“I wish to God you’d all stop being mad,” said Lord Charles with sudden violence. “I feel as if I were looking at you and listening to you for the first time. Someone in this flat killed my brother.”

There was an awkward silence broken by Frid.

“But, Daddy,” said Frid, “you didn’t like Uncle G. Now did you?”

“Be quiet, Frid,” ordered Henry. “You don’t think any of the family did it, do you, Father?”

“Good God, of course I don’t!”

“Well, who does everybody think did it?” asked Frid brightly.

“Tinkerton,” said Colin.

“Or Giggle,” said Stephen.

“You only say Tinkerton or Giggle because you don’t know them as well as Baskett and the maids,” Henry pointed out.

“And Nanny,” added Frid.

“If I’d been Uncle G.’s or Aunt V.’s servant,” said Colin, “I’d have murdered both of them long ago. I must say I’m rather glad it’s going to be Alleyn. If we’ve got to be grilled it may as well be by a gent. But then I’m a snob, of course.”

“I th-think it’ll be rather uncomfortable,” said Stephen. “I’d rather it was the old-fashioned sort that says: ‘ ’Ere, ’ere, ’ere, wot’s all this?’ ”

“Which shows how ignorant you are,” said Frid. “No detective speaks like that. But I do think, Daddy, that Henry ought to ring up Nigel Bathgate. You know how he raves about Mr. Alleyn. He’s his Watson and glories in it.”

“Why should I ring him up?” Henry demanded. “Ring him up yourself.”

“Well, I will presently. I think it’s only kind.”

“What’s Alleyn like?” asked Colin.

“Oh, very nice,” said Henry. “Sort of old-world without any Blimpishness. Rather frighteningly polite and quiet.”

“Hell!” said Stephen.

The drawing-room door opened and Patch came in wearing pyjamas and a dressing-gown. Her hair had been lugged off her forehead by Nanny with such ferocious emphasis that her eyebrows were slightly raised. Two hard plaits hung between her shoulders. Her round face shone and she smelt of bath-powder. To Roberta she was a mere enlargement of herself at twelve and still very much of the nursery.

“Mike’s asleep,” said Patch, “and I’ve never been wider awake in my life. Please, Daddy, don’t send me back. My teeth keep chattering.”

“Oh, Patch, darling!” said Lord Charles helplessly. “I’m so sorry. Come up to the fire.”

“You can’t face the police like that, Patch,” said Frid, “You’re too fat for négligé appearances.”

“I don’t care. I’m going to sit by darling Roberta and get warm. Daddy, are the police here now?”

“Yes.”

“Where’s Mummy?”

“With Aunt Violet.”

“Was Uncle G. murdered? Nanny’s being so maddening. She won’t talk about it.”

“Yes, he was,” said Frid impatiently. “It’s no good trying to fob Patch off with a vague story, Daddy. Uncle G.’s been dotted one, Patch, and he’s dead.”

“Who dotted him one?” asked Patch, rubbing her hands slowly over her knees.

“It must have been someone—” Lord Charles waved his hand “—some lunatic who wandered up here. A wandering lunatic. Obviously. Don’t think about it, Patch. The police will find out about it.”