“Of course. I hope you’ve got everything you want. I’ll join you.”

He took the nearest chair. Richard had got up and now, gripping Charles’s shoulders, leant over him. Charles turned his head and looked up at him. During that moment, Alleyn thought, he saw a resemblance.

Richard said, “Are you well enough for all this?”

“Yes, yes. Perfectly.”

Richard returned to his place, Dr. Harkness and Fox took the two remaining seats, and the table was full.

Alleyn clasped his hands over his papers, said, “Well, now,” and wishing, not for the first time, that he could find some other introductory formula, addressed himself to his uneasy audience.

Anelida thought, “Here we all sit like a committee meeting and the chairman thinks one of us is a murderer.” Richard, very straight in his chair, looked at the table. When she stirred a little he reached for her hand, gripped it and let it go.

Alleyn was talking.

“… I would like to emphasize that until the pathologist’s report comes in, there can be no certainty, but in the meantime I think we must try to arrive at a complete pattern of events. There are a number of points still to be settled and to that end I have kept you so long and asked you to come here. Fox?”

Fox had brought a small case with him. He now opened it, produced the empty scent bottle and laid it on the table.

“Formidable,” Alleyn said and turned to Pinky. “Your birthday present, wasn’t it, and the cause, I think, of your misunderstanding just now with Mr. Saracen.”

Pinky said angrily, “What have you done with the scent? Sorry,” she added. “It doesn’t matter, of course. It’s only that — well, it was full this morning.”

“When you gave it to Miss Bellamy? In this room?”

“That’s right.”

Alleyn turned to Florence. “Can you help us?”

“I filled her spray from it,” Florence said mulishly.

“That wouldn’t account for the lot, Florry,” Pinky pointed out.

“Was the spray empty?” Alleyn asked.

“Just about. She didn’t mind mixing them.”

“And how much was left in the bottle?” ”

“He asked me all this,” Florence said, jerking her head at Fox.

“And now I do.”

“About that much,” she muttered, holding her thumb and forefinger an inch apart.

“About a quarter. And the spray was full?”

She nodded.

Fox, with the expertise of a conjuror, produced the scent-spray and placed it by the bottle.

“And only about ‘that much,’ ” Alleyn pointed out, “is now in the spray. So we’ve got pretty well three-quarters of this large bottle of scent to account for, haven’t we?”

“I fail utterly,” Warrender began, “to see what you think you’re driving at.”

“Perhaps you can help. I understand, sir, that you actually used this thing earlier in the day.”

“Not on myself, God damn it!” Warrender said and then shot an uneasy glance at Charles Templeton.

Gantry gave a snort of delight.

“On Miss Bellamy?” Alleyn suggested.

“Naturally.”

“And did you happen to notice how much was left?”

“It was over three-quarters full. What!” Warrender demanded, appealing to Charles.

“I didn’t notice,” he said, and put his hand over his eyes.

“Do you mind telling me, sir, how you came to do this?”

“Not a bit. Why should I?” Warrender rejoined, and with every appearance of exquisite discomfort added, “She asked me to. Didn’t she, Charles?”

He nodded.

Alleyn pressed for more detail and got an awkward account of the scene with a grudging confirmation from Florence and a leaden one from Charles.

“Did you use a great deal of the scent?” he asked.

“Fair amount. She asked me to,” Warrender angrily repeated.

Charles shuddered and Alleyn said, “It’s very strong, isn’t it? Even the empty bottle seems to fill the room if one takes the stopper out.”

“Don’t!” Charles exclaimed. But Alleyn had already removed it. The smell, ponderable, sweet and improper, was disturbingly strong.

“Extraordinary!” Gantry said. “She only wore it for an afternoon and yet — the association.”

“Will you be quiet, sir!” Warrender shouted. “My God, what sort of a cad do you call yourself? Can’t you see…” He made a jerky, ineloquent gesture.

Alleyn replaced the stopper.

“Did you, do you think,” he asked Warrender, “use so much that the spray could then accommodate what was left in the bottle?”

“I wouldn’t have thought so.”

“No,” said Florence.

“And even if it was filled up again, the spray itself now only contains about that same amount. Which means, to insist on the point, that somehow or another three-quarters of the whole amount of scent has disappeared.”

“That’s impossible,” Pinky said bluntly. “Unless it was spilt.”

“No,” Florence said again. Alleyn turned to her.

“And the spray and bottle were on the dressing-table when you found Miss Bellamy?”

“Must of been. I didn’t stop,” Florence said bitterly, “to tidy up the dressing-table.”

“And the tin of Slaypest was on the floor?”

Fox placed the tin beside the other exhibits and they looked at it with horror.

“Yes?” Alleyn asked.

“Yes,” said Warrender, Harkness and Gantry together, and Charles suddenly beat with his hand on the table.

“Yes, yes, yes,” he said violently. “My God, must we have all this!”

“I’m very sorry, sir, but I’m afraid we must.”

“Look here,” Gantry demanded, “are you suggesting that — what the hell are you suggesting?”

“I suggest nothing,” Alleyn said. “I simply want to try and clear up a rather odd state of affairs. Can anybody offer an explanation?”

“She herself — Mary — must have done something about it. Knocked it over perhaps.”

“Which?” Alleyn asked politely. “The bottle or the spray?”

“I don’t know,” Gantry said irritably. “How should I? The spray, I suppose. And then filled it up.”

“There’s no sign of a spill, as Florence has pointed out.”

“I know!” Bertie Saracen began. “You think it was used as a sort of blind to — to…”

“To what, Mr Saracen?”

“Ah, no,” Bertie said in a hurry. “I — thought — no, I was muddling. I don’t know.”

“I think I do,” Pinky said and turned very white.

“Yes?” Alleyn said.

“I won’t go on. I can’t. It’s not clear enough. Please.”

She looked Alleyn straight in the eyes. “Mr. Alleyn,” Pinky said. “If you prod and insist, you’ll winkle out all sorts of odd bits of information about — about arguments and rows. Inside the theatre and out. Mostly inside. Like a good many other actresses, Mary did throw the odd temperament. She threw one,” Pinky went on against an almost palpable surge of consternation among her listeners, “for a matter of that, this morning.”

“Pinky!” Gantry warned her on a rising note.

“Timmy, why not? I daresay Mr. Alleyn already knows,” she said wearily.

“How very wise you are,” Alleyn exclaimed. “Thank you for it. Yes, we do know, in a piecemeal sort of way, as you’ve suggested, that there were ructions. We have winkled them out. We know, for instance, that there was a difference of opinion, on professional grounds, here in this room. This morning. We know it was resurrected with other controversial matters during the party. We know that you and Mr. Saracen were involved and when I say that, I’m quite sure you’re both much too sensible to suppose I’m suggesting anything more. Fox and I speak only of facts. We’ll be nothing but grateful if you can help us discard as many as possible of the awkward load of facts that we’ve managed to accumulate.”

“All this,” Gantry said, “sounds mighty fine. We’re on foreign ground, Pinky, and may well make fools of ourselves. You watch your step, my girl.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said, and still looking full at Alleyn, “What do you want to know?”

“First of all, what your particular row was about.”

She said, “All right with you, Bertie?”