‘All right. Don’t bother to tell me. You’re afraid of putting ideas into my head. How can I persuade you, Nicola, that it’s only by a process of elimination that I can get anywhere with this case? Incidents that look as fishy as hell to you may well turn out to be the means of clearing the very character you’re fussing about.’

‘May they?’

‘Now, look here. An old boy of, as far as we know, exemplary character, has been brutally and cunningly murdered. You think you can’t bring yourself to say anything that might lead to an arrest and its possible consequences. I understand and sympathize. But, my poor girl, will you consider for a moment, the possible consequences of withholding information? They can be disastrous. They have led to terrible miscarriages of justice. You see, Nicola, the beastly truth is that if you are involved, however accidentally in a crime of this sort, you can’t avoid responsibility.’

‘I’m sorry. I suppose you’re right. But in this instance – about Lady Bantling, I mean – it’s nothing. It’ll sound disproportionate.’

‘So will lots of other things that turn out to be of no consequence. Come on. What happened? What did she do?’

Nicola, it transpired, had a gift for reportage. She gave a clear account of what had happened … Alleyn could see the car turn in the lane and stop. After a pause the driver got out, her flaming hair haloed momentarily in the light of the lantern as she crossed the planks, walking carefully in her high heels. She had gone through Mr Period’s garden gate and disappeared. There had been a light in an upper window. Andrew Bantling had said: ‘Hallo, what’s my incalculable ma up to!’ They had heard quite distinctly the spatter of pebbles against the upper window. A figure in a dark gown had opened it. ‘Great grief!’ Andrew had ejaculated. ‘That’s Harold! She’s doing a balcony scene in reverse! She must be tight.’

And indeed, Lady Bantling had, surprisingly, quoted from the play. ‘“What light,” she had shouted, “from yonder window breaks?”’ and Mr Cartell had replied irritably, ‘Good God, Desirée, what are you doing down there!’

Her next remark was in a lower tone and they had only caught the word ‘warpath’ to which he had rejoined: ‘Utter nonsense!’

‘And then,’ Nicola told Alleyn, ‘another light popped up and another window opened and Mr Period looked out. It was like a Punch and Judy show. He said something rather plaintive that sounded like: “Is anything the matter?” and Lady Bantling shouted: “Not a thing, go to bed, darling,” and he said: “Well, really! How odd!” and pulled down his blind. And then Mr Cartell said something inaudible and Lady Bantling quite yelled: “Ha! Ha! You jolly well watch your step,” and then he pulled his blind down and we saw her come out, cross the ditch, and get into the car. She drove past us and leant out of the driving window and said: “That was a tuppenny one. Don’t be too late, darlings” and went on. And Andrew said he wished he knew what the hell she was up to and soon after that we went back to the party. Leonard and Moppett had already arrived.’