‘Your argument, my young coxcomb,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘is as seaworthy as a sieve. As for my diagnosis, if you’re the normal man you’d have me believe, why the hell don’t you show like one? You exhibit the stigmata of that waterfly whom it is a vice to know, and fly into a fit when the inevitable conclusion is drawn.’ He took Parry by the elbow and addressed himself to the company in the manner of a lecturer. ‘A phenomenon,’ he said, ‘that is not without its dim interest. I invite your attention. Here is an alleged actor who, an hour or two since, was made a public and egregious figure of fun by the deceased. Who was roasted by the deceased before an audience of a thousand whinnying nincompoops? Who allowed his performance to be prostituted by the deceased before this audience? Who before his final and most welcome exit suffered himself to be tripped up contemptuously by the deceased, and who fell on his painted face before this audience? Here is this phenomenon, ladies and gents, who now proposes himself as Exhibit A in the Compassion Stakes. I invite your—’

Poole said: ‘Quiet!’ and when Dr Rutherford grinned at him added: ‘I meant it, John. You will be quiet if you please.’

Parry wrenched himself free from the doctor and turned on Alleyn. ‘You’re supposed to be in charge here—’ he began and Poole said quickly: ‘Yes, Alleyn, I really do think that this discussion is getting quite fantastically out of hand. If we’re all satisfied that this case of suicide—’

‘Which,’ Alleyn said, ‘we are not.’

They were all talking at once: Helena, the doctor, Parry, Gay and Darcey. They were like a disorderly chorus in a verse play. Martyn, who had been watching Alleyn, was terrified. She saw him glance at the constable. Then he stood up.

‘One moment,’ he said. The chorus broke off inconsequently as it had begun.

‘We’ve reached a point,’ Alleyn said, ‘where it’s my duty to tell you I’m by no means satisfied that this is, in fact, a case of suicide.’

Martyn was actually conscious, in some kind, of a sense of relief. She could find no look either of surprise or anger in any of her fellow-players. Their faces were so many white discs and they were motionless and silent. At last Clem Smith said with an indecent lack of conviction: ‘He was horribly careless about things like that—taps—I mean—’ His voice sank to a murmur. They heard the word ‘accident’.

‘Is it not strange,’ Jacko said loudly, ‘how loath one is to pronounce the word that is in all our minds. And truth to tell, it has a soft and ugly character.’ His lips closed over his fantastic teeth. He used the exaggerated articulation of an old actor. ‘Murder,’ he said. ‘So beastly, isn’t it?’