“I’m very glad, at all events,” said Troy. “Do you know this is the only time since we were married that he’s let me meet any of his criminal acquaintances?” She laughed, squinted at her work and asked: “Do you think it’s all right, Roderick?”

“I like it,” said Alleyn gravely.

The Rector, who wore the diffident simper of the subject, joined the group at Troy’s easel. Alleyn, gripping his pipe between his teeth and humming gently to himself, began to roll up and put away his wife’s tubes of paint. She lit a cigarette and watched him.

“For a long time,” said Troy, “he endured my paint-box in silence, and then one day he asked me if dirt was an essential to self-expression. Since then it’s got more and more like the regulation issue for investigating officers at C.I.”

“Whereas before, it was a test case for advanced students at Hendon. I found,” said Alleyn, “characteristic refuse from Fiji, Quebec, Norway, and the Dolomites. Hullo! What’s that?”

“What’s what?” asked Troy.

“There’s a car struggling outside in the church lane.”

“Church lane!” Dinah ejaculated. “It must be driven by a lunatic if it’s come from anywhere round Cloudyfold. They’ve cleared the lane up to the first turning but above that it’s thick snow. Your car must have come in from the main road, Mr. Alleyn. It’ll very soon have to stop.”

“It has stopped,” said Alleyn. “And I fancy at your gate, Oh, dear me!”

“What’s the matter with you?” asked his wife.

“By the pricking of my thumbs! Well, it can’t be for me, anyway.”

“Somebody’s coming up the side path,” cried Dinah, and a moment later she turned an astonished face upon the others. “It’s Aubrey Mandrake.”

“Mandrake?” said Alleyn sharply. “But he ought to be on the other side of Cloudyfold.”

“It can’t be Mandrake, my dear,” said the Rector.

“But it is. And the car’s driven away. Here he comes. He’s seen me and he’s coming to this window.” Dinah stared at Alleyn. “I think there must be something wrong,” she said. “Aubrey looks — different.”

She opened the French window and in another moment Aubrey Mandrake walked in.

“Alleyn!” said Mandrake. “Thank God you’re here. There’s been a most appalling tragedy at Highfold, and we’ve come to get you.”

“You detestable young man,” said Alleyn.

“So you see,” Mandrake said, “there really was nothing for it but to come to you.”

“But it’s not—” Alleyn protested piteously, “it’s really not my cup of tea. It’s the Chief Constable’s cup of tea, and old Blandish’s. Is Blandish still the Superintendent at Great Chipping, Rector?”

“Yes, he is. This is an appalling thing, Mandrake. I–I simply can’t believe it. William Compline seemed such a nice fellow. We don’t know them very well, they’re rather beyond our country at Penfelton, but I liked what I saw of William.”

“Mrs. Compline’s in desperate case. If we don’t get back quickly—” Mandrake began, and Alleyn cut in crisply: “Yes, of course.” He turned to Mr. Copeland. “I’ve forgotten the name of your Chief Constable, sir.”

“Lord Hesterdon. Miles and miles away to the north; and if, as Mandrake says, the telephone wires over Cloudyfold are down, I’m afraid you won’t get him.”

“I’ll get Blandish if I have to wade to Great Chipping,” Alleyn muttered. “May I use your telephone?”

He went into the hall.

“I’m sorry,” said Mandrake. “He’s livid with rage, isn’t he?”

“Not really,” said Troy. “It’s only his pretty little ways. He’ll do his stuff I expect. He’ll have to be asked, you know, by the local police. C.I. people don’t as a rule just nip in and take a case wherever they happen to be.”

“Red tape,” said Mandrake gloomily. “I guessed as much. Murderers can ramp about country houses, women can kill themselves with overdoses of veronal, well-intentioned guests can wallow in and out of snow-drifts in an effort to help on an arrest, and when, after suffering the most disgusting privations, they win home to the fountain-head, it is only to become wreathed, Laocoön-like, in the toils of red tape.”

