“He tells the widow,” said Fox; “he tells the widow that he’s made every inquiry and there isn’t a letter to be found.”

“Yes,” agreed Alleyn. “No doubt he tells her that.”

“Right. Now, why does he do that? I reckon it’s because Sir Herbert Carrados is what you might call a bit of a moral coward with a kind of mental twist. What these psycho-johnnies call a repression or some such thing. As I see it he didn’t want to admit to having seen the letter because he’d actually read it. This Australian bloke knew Captain O’Brien had married a loony and wrote to tell him he was now a widower. If what Lady Carrados told you was correct and he’d fancied her for a long time, that letter must have shaken him up a bit. Now perhaps he says to himself, being a proud, snobbish sort of chap and yet having set his heart on her, that he’ll let sleeping dogs lie.”

“Cut the whole thing dead? Yes. That’s sound enough. It’s in character.”

“That’s what I mean,” said Fox in a gratified voice. “But all the same he doesn’t destroy the letter. Or does he?”

“That,” said Alleyn, “is exactly what we’ve got to find out.”

“Well, sir, we’ve got our suspicions, haven’t we?”

“Yes. Before this evening, Fox, I want to make certainties of our suspicions.”

“By gum, Mr Alleyn, if we can do that we’ll have made a tidy job of this case. Don’t count your chickens, as well I know, but if we can get an arrest within two days after the crime, in a complicated case like this, we’re not doing too badly, now are we?”

“I suppose not, you old warrior, I suppose not.” Alleyn gave a short sigh. “I wish—” he said. ”Oh God, Fox, I do wish he hadn’t died. No good maundering. I also wish very much that we’d been able to find some trace of something, just something in the taxi. But not a thing.”

“The funeral’s at three o’clock tomorrow, isn’t it?” asked Fox.

“Yes. Lady Mildred has asked me to be one of the bearers. It’s pretty strange under the circumstances, but I’d like to do it. And I’d like to think we had our killer locked up before then. When we get back, Fox, we’ll have to arrange for these people to come round to the Yard. We’ll want Miss Harris, Bridget O’Brien, her mother, Carrados himself, Davidson, Withers, Dimitri and Mrs Halcut-Hackett. I’ll see Lady Carrados alone first. I want to soften the shock a little if it’s possible.”

“When shall we get them to come, sir?”

“It’ll be four o’clock by the time we’re back to the Yard. I think we’ll make it this evening. Say nine o’clock. It’s going to be devilish tricky. I’m counting on Dimitri losing his head. It’s a cool head, blast it, and he may keep his wits about him. Talking of wits, there’s the gallant Captain to be reckoned with. Unless I’m a Dutchman, Donald Potter’s given me enough in his statement to lock the gallant Captain up for a nice long stretch. That’s some comfort.”

They were silent until they got as far as the Cromwell Road and then Fox said: “I suppose we are right, Mr Alleyn. I know that seems a pretty funny thing to say at this stage, but it’s a worrying business and that’s a fact. It’s the trickiest line of evidence I’ve ever come across. We seem to be hanging our case on the sort of things you usually treat with a good deal of suspicion.”

“Don’t I know it. No, Fox, I think it’ll hold firm. It depends on what these people say in their second interviews tonight, of course. If we can establish the facts about the two cigarette-cases, the secret drawer, the telephone conversation and the stolen letter, we’re right. Good Lord, that sounds like a list of titles from the old Sherlock Holmes stories. I think part of the charm of those excellent tales lies in Watson’s casual but enthralling references to cases we never hear of again.”

“The two cigarette-cases,” repeated Fox slowly, “the secret drawer, the telephone conversation, and the stolen letter. Yes. Yes, that’s right. You may say we hang our case on those four hooks.”

“The word ‘hang,’ ” said Alleyn grimly, “is exceedingly apposite. You may.”

He drove Fox to the Yard.

“I’ll come up with you and see if anything fresh has come in,” he said.

They found reports from officers who were out on the job. Dimitri’s men reported that François had gone to the local stationers and bought a copy of this morning’s Times. The stationer had told the Yard man that Dimitri as a rule took the Daily Express.

Alleyn laid the report down.

“Beat up a Times, Brer Fox.”

Fox went out. He was away for some time. Alleyn brought his file up to date and lit his pipe. Then he rang up Lady Carrados.

“Evelyn? I’ve rung you up to ask if you and your husband and Bridget will come to my office at the Yard tonight. It’s some more tidying up of this affair. If possible I’d like to have a word with you first. Would you rather it was here or in your house?”

“In your office, please, Roderick. It would be easier. Shall I come now?”

“If you will. Don’t be fussed. I’m so sorry to bother you.”

“I’ll come at once,” said the faint voice.

Fox returned with a Times which he laid on Alleyn’s desk. He pointed a stubby finger at the personal column.

“What about the third from the top?” he said.

Alleyn read it aloud.

“Um,” said Alleyn. “Has daddy had anything else to say to Childie during the last week or so?”

“Not during the last fortnight, anyway. I’ve looked up the files.”

“There’s nothing else in the agony column. The others are old friends, aren’t they?”

“That’s right.”

“We’d better ask Father Times about Daddy.”

“I’ll do that,” said Fox, “and I’ll get going on these people for tonight.”

“Thank you, Fox. I’ve tackled Lady Carrados who is coming to see me now. If you’ve time I’d be glad if you’d fix the others. I ought to go and see Lady Mildred about the arrangements for tomorrow.”

“You’ll have time for that later on.”

“Yes. I must report to the AC before this evening. I’ll go along now, I think, and see if he’s free. Ask them to show Lady Carrados up here, Fox, and ring through when she arrives.”

“Very good, Mr Alleyn.”

Alleyn saw the Assistant Commissioner’s secretary, who sent him in to the great man. Alleyn laid the file on the desk. The AC disregarded it.

“Well, Rory, how goes it? I hear you’ve got half the Yard mudlarking on Chelsea Embankment and the other half tailing the aristocracy. What’s it all about?” asked the AC, who had been kept perfectly au fait with the case but whose favourite pose was one of ignorance. “I suppose you want me to read this damn nonsense?” he added, laying his hand on the file.

“If you will, sir. I’ve summed-up at the end. With your approval I’m collecting the relevant people here tonight and if the interviews go the right way I hope to be able to make an arrest. If you agree, I’d like a blank warrant.”

“You’re a pretty cool customer, aren’t you?” grunted the AC. “And if the interviews go all wrong you return the warrant and think of something else? That it?”

“Yes, sir. That’s it.”

“See here, Rory, our position in this affair is that we’ve got to have a conviction. If your customer gets off on this sort of evidence, opposing counsel is going to make us look like so many Aunt Sallies. It’s so damn shaky. Can’t you hear what old Harrington-Barr will do with you if he’s briefed? Make you look a boiled egg, my good man, unless you’ve got a damning admission or two to shove at the jury. And all this blackmail stuff. How are you going to get any of these people to charge their blackmailer? You know what people are over blackmail.”

“Yes, sir. I do rather hope for a damning admission.”