She clasped her plump hands together and rested the entire system of her chins upon them. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I called you in, after all. Go on.’

‘What did you do,’ Alleyn asked Mr Phinn, ‘when you discovered your loss?’

Mr Phinn looked very fixedly at him. ‘Do?’ he repeated. ‘What should I do? It was growing dark. I looked about in the precincts of the bridge but to no avail. The trout was gone. I returned home, a bitterly chagrined man.’

‘And there you remained, it seems, for about four hours. It’s now five minutes past one in the morning. Why, at such an hour, are you paying this visit, Mr Phinn?’

Looking at Mr Phinn, Alleyn thought: ‘He was ready for that one.’

‘Why?’ Mr Phinn exclaimed, spreading his unsteady hands. ‘My dear sir, I will tell you why. Rendered almost suicidal by the loss of this homeric catch I was unable to contemplate my couch with any prospect of repose. Misery and frustration would have been my bedfellows I assure you had I sought it. I attempted to read, to commune with the persons of my house (I refer to my cats, sir), to listen to an indescribably tedious piece of buffoonery upon the wireless. All, I regret to say, was of no avail: my mind was wholly occupied by The Great Fish. Some three-quarters of an hour or so ago, I sought the relief of fresh air and took a turn down the River Path. On emerging from the ruffian Syce’s spinney I observed lights behind these windows. I heard voices. Knowing,’ he said with a singular gulp, ‘knowing that poor Cartarette’s interest as a fellow angler would be aroused I … My dear Lady L., why are you looking at me in this most disconcerting fashion?’

‘Occy!’ Lady Lacklander said. ‘Yard or no Yard, I can’t contain my information for another second. I was within a stone’s throw of you when you had your row with Maurice Cartarette. What’s more, a few minutes earlier his wife and George both saw you poaching under the bridge. I heard you or Maurice throw down the trout on the bridge and I heard you part company in a high rage. What’s more Maurice came hotfoot to where I was painting and I had the whole story all over again from him. Now, my dear Roderick Alleyn, you may be as cross with me as you please, but I really could not allow this nonsensical tarradiddle to meander on for another second.’

Mr Phinn blinked and peered and fumbled with his lips. ‘It used to be quite a little joke between my dear wife and me,’ he said at last, ‘that one must never contradict a Lacklander.’

Only Alleyn and Fox looked at him.

‘Mr Phinn,’ Alleyn said, ‘you normally wear spectacles, I think, don’t you?’