“One of the messy sort,” said Detective-Sergeant Thompson, moving his photographic impedimenta a little farther under the seat.

“That’s right,” agreed Bailey.

“I’ve no idea,” said Alleyn, “in what sort of country we shall find ourselves.”

“The flat belongs to deceased’s brother, doesn’t it, sir?”

“Yes. Lord Charles Lamprey.”

The police-surgeon spoke for the first time. “I fancy I’ve heard something about Lamprey,” he said. “Can’t remember what it was.”

“Wasn’t he mixed up in that Stein suicide?” said Bailey.

Alleyn glanced at him. “He was, yes. Stein left him with the baby.”

“The baby, sir?”

“Figuratively, Bailey. Lord Charles appeared to have developed an amazing flair for signing himself into every conceivable sort of responsibility. He turned out to be Stein’s partner, you remember.”

“Did he go bust?” asked the doctor.

“I don’t think so, Curtis. Must have felt the draught a bit, one would imagine.”

“Was the deceased a wealthy man, sir?” asked Bailey. “This Lord Wutherwood, I mean.”

“Oh, pretty well, you know,” said Alleyn vaguely. “There’s a monstrous place in Kent, I think. Not that that tells one anything. May have been hanging on by the skin of his teeth.”

“It sounds an unpleasant business,” said Dr. Curtis. “Through the eye, didn’t you say?”

“Yes. Beastly, isn’t it? Fox was very guarded when he rang up…I recognized his suspect-listening manner.”

“Large family of Lampreys?” asked Dr. Curtis.

“Masses of young, I fancy. Damn! We’re in for a nasty run, no doubt. Why the devil do these people have to get themselves messed up in a case like this?”

“Another instance,” said Dr. Curtis drily, “of the aristocracy mixing with the commonalty. They’ve tried trade and they’ve tried big business. Why not a spot of homicide? Sorry!” he added uncomfortably. “Silly statement. Very unprofessional. The peer was probably pinked by a—what? A servant? A lunatic? Somebody with an axe to grind? Here we are in Sloane Street. Cadogan Gardens, isn’t it?”

“Pleasaunce Court. Do you know the doctor, Curtis? His name’s Kantripp.”

“I do, as it happens. He was in my first year at Thomas’s. Nice fellow. Awkward business for him if, as one supposes, he’s the family doctor.”

“It may not be awkward. Let’s hope it’s a simple matter. Some nice homicidal maniac wandering about the top story of Pleasaunce Court Mansions and going all hay-wire at the sight of an elderly peer in a lift. Let’s hope there are no axes to grind. Here’s the turning. How anybody can get a kick out of homicide is to me one of the major puzzles of psychology.”

“Was there never a time,” asked Dr. Curtis, “when you read murder cases in your newspaper with avidity?”

“Oh, yes. Yes.”

“And do they always bore you, nowadays?”

Alleyn grinned. “No,” he said. “I’m not bored by my job. One gets desperately sick of routine at times but it would be an affectation to pretend one was bored. People interest me and homicide cases are so terrifically concerned with people. Each locked up inside his mental bomb-proof shelter and then, suddenly, the holocaust. Most murders are really very squalid affairs, of course, but there’s always the element that press-men call the human angle. All the same, Curtis, it’s a beastly sort of stimulus. One would have to be very case-hardened to feel nothing but technical interest. O Lord, here we go! There’s a gaggle of P.C.s coming along in the car behind. Fox said we might need some spare parts.”