‘So it seems. Is it in order for me to go up to London? I’m meant to be on guard tomorrow. As a matter of fact I had thought of going up on business.’

‘Important business?’

‘Well – to me. I wanted to ask them to give me a few days’ grace over the gallery.’ He stared at Alleyn. ‘I suppose this will make a difference,’ he said. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’

‘And now you have thought of it –?’

‘I don’t know,’ Andrew said slowly. ‘It seems a bit low to think of it at all. I’d like to talk it over with Nicola. As a matter of fact –’ He looked sideways at Alleyn. ‘I rather thought of coming back and then going up with her. After I’ve telephoned my mamma, I suppose. I can’t imagine what she’ll make of all this, I must say.’

‘Where are you going to be on guard?’

‘The Tower,’ Andrew said dismally.

‘All right. We’ll get in touch if we want you.’

Leaving Andrew where he was, Alleyn had a discussion with Fox and Williams in Mr Period’s garden and then checked the story of the cigarette-case with Alfred and then crossed the green to interview Miss Cartell.

She received him in her den. He found it a depressing room. Everything seemed to be the colour of mud. Faded snapshots of meets, of foxhounds and of other canines, covered the walls. On the desk, which was a shambles, were several framed photographs of a cagey-looking girl whom he supposed to be Moppett. The room smelt of dog, damp tweed and raw liver, this last being explained by a dish labelled ‘Fido’ in which a Pekinese was noisily snuffling. It broke off to bare its needle-like teeth at Alleyn and make the noise of a toy kettledrum.

Miss Cartell sat with her hands on her knees staring dolefully at him. Her left thumb was decorated with dirty, bloodstained cotton-wool and stamp-paper. She had evidently been crying.

‘It’s pretty ghastly,’ she said. ‘Poor old Boysie! I can’t take it in. He was a bit of an old maid but a brother’s a brother. We didn’t see eye-to-eye over a lot of things, but still.’

Alleyn was visited by the fleeting wish that he could run into somebody who at least pretended to have liked Mr Cartell.

‘When,’ he asked her, ‘did you last see him?’

‘I don’t know. Yes, I do. Last evening. He came over here with that ghastly bitch. It upset Li-chi. They’re very highly strung animals, pekes. He’s still nervous. Eat up, my poppet,’ said Miss Cartell to the Pekinese. ‘Lovely livvy!’

She poked her finger temptingly in the raw liver.

‘Eat up,’ she said and wiped her finger on the Pekinese. Alleyn noticed that her hand was unsteady.

‘Was it just a casual, friendly visit?’ he asked.

Miss Cartell’s rather prominent blue eyes, slightly bloodshot, seemed to film over.