‘She is looking forward to tomorrow,’ Mr Phinn said, ‘with the devoted acquiescence of a good Catholic although, of course theistically, she professes the mysteries of Old Nile.’

‘You don’t occasionally catch her dinner for her in the Chyne?’

‘When I am successful,’ Mr Phinn said, ‘we share.’

‘Did you?’ Alleyn asked, fatuously addressing himself to the cat. ‘Did you have fresh fissy for your supper last night, my angel?’ Mrs Twitchett turned contemptuously to her kittens.

‘No!’ said Mr Phinn in his natural voice.

‘You made no other catch, then, besides the fabulous Old ’Un?’

‘No!’

‘May we talk?’

Mr Phinn, silent for once, led the way through a side door and down a passage into a sizeable library.

Alleyn’s eye for other people’s houses unobtrusively explored the room. The Colonel’s study had been pleasant, civilized and not lacking in feminine graces. Commander Syce’s drawing-room was at once clean, orderly, desolate and entirely masculine. Mr Phinn’s library was disorderly, dirty, neglected and ambiguous. It exhibited confused traces of Georgian grace, Victorian pomposity and Edwardian muddle. Cushions that had once been fashionably elaborate were now stained and tarnished. There were yards of dead canvas that had once been acceptable to Burlington House, including the portrait of a fragile-looking lady with a contradictory jaw that was vaguely familiar. There were rows and rows of ‘gift’ books about cats, cheek-by-jowl with Edwardian novels which, if opened, would be found to contain illustrations of young women in dustcoats and motoring veils making haughty little moues at gladiators in Norfolk jackets. But there were also one or two admirable chairs, an unmistakable Lely and a lovely, though filthy, rug. And among the decrepit novels were books of distinction and authority. It was on Mr Phinn’s shelves that Alleyn noticed an unexpected link with the Colonel. For here among a collection of books on angling he saw again The Scaly Breed by Maurice Cartarette. But what interested Alleyn perhaps more than all these items, was a state of chaos that was to be observed on and near a very nice serpentine-fronted bureau. The choked drawers were half-out, one indeed was on the floor, the top was covered with miscellaneous objects which, to a police-trained eye, had clearly been dragged out in handfuls, while the carpet nearby was littered with a further assortment. A burglar, taken by surprise, could not have left clearer evidence behind him.

‘How can I serve you?’ asked Mr Phinn. ‘A little refreshment, by the way? A glass of sherry? Does Tio Pepe recommend himself to your notice?’

‘Not quite so early in the morning, thank you, and I’m afraid this is a duty call.’