“I don’t think,” said Troy, “that it will be quite as bad as that.” And Dinah, who was listening shamelessly at the door, said: “He’s saying: ‘Well, you’ll have to ring up C.I., blast you.’ ”

“Dinah, darling,” said her father, “you really mustn’t.”

“It’s all right,” said Dinah, shutting the door. “He’s cursing freely and asking for Whitehall 1212. When do you think your girl-friend will get back, Aubrey?”

“She’ll have to beat up the Little Chipping chemist. We only remembered it was Sunday when we heard your bell.”

“That was me,” said Dinah. “Mr. Tassy is our chemist and he lives over his shop, so that’ll be all right. The road from here to Chipping has been cleared pretty well but I hear there are masses of frightful drifts beyond, on the way to Great Chipping. So I don’t see how you’ll get the police-surgeon or Mr. Blandish.”

“If you’ll excuse me,” said Troy, “I believe I’ll pack my husband’s bag.”

“Then you think he’ll come?” cried Mandrake.

“Oh, yes,” said Troy vaguely, “he’ll come, all right.”

She went out and as the door opened they heard Alleyn’s voice saying: “I haven’t got a damn’ thing. I’ll ring up the local chemist and get some stuff from him. Is Dr. Curtis there? At the Yard? Well, get him to speak to me. You’d better find out…” The door shut off the rest of his remarks.

“Daddy,” said Dinah, “hadn’t we better give Aubrey a drink?”

“Yes, yes, of course. My dear boy, forgive me, of course you must be exhausted. I’m so sorry. You must have a glass of sherry. Or—”

“You’d better have a whiskey, Aubrey. It’s almost lunch-time, so why not eat while you’re waiting? And if you can’t wait for Miss Wynne, when she comes, we can at least send something out to the car. I’ll bustle them up in the kitchen. Bring him along to the dining-room, Daddy.”

She hurried out and met Alleyn in the hall. “I’m so sorry,” Alleyn said, “Nobody could want to go away less than I do, but here’s Blandish gibbering at Great Chipping with a cracked water-tank in his car and a story of drifts six feet between us and him. He’s going to get hold of a doctor, commandeer a car, and ginger up the road-clearing gang, but in the meantime he wants me to go ahead. I’ve rung up my atrocious superior and he’s all for it, blast his eyes. May Troy stay on, as we originally planned, and finish her portrait?”

“Of course. We’d never forgive you if you put her off her stroke. I say, this is a rum go, isn’t it?”

“Not ’alf,” said Alleyn. “It’s a damned ugly go by the sound of it.”

“Awful. Your wife’s upstairs.”

“I’ll find her.”

He ran to his dressing-room and found his wife on her knees before a small suit-case.

“Pyjamas, dressing-gown, shaving-things,” Troy muttered. “I suppose you’ll be there tonight won’t you? What’ll you do for all those things in the case bag? Squirts and bottles and powders and stuff for making casts?”

“My darling oddity, I can’t think. At least I’ve got a camera and I’ve rung up the chemist at Chipping. Miss Wynne was in the shop. He’s going to give her some stuff for me — iodine and whatnot. Can you lend me a soft brush, darling? One of the sort you use for water colour. And scissors? And some bits of charcoal? For the rest, I’ll have to trust to Fox and Co. getting through by train. They’re looking out a route, now. It’ll be detecting in the raw, won’t it? Case for the resourceful officer.”

“I’m a rotten packer,” said Troy, “but I think that’s all you’ll want.”

“My dear,” said her husband who was at the writing-table, helping himself to several sheets of notepaper and some envelopes, “almost you qualify for the role of clever little wife.”

“You go to the devil,” said Mrs. Alleyn amiably.

He squatted down beside her, looked through the contents of the suit-case, refrained from improving on the pack and from saying that he did not think it likely he would need his pyjamas. “Admirable,” he said. “Now I’d better swathe myself in sweaters and topcoats. Give me a kiss and say you’re sorry I’m going out on a beastly case.”