Mr Phinn stood up. He looked both old and shabby. ‘I am not concerned,’ he said, ‘with the Lacklander conscience, the Lacklander motive, or the Lacklander remorse. I no longer desire the Lacklanders to suffer for my dear boy’s death. I do not, I think, believe any more in human expiation. Now, if I may, I shall ask you to excuse me. And if you want to know what I did with Chapter 7, I burnt it to ashes, my dear Chief Inspector, half an hour ago.’

He raised his dreadful smoking-cap, bowed to Lady Lacklander, and walked into his house, followed by his cats.

Lady Lacklander stood up. She began to move towards the gate, seemed to recollect herself and paused. ‘I am going to Nunspardon,’ she said. Alleyn opened the gate. She went out without looking at him, got into her great car and was driven away.

Fox said: ‘Painful business. I suppose the young fellow suspected what was up at the last interview. Unpleasant.’

‘Very.’

‘Still, as Mr Phinn says, this Chapter 7 really puts him in the clear as far as killing Colonel Cartarette is concerned.’

‘Well, no,’ Alleyn said.

‘No?’

‘Not exactly. The Colonel left Chapter 7 at Jacob’s Cottage. Phinn, on his own statement, didn’t re-enter the house after his row with the Colonel. He returned to the willow grove, found the body and lost his spectacles. He read Chapter 7 for the first time this morning, I fancy, by the aid of a magnifying glass.’

III

‘Of course,’ Fox said, as they turned into Commander Syce’s drive, ‘it will have been a copy. The Colonel’d never hand over the original.’

‘No. My guess is: he locked the original in the bottom drawer on the left-hand side of his desk.’

‘Ah! Now!’ Fox said, with relish. ‘That might well be.’

‘In which case one of his own family or one of the Lacklanders or any other interested person has pinched it and it’s probably gone up in smoke like its sister-ship. On the other hand, the bottom drawer may have been empty and the original typescript in Cartarette’s bank. It doesn’t very much matter, Fox. The publisher was evidently given a pretty sound idea of the alternative version by its author. He could always be called. We may not have to bring the actual text in evidence. I hope we won’t.’

‘What d’you reckon is the dowager’s real motive in coming so remarkably clean all of a sudden?’

Alleyn said crossly: ‘I’ve had my bellyful of motives. Take your choice, Brer Fox.’

‘Of course,’ Fox said, ‘she’s a very sharp old lady. She must have guessed we’d find out anyway.’

Alleyn muttered obscurely: ‘The mixture as before. And here we go with a particularly odious little interview. Look out for squalls, Brer Fox. Gosh! See who’s here!’