“Good for Mr. Juniper,” said Alleyn dryly.

“Which brings us,” Fox continued, “to this tin.” He laid his great hand beside it on the desk. “Bailey’s gone over it for dabs. And here we have got something, Mr. Alleyn, and about time too, you’ll be thinking. Now this tin has got the usual set of prints. Some of the search party’s, in fact. Latent, but Bailey brought them up and got some good photographs. There’s Mrs. Kentish’s. She must have just touched it. Miss Desdemona Ancred seems to have picked it up by the edge. Mr. Thomas Ancred grasped it more solidly round the sides and handled it again when he took it out of his bag. Mrs. Henry Ancred held it firmly towards the bottom. Sir Cedric’s prints are all over it, and there, you’ll notice, are the marks round the lid where he had a shot at opening it.”

“Not a very determined shot.”

“No. Probably scared of getting rat-bane on his manicure,” said Fox. “But the print is, you see—”

“No Orrincourt?”

“Not a sign of her. Not a sign of glove-marks either. It was a dusty affair, and the dust, except for the prints we got, wasn’t disturbed.”

“It’s a point. Well, Fox, now Bailey’s finished with it we can open it.”

The lid was firm and it took a penny and considerable force to prise it up. An accretion of the contents had sealed it. The tin was three-parts full, and the greyish paste bore traces of the implement that had been used to scoop it out.

“We’ll have a photo-micrograph of this,” Alleyn said.

“If Orrincourt’s our bird, sir, it looks as if we’ll have to hand the tin over to the defence, doesn’t it?”

“We’ll have to get an expert’s opinion, Fox. Curtis’s boys can speak up when they’ve finished the job in hand. Pray continue, as the Immortal used to say, with your most interesting narrative.”

“There’s not much more. I took a little peep at the young baronet’s room, too. Dunning letters, lawyer’s letters, letters from his stockbroker. I should say he was in deep. I’ve made a note of the principal creditors.”

“For an officer without a search warrant you seem to have got on very comfortably.”

“Isabel helped. She’s taken quite a fancy for investigation. She kept a lookout in the passage.”

“With parlour-maids,” Alleyn said, “you’re out on your own. A masterly technique.”

“I called on Dr. Withers yesterday afternoon and told him you’d decided on the exhumation.”

“How did he take it?”

“He didn’t say much but he went a queer colour. Well, naturally. They never like it. Reflection on their professional standing and so on. He thought a bit and then said he’d prefer to be present. I said we’d expect that, anyway. I was just going when he called me back. ‘Here!’ he said, kind of hurriedly and as if he wasn’t sure he might not be making a fool of himself; ‘you don’t want to pay too much attention to anything that idiot Juniper may have told you. The man’s an ass.’ As soon as I was out of the house,” said Fox, “I made a note of that to be sure the words were correct. The maid was showing me out at the time.”

“Curtis asked him last night, after we’d tidied up in the cemetery, if he’d like to come up and watch the analysis. He agreed. He’s sticking to it that the embalmers must have used something that caused the hair to fall out. Mr. Mortimer was touched to the professional quick, of course.”

“It’s a line defending counsel may fancy,” said Fox gloomily.

The telephone rang and Fox answered it.

“It’s Mr. Mortimer,” he said.

“Oh, Lord! You take it, Fox.”

“He’s engaged at the moment, Mr. Mortimer. Can I help you?”

The telephone cackled lengthily and Fox looked at Alleyn with bland astonishment. “Just a moment.” He laid down the receiver. “I don’t follow this. Mr. Alleyn hasn’t got a secretary.”

“What’s all this?” said Alleyn sharply.

Fox clapped his hand over the receiver. “He says your secretary rang up their office half an hour ago and asked them to repeat the formula for embalming. His partner, Mr. Loame, answered. He wants to know if it was all right.”

“Did Loame give the formula?”

“Yes.”

“Bloody fool,” Alleyn said violently. “Tell him it’s all wrong and ring off.”

“I’ll let Mr. Alleyn know,” said Fox, and hung up the receiver. Alleyn reached for it and pulled the telephone towards him.

“Ancreton, 2A,” he said. “Priority. Quick as you can.” And while he waited: “We may want a car at once, Fox. Ring down, will you? We’ll take Thompson with us. And we’ll need a search warrant.” Fox went into the next room and telephoned. When he returned Alleyn was speaking. “Hallo. May I speak to Miss Orrincourt?… Out?… When will she be in?… I see. Get me Miss Able, Barker, will you?… It’s Scotland Yard here.” He looked round at Fox. “We’ll be going,” he said. “She came up to London last night and is expected back for lunch. Damn! Why the hell doesn’t the Home Office come to light with that report? We need it now, and badly. What’s the time?”

“Ten to twelve, sir.”

“Her train gets in at twelve. We haven’t an earthly… Hallo! Hallo! Is that you, Miss Able?… Alleyn here. Don’t answer anything but yes or no, please. I want you to do something that is urgent and important. Miss Orrincourt is returning by the train that arrives at midday. Please find out if any one has left to meet her. If not, make some excuse for going yourself in the pony-cart. If it’s too late for that, meet it when it arrives at the house. Take Miss Orrincourt into your part of the house and keep her there. Tell her I said so and take no refusal. It’s urgent. She’s not to go into the other part of the house. Got that?… Sure?… Right. Splendid. Goodbye.”

He rang off, and found Fox waiting with his overcoat and hat. “Wait a bit,” he said. “That’s not good enough.” And turned back to the telephone. “Get me Camber Cross Police Station. They’re the nearest to Ancreton, aren’t they, Fox?”

“Three miles. The local P.C. lives in Ancreton parish, though. On duty last night.”

“That’s the chap, Bream… Hallo!.. Chief Inspector Alleyn, Scotland Yard. Is your chap Bream in the station?… Can you find him?… Good! The Ancreton pub. I’d be much obliged if you’d ring through. Tell him to go at once to Ancreton Halt. A Miss Orrincourt will get off the midday train. She’ll be met from the Manor House. He’s to let the trap go away without her, take her to the pub, and wait there for me. Right! Thanks.”

“Will he make it?” Fox asked.

“He has his dinner at the pub and he’s got a bike. It’s no more than a mile and a half. Here we go, Fox. If, in the ripeness of time, Mr. Loame is embalmed by his own firm, I hope they make a mess of him. What precisely did this bogus secretary say?”

“Just that you’d told him to get a confirmation of the formula. It was a toll-call, but, of course, Loame thought you were back at Ancreton.”

“And so he tells poor old Ancred’s killer that there was no arsenic used in the embalming and blows our smoke-screen to hell. As Miss O. would say, what a pal! Where’s my bag? Come on.”

But as they reached the door the telephone rang again.

“I’ll go,” Alleyn said. “With any luck it’s Curtis.”

It was Dr. Curtis. “I don’t know whether you’ll like this,” he said. “It’s the Home Office report on the cat, the medicine and the deceased. First analysis completed. No arsenic anywhere.”

“Good!” said Alleyn. “Now tell them to try for thallium acetate, and ring me at Ancreton when they’ve found it.”

ii

They were to encounter yet another interruption. As they went out to the waiting car, they found Thomas, very white and pinched, on the bottom step.

“Oh, hallo,” he said. “I was coming to see you. I want to see you awfully.”

“Important?” Alleyn said.

“To me,” Thomas rejoined with the air of innocence, “it’s as important as anything. You see, I came in by the morning train on purpose. I felt I had to. I’m going back this evening.”