“You can take that inordinately conceited look off your face and compose it into its customary mould of startled incredulity. I want to talk and I can think of no one who would really like to listen to me. Possibly you yourself are too busy?”

“I’ve finished, but wait until Angela comes.”

“Is she to be trusted? All right, all right.”

Nigel spent the next ten minutes telling Alleyn how deeply Miss Angela North was to be trusted. He was still in full swing when the young woman herself arrived. She greeted Alleyn as an old friend, lit a cigarette, sat on the hearth, and said:

“Now—what have you both been talking about?”

“Bathgate has talked about you, Miss Angela. I have not talked.”

“But you will. You were going to, and I can guess what about. Pretend I’m not here.”

“Can Bathgate manage that?”

“He’ll have to.”

“I won’t look at her,” said Nigel.

“You’d better not,” said Angela. “Please begin, Inspector Alleyn.”

“Speak” said Nigel.

“I will. List, list, oh list.”

“I will.”

“Don’t keep interrupting. I am engaged on a murder case in which the victim is not a relation of yours, nor yet, as far as I know, is the murderer your friend. In view of our past experiences, this is very striking1 and remarkable.”

“Come off the rocks. I suppose you mean the O’Callaghan business?”

“I do. The man was murdered. At least three persons assisting at his operation had sufficient motive. Two of them had actually threatened him. No, that is not for publication. No, don’t argue. I’ll let you know when it is. I have reached that stage in the proceedings when, like heroines in French dramas, I must have my confidante. You are she. You may occasionally roll up your eyes and exclaim ‘Hélas, quelle horreur!’ or, if you prefer it, ‘Merciful Heaven, can I believe my ears?’ Otherwise, beyond making sympathetic noises, don’t interrupt.”

“Right ho.”

Alleyn smiled amiably at him.

“You’re a patient cove, Bathgate, and I get much too facetious. It’s an infirmity—a disease. I do it when I’m bothered and this is a bothering case. Here’s the cast of characters, and, look here, the whole conversation is confidential.”

“Oh murder!” said Nigel. This was a favourite ejaculation of his. “It hurts, but again—Right you are.”