti, rubbing her nose with her blue finger. ‘That’s funny.’

‘What is?’

‘Didn’t you do a set of designs for that production of Macbeth?’

‘I did. That may have given them the idea.’

‘Good Lord! Do you remember,’ said Miss Bostock, ‘we saw him in the play. You and Roderick, and I? The Bathgates took us. Before the war.’

‘Of course I do,’ said Troy. ‘He was magnificent, wasn’t he?’

‘What’s more, he looked magnificent. What a head. Troy, do you remember, we said—’

‘So we did. Katti,’ said Troy, ‘you’re not by any chance going to suggest—’

‘No, no, of course not. Good Lord, no! But it’s rum that we did say it would be fun to have a go at him in the grand manner. Against the backcloth they did from your design; lolloping clouds and a black simplified castle form. The figure cloaked and dim.’