“They said I’d find you here,” Fox said. “Have you done any good, Mr. Alleyn?”

“If stirring up a hive and finding foul-brood can be called good. What about you?”

“I’ve got the medicine bottle and three of the envelopes. I’ve had a cup of tea in Mr. Barker’s room.”

“That’s more than I’ve had in the library.”

“The cook and the maids came in and we had quite a nice little chat. Elderly party, it was. Mary, Isabel and Muriel, the maids are. The cook’s Mrs. Bullivant.”

“And what did you and Mary, Isabel and Muriel talk about?”

“We passed the time of day and listened to the wireless. Mrs. Bullivant showed me photographs of her nephews in the fighting forces.”

“Come on, Fox,” said Alleyn, grinning.

“By gradual degrees,” said Fox, enjoying himself, “we got round to the late baronet. He must have been a card, the late old gentleman.”

“I believe you.”

“Yes. The maids wouldn’t say much while Mr. Barker was there, but he went out after a bit and then it was, as you might say, plain sailing.”

“You and your methods!”

“Well, we were quite cosy. Naturally, they were dead against Miss Orrincourt, except Isabel, and she said you couldn’t blame the old gentleman for wanting a change from his family. It came as a bit of a surprise from Isabel, who’s the oldest of the maids, I should say. She’s the one who looks after Miss Orrincourt’s rooms, and it seems Miss Orrincourt got quite friendly with her. Indiscreet, really, but you know the type.”

“It’s evident, at least, that you do.”

“They seemed to be as thick as thieves, Miss O. and Isabel, and yet, you know, Isabel didn’t mind repeating most of it. The garrulous sort, she is, and Mrs. Bullivant egging her on.”

“Did you get anywhere with the history of the milk?”

“Isabel took it out of a jug in the refrigerator and left it in Miss Orrincourt’s room. The rest of the milk in the jug was used for general purposes next day. Miss O. was in her room and undressing when Isabel brought it. It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes or so later that Miss O. took it to the old gentleman. It was heated by Isabel in the kitchen and some patent food put in. The old gentleman fancied Miss O. did it, and said nobody else could make it to suit him. It was quite a joke between Isabel and Miss O.”

“So there’s no chance of anybody having got at it?”

“Only if they doped the tin of patent food, and I’ve got that.”

“Good.”

“And I don’t know if you’re thinking she might have tampered with the medicine, sir, but it doesn’t seem likely. The old gentleman never let anybody touch the bottle on account of Miss Desdemona Ancred having once given him embrocation in error. It was a new bottle, Isabel says. I’ve got it from the dump. Cork gone, but there’s enough left for analysis.”

“Another job for Dr. Curtis. What about the Thermos?”

“Nicely washed and sterilised and put away. I’ve taken it, but there’s not a chance.”

“And the same goes, I imagine, for the pails and cloths?”

“The pails are no good, but I found some tag-ends of rag.”

“Where have you put these delicious exhibits?”

“Isabel,” said Fox primly, “hunted out a case. I told her I had to buy pyjamas in the village, being obliged unexpectedly to stay the night, and I mentioned that a man doesn’t like to be seen carrying parcels. I’ve promised to return it.”

“Didn’t they spot you were taking these things?”

“Only the patent food. I let on that the police were a bit suspicious about the makers and it might have disagreed. I dare say they didn’t believe me. Owing to the behaviour of the family I think they know what’s up.”

“They’d be pretty dumb if they didn’t.”

“Two other points came out that might be useful,” said Fox. Alleyn had a clear picture of the tea-party. Fox, no doubt, had sipped and complimented, had joked and sympathised, had scarcely asked a question, yet had continually received answers. He was a pastmaster at the game. He indulged his hostesses with a few innocuous hints and was rewarded with a spate of gossip.

“It seems, Mr. Alleyn, that the young lady was, as Isabel put it, leading Sir Henry on and no more.”

“D’you mean—”

“Relationship,” said Fox sedately, “according to Isabel, had not taken place. It was matrimony or nothing.”

“I see.”

“Isabel reckons that before this business with the letters came out, there was quite an understanding between Miss O. and Sir Cedric.”

“What sort of understanding, in the name of decency?”

“Well, sir, from hints Miss O. dropped, Isabel works it out that after a discreet time had elapsed Miss O. would have turned into Lady A. after all. So that what she lost on the swings she would, in a manner of speaking, have picked up on the roundabouts.”

“Good Lord!” said Alleyn. “ ‘What a piece of work is man!’ That, if it’s true, would explain quite a number of the young and unlovely baronet’s antics.”

“Supposing Miss Orrincourt did monkey with the Thermos, Mr. Alleyn, we might have to consider whether Sir Cedric knew what she was up to.”

“We might indeed.”

“I know it’s silly,” Fox went on, rubbing his nose, “but when a case gets to this stage I always seem to get round to asking myself whether such-and-such a character is a likely type for homicide. I know it’s silly, because there isn’t a type, but I ask myself the question just the same.”

“And at the moment you ask it about Sonia Orrincourt?”

“That’s right, sir.”

“I don’t see why you shouldn’t. It’s quite true, that beyond the quality of conceit, nobody’s found a nice handy trait common to all murderers. But I’m not so sure that you should sniff at yourself for saying: ‘That man or woman seems to me to have characteristics that are inconceivable in a murderer!’ They needn’t be admirable characteristics either.”

“D’you remember what Mr. Barker said about the rats in Miss Orrincourt’s rooms?”

“I do.”

“He mentioned that Miss Orrincourt was quite put-about by the idea of using poison, and refused to have it at any price. Now, sir, would a young woman who was at least, as you might say, toying with the idea of poison, behave like that? Would she? She wouldn’t do it by accident. She might do it to suggest she had a dread of poison, though that’d be a very far-fetched kind of notion too. And would she have owned up as readily to those practical jokes? Mind, you caught her nicely, but she gave me the impression she was upset more on account of being found out for these pranks themselves than because she thought they’d lead us to suspect something else.”

“She was more worried about the Will than anything else,” Alleyn said. “She and Master Cedric planned those damned stunts with the object of setting the old man against Panty. I fancy she was responsible for the portrait vandalism, Cedric having possibly told her to confine her daubs to dry canvas. We know she bought the Raspberry, and he admits he placed it. I think she started the ball rolling by painting the banister. They plotted the whole thing together. He practically admitted as much. Now, all that worries her may be merely an idea that the publication of these goings-on could upset the Will.”

“And yet—”

“I know. I know. That damn bell-push. All right, Fox. Good work. And now, I suppose, we’d better see Mrs. Henry Ancred.”

iv

Millamant was at least a change from her relations-by-marriage in that she was not histrionic, answered his questions directly, and stuck to the point. She received them in the drawing-room. In her sensible blouse and skirt she was an incongruous figure there. While she talked she stitched that same hideously involved piece of embroidery which Troy had noticed with horror and which Panty had been accused of unpicking. Alleyn heard nothing either to contradict or greatly to substantiate the evidence they had already collected.