"Got the report on this. Graves?"

"Yes, sir. Mainspring's broken."

"And the mechanism of the hands?"

"Quite all right, sir."

"What, in your opinion. Graves, does the watch tell us?"

Graves murmured warily, "Seems as though it might give us the time the crime was committed."

"Ah," said Spence, "when you've been as long in the Force as I have, you'll be a little suspicious of anything so convenient as a smashed watch. It can be genuine - but it's a well-known hoary old trick. Turn the hands of a watch to a time that suits you - smash it - and out with some virtuous alibi. But you don't catch an old bird that way. I'm keeping a very open mind on the subject of the time this crime was committed. Medical evidence is: between 8 p.m. and 11 p.m."

Sergeant Graves cleared his throat.

"Edwards, second gardener at Furrowbank, says he saw David Hunter coming out of a side door there about 7.30. The maids didn't know he was down here. They thought he was up in London with Mrs Gordon. Shows he was in the neighbourhood all right."

"Yes," said Spence. "I'll be interested to hear Hunter's own account of his doings."

"Seems like a clear case, sir," said Graves, looking at the initials on the lighter.

"H'm," said the Superintendent. "There's still this to account for."

He indicated the lipstick.

"It had rolled under the chest of drawers, sir. Might have been there some time."

"I've checked up," said Spence. "The last time a woman occupied that room was three weeks ago. I know service isn't up to much nowadays - but I still think they run a mop under the furniture once in three weeks. The Stag is kept pretty clean and tidy on the whole."

"There's been no suggestion of a woman being mixed up with Arden."

"I know," said the Superintendent. "That's why that lipstick is what I call the unknown quantity."

Sergeant Graves refrained from saying "Cherchez la femme." He had a very good French accent and he knew better than to irritate Superintendent Spence by drawing attention to it. Sergeant Graves was a tactful young man.

Chapter 17

Superintendent Spence looked up at Shepherd's Court, Mayfair, before stepping inside its agreeable portal. Situated modestly in the vicinity of Shepherd's Market, it was discreet, expensive and inconspicuous.

Inside, Spence's feet sunk into soft pile carpet, there was a velvet covered settee and a jardiniere full of flowering plants.

A small automatic lift faced him, with a flight of stairs at one side of it. On the right of the hall was a door marked Office.

Spence pushed it open and went through.

He found himself in a small room with a counter, behind which was a table and a typewriter, and two chairs. One was drawn up to the table, the other, a more decorative one, was set at an angle to the window. There was no one visible.