Nigel dabbed his finger on the carbon copy.

“And when Stephen went out on the landing his aunt was there—alone.”

“That is what he gave in his statement,” said Alleyn without emphasis.

“Have you any reason to doubt this statement?”

“At the moment, none.”

“Very well, then. She had been alone on the landing.”

“I thought your argument was that she did it before that, in which case why did she stay on the landing?”

“I’m only showing that she had opportunities.”

“All right.”

“Alleyn,” said Nigel, “please tell me. Do you think she did it?”

“There you go, you see,” said Alleyn wearily. “Stick to your press-manship, my boy. Go away and write a front-page story and let me see it before you hand it over to your evening screecher. Come on. We’ll go home to our unfortunate wives and Fox to his blameless pallet.”

They parted on the Embankment. Nigel hailed a taxi; Fox, his head bent sideways, his hand to his bowler and his overcoat flapping about his formidable legs, tacked off into the wind, making for his lodgings in Victoria. Alleyn crossed the Embankment and leaning on the parapet looked down into the black shadows of Westminster Pier. The river slapped against wet stones and Alleyn felt a thin touch of spray on his face. He stood for so long that a constable on night duty paused and finally marched down upon his superior, flashing his torch into Alleyn’s face.

“It’s all right,” said Alleyn. “I’m not yet tired of life.”

“I beg your pardon, sir, I’m sure. Mr. Alleyn isn’t it? Didn’t recognize you for a minute. It’s a thick night.”

“It’s a beastly night,” agreed Alleyn, “and we’re at the worst part of it.”

“Yes, sir. That’s right, sir.”

“Dull job, night duty, isn’t it?”

“Chronic, sir. Nothing much to do as a general rule except walk and think.”

“I know.”

Gratified by this encouragement, the constable said: “Yes, sir. I always reckon that if there’s any chap or female on this beat, hanging off and on, wondering whether they’ll make a hole in the river or not, it’s between two and four of the morning they’ll go overboard if they’re ever going. The river patrols say the same thing.”

“Yes,” said Alleyn. “So do doctors and nurses. It’s the hour of low vitality.” He did not move away and the constable, still further encouraged, continued the conversation.

“Have you ever read a play called ‘Macbeth,’ sir?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Alleyn, turning his head to look at the man.

“I wonder if it’d be the same thing, sir. The one I have in mind is by this Shakespeare.”

“I think it’ll be the same.”

“Well, sir, I saw that piece once at the Old Vic. On duty there, sir, I was. It’s a funny kind of show. Not the type of entertainment that appeals to me as a general rule. Morbid. But it kind of caught my fancy and afterwards I got hold of a copy of the words and read them. There’s one or two bits I seem to be reminded of when I am on night duty. I don’t know why, I’m sure, because the play is a countrified affair. Blasted heaths and woods and so on.”