‘You think it funnier perhaps,’ Kenneth said, ‘to dodge behind terra-cotta busts and bounce out at old—at highly-strung people. It takes all sorts to raise a laugh.’

‘You were not there, Mr Dorne,’ said the Baron. ‘You had left the party. We had crossed the nave of the early church and you did not come with us. How did you know I bounced?’

‘I heard of it,’ Kenneth said loftily, ‘from my aunt.’

Alleyn plodded on. ‘We understood from Mailer that you had gone back to photograph the Apollo. Is that right?’

‘Certainly.’

‘And you did photograph it?’

Kenneth slid his feet about and after a pretty long pause said, ‘As it happened, no. I’d run out of film.’ He pulled out his packet of cigarettes and found it was empty.

‘No, you hadn’t,’ shouted Major Sweet. ‘You hadn’t done any such thing. You took a photograph of Mithras when we were all poodlefaking round Grant and his book.’

Grant most unexpectedly, burst out laughing.

‘There’s such a thing,’ Kenneth said breathlessly, ‘as putting in a new film, Major Sweet.’

‘Well, yes,’ said Alleyn. ‘Of course there is. Tell me, did Mailer rejoin you while you were not photographing Apollo?’

This time the pause was an uncomfortably long one. Major Sweet appeared to take the opportunity to have a nap. He shut his eyes, lowered his chin and presently opened his mouth.

At last: ‘No,’ Kenneth said loudly. ‘No. He didn’t turn up.’

‘“Turn up?” You were expecting him, then?’

‘No, I wasn’t. Why the hell do you suppose I was? I wasn’t expecting him and I didn’t see him.’ The cigarette packet dropped from his fingers. “What’s that?’ he demanded.

Alleyn had taken a folded handkerchief from his pocket. He opened it to display a crumpled piece of glossy blue paper.

‘Do you recognize it?’ he asked.

‘No!’

Alleyn reached out a long arm, retrieved the cigarette packet from the floor and dropped in on the desk.

He said, ‘I was given two boxes wrapped in similar paper to this at Toni’s Pad last night.’

‘I’m afraid,’ Kenneth said whitely, ‘my only comment to that is: “So, dear Mr Superintendent Alleyn, what?”’

‘In one of them there were eight tablets of heroin. Each I would guess, containing one-sixth of a grain. In the other, an equal amount of cocaine in powder form. Mr Mailer’s very own merchandise, I was informed.’

The Van der Veghels broke into scandalized ejaculations, first in their own language and then in English.

‘You didn’t throw this paper behind the statue of Apollo, Mr Dorne?’