Fox lay on the carpet and advanced his brick-coloured face towards the crack.

“By gum,” he said, “They’re talking French. It’s the twin that doesn’t stammer. Can you beat that? Taisez-vous, donc. That’s French.”

“So it is,” said Alleyn. “Leave them to it, just now, Br’er Fox. Yes, there’s no doubt about it they had their ears to that sealed-up door there. Listening. Have you seen the bum, Fox?”

“Yes, Mr. Alleyn. It’s a matter of forty-one pounds. Lane & Eagle, house decorators of Beauchamp Place, put him in. Carpet, and a couple of arm-chairs. His name is Grimball, not Grumball. They wouldn’t know. I wouldn’t be surprised if this Giggle is really called Higgins or something. They’re like that—funny.”

“If they continue funny through this case,” Alleyn rejoined, “it’ll be a tour de force. Let them crack jokes at the coroner and see how he likes it.”

“Grimball says they’re a very nice family.”

“So they may be. Damn’ good company and as clever as a cage full of monkeys. They’ll diddle us if we don’t look out, Br’er Fox. The Lady Friede’s as hard as they come. They’ve taken a line and they’re going to stick to it. Look at those blasted twins. The noble lords Stephen and Colin, doing a Syracuse and Ephesus comedy turn. How the devil are we to find out which of them went down in the lift?”

“The widow?” Fox suggested.

“Don’t you believe it. If they weren’t very certain of themselves they wouldn’t have taken the risk. I’ll bet you their aunt will say she didn’t know which twin it was. Equally I’ll bet you their mother knows, and has taken her cue from her lily-white boys. Of course she knows. Can a mother’s tender care muddle up the kids she bare, bad luck to them?”

“I never heard anything like it,” said Fox warmly. “Trying to work off this twin stuff on the investigating officers. It’s unheard of. You can’t have that sort of nonsense.”

“And what are you going to do about it?”

“It’s disgraceful. Come to think of it, it’s a kind of contempt.”

“It’s no good getting cross, Foxkin. Let us but once lose our tempers with the Lampreys and we’re done. Yes? Come in. Open the door, Gibson.”

The red-headed constable, who had tapped on the door, was admitted by his mate.

“Why have you left your post?” snapped Fox.

“What is it, Martin?” asked Alleyn.

“I beg your pardon, sir, but I thought I’d better come. The Dowager Lady Wutherwood’s in the passage and wants to see you. So I thought I’d better come.”

“And as soon as you turned your back,” said Fox angrily, “they got together and agreed on the tale they’d tell.”

“They’ve already done that, sir.”

“What!”

“While you were there?” asked Alleyn.

“Yes, sir. They spoke in French, sir. I’ve got it down in shorthand. They speak quite good French, with the exception of Lady Patricia. I thought that before proceeding, you’d like to see what they said.”