“It is hard, isn’t it?”

“But—how? How did it happen? With the plant spray?”

“It seems so.”

“But she’s used it over and over again. For a long time. Why did it happen now?” He had the air, often observable in people who have suffered a shock, of picking over the surface of the matter and distractedly examining the first thing he came upon. “Why now?” he repeated and appeared scarcely to attend to the answer.

“That’s one of the things we’ve got to find out.”

“Of course,” Richard said, more, it seemed, to himself than to Alleyn, “it is dangerous. We were always telling her.” He shook his head impatiently. “But — I don’t see — she went to her room just after the speeches and…”

“Did she? How do you know?”

Richard said quickly, “Why because…” and then, if possible, turned whiter than he had been before. He looked desperately at Alleyn, seemed to hover on the edge of an outburst and then said, “She must have. You say she was found there.”

“Yes. She was found there.”

“But why? Why would she use the plant spray at that moment? It sounds so crazy.”

“I know. Very strange.”

Richard beat his hands together. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I can’t get hold of myself. I’m sorry.”

Looking at him, Alleyn knew that he was in that particular state of emotional unbalance when he would be most vulnerable to pressure. He was a nice-looking chap, Alleyn thought. It was a sensitive face and yet, obscurely, it reminded him of one much less sensitive. But whose?

He said, “You yourself have noticed two aspects of this tragic business that are difficult to explain. Because of them and because of normal police procedure I have to check as fully as possible the circumstances surrounding the event.”

“Do you?” Richard asked vaguely and then seemed to pull himself together. “Yes. Very well. What circumstances?”

“I’m told you left the house before the birthday speeches. Is that right?”

Unlike the others, Richard appeared to feel no resentment or suspicion. “I?” he said. “Oh, yes, I think I did. I don’t think they’d started. The cake had just been taken in.”

“Why did you leave, Mr. Dakers?”

“I wanted to talk to Anelida,” he said at once and then: “Sorry. You wouldn’t know. Anelida Lee. She lives next door and…” He stopped.

“I do know that Miss Lee left early with her uncle. But it must have been a very important discussion, mustn’t it? To take you away at that juncture?”

“Yes. It was. To me. It was private,” Richard added. “A private matter.”

“A long discussion?”

“It didn’t happen.”

“Not?”

“She wasn’t — available.” He produced a palpable understatement. “She wasn’t — feeling well.”

“You saw her uncle?”

“Yes.”

“Was it about her part in your play—Husbandry in Heaven, isn’t it? — that you wanted to talk to her?”

Richard stared at him and for the first time seemed to take alarm. “Who told you about that?” he demanded.

“Timon Gantry.”

“He did!” Richard exclaimed and then, as if nothing could compete with the one overriding shock, added perfunctorily, “How extraordinary.” But he was watching Alleyn now with a new awareness. “It was partly to do with that,” he muttered.

Alleyn decided to fire point-blank. “Was Miss Bellamy displeased with the plans for this new play?” he asked. Richard’s hands made a sharp involuntary movement which was at once checked. His voice shook.

“I told you this was a private matter,” he said. “It is entirely private.”

“I’m afraid there is very little room for privacy in a police inquiry.”

Richard surprised him by suddenly crying out, “You think she did it herself! She didn’t! I can’t believe it! Never!”

“Is there any reason why she should?”

“No! My God, no! No!”

Alleyn waited for a little, visited, as was not unusual with him, by a distaste for this particular aspect of his job.

He said, “What did you do when Miss Lee couldn’t receive you?”

Richard moved away from him, his hands thrust down in his pockets. “I went for a walk,” he said.

“Now, look here,” Alleyn said, “you must see that this is a very odd story. Your guardian, as I believe Miss Bellamy was, reaches the top moment of her birthday party. You leave her cold, first in pursuit of Miss Lee and then to go for a stroll round Chelsea. Are you telling me that you’ve been strolling ever since?”

Without turning, Richard nodded.

Alleyn walked round him and looked him full in the face.

“Mr. Dakers,” he said. “Is that the truth? It’s now five to nine. Do you give me your word that from about seven o’clock when you left this house you didn’t return to it until you came in, ten minutes ago?”

Richard, looking desperately troubled, waited for so long that to Alleyn the scene became quite unreal. The two of them were fixed in the hiatus-like figures in a suspended film sequence.

“Are you going to give me an answer?” Alleyn said at last.

“I–I—don’t — think — I did actually — just after — she was…” A look of profound astonishment came into Richard’s face. He crumpled into a faint at Alleyn’s feet.

“He’ll do,” Dr. Harkness said, relinquishing Richard’s pulse. He straightened up and winced a little in the process. “You say he’s been walking about on an empty stomach and two or three drinks. The shock coming on top of it did the trick for him, I expect. In half an hour he won’t be feeling any worse than I do and that’s medium to bloody awful. Here he comes.”

Richard had opened his eyes. He stared at Dr. Harkness and then frowned. “Lord, I’m sorry,” he said. “I passed out, didn’t I?”

“You’re all right,” Dr. Harkness said. “Where’s this sal volatile, Gracefield?”

Gracefield presented it on a tray. Richard drank it down and let his head fall back. They had put him on a sofa there in the drawing-room. “I was talking to somebody,” he said. “That man — God, yes! Oh God.”

“It’s all right,” Alleyn said, “I won’t worry you. We’ll leave you to yourself for a bit.”

He saw Richard’s eyes dilate. He was looking past Alleyn towards the door. “Yes,” he said loudly. “I’d rather be alone.”

“What is all this?”

It was Warrender. He shut the door behind him and went quickly to the sofa. “What the devil have you done to him? Dicky, old boy…”

“No!” Richard said with exactly the same inflexion as before. Warrender stood above him. For a moment, apparently, they looked at each other. Then Richard said, “I forgot that letter you gave me to post. I’m sorry.”

Alleyn and Fox moved, but Warrender anticipated them, stooping over Richard and screening him.

“If you don’t mind,” Richard said, “I’d rather be by myself. I’m all right.”

“And I’m afraid,” Alleyn pointed out, “that I must remind you of instructions, Colonel Warrender. I asked you to stay with the others. Will you please go back to them?”

Warrender stood like a rock for a second or two and then, without another word, walked out of the room. On a look from Alleyn, Fox followed him.

“We’ll leave you,” Alleyn said. “Don’t get up.”

“No,” Dr. Harkness said. “Don’t. I’ll ask them to send you in a cup of tea. Where’s that old Nanny of yours? She can make herself useful. Can you find her, Gracefield?”

“Very good, sir,” Gracefield said.

Alleyn, coolly picking up Richard’s dispatch case, followed Gracefield into the hall.

“Gracefield.”

Gracefield, frigid, came to a halt.

“I want one word with you. I expect this business has completely disorganized your household and I’m afraid it can’t be helped. But I think it may make things a little easier in your department if you know what the form will be.”

“Indeed, sir?”

“In a little while a mortuary van will come. It will be better if we keep everybody out of the way at that time. I don’t want to worry Mr. Templeton more than I can help, but I shall have to interview people and it would suit us all if we could find some place that would serve as an office for the purpose. Is that possible?”