“I told you, Seacliff, didn’t I?” began Phillida Lee excitedly. “You remember?”

“Yes. But I thought so long before that.”

“Did you pursue this topic?” asked Alleyn.

“Oh, no, we talked about you, Seacliff.”

“About me?”

“Yes. We discussed your engagement, and your virtue and so on.”

“Very charming of you,” said Basil Pilgrim angrily.

“Oh, we agreed that you were damned lucky and so on. Garcia turned all knowing, and said— ”

“Is this necessary?” demanded Pilgrim, of Alleyn.

“Not at the moment, I think,” said Alleyn. “How did you come to discuss the experiment with the dagger, Mr. Malmsley?”

“Oh, that was when we talked about Sonia. Garcia looked at my drawing and asked me if I’d ever felt like killing my mistress just for the horror of doing it.”

And was that all?” inquired Alleyn, after a rather deadly little pause.

“Oh, yes,” said Cedric Malmsley, and lit a cigarette. “I just thought I’d better mention it.”

“Thank you. It was just as well. Did he say anything else that could possibly have a bearing on this affair?”

“I don’t think so. Oh, he did say Sonia wanted him to marry her. Then he began talking about Seacliff, you know.”

“Couple of snotty little bounders,” grunted Katti Bostock unexpectedly.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” said Malmsley, with an air of sweet reasonableness. “Seacliff likes being discussed, don’t you, my angel? She knows she’s simply lousy with It.”

“Don’t be offensive, please, Malmsley,” said Pilgrim dangerously.

“Good heavens! Why so sour? I thought you’d like to know we appreciated her.”

“That will do, Malmsley,” said Troy very quietly.

Alleyn said: “When did you leave the studio on Friday afternoon, Mr. Malmsley?”

“At five. I kept an eye on the time because I had to bathe and change and catch the six o’clock bus.”

“You left Mr. Garcia still working?”

“Yes. He said he wanted to pack up the clay miniature ready to send it up to London the next morning.”

“He didn’t begin to pack it while you were there?”

“Well, he got me to help him carry in a zinc-lined case from the junk-room. He said it would do quite well.”

“He would,” said Troy grimly. “I paid fifteen shillings for that case.”

“How would it be managed?” asked Alleyn. “Surely a clay model is a ticklish thing to transport?”

“He’d wrap masses of damp cloths round it,” explained Troy.

“How about lifting it? Wouldn’t it be very heavy?”

“Oh, he’d thought all that out,” said Malmsley, yawning horribly. “We put the case on a tall stool in the window with the open end sideways, beside the tall stool he worked on. The thing was on a platform with wheels. He just had to wheel it into the case and fill the case with packing.”

“How about getting it into the van?”

“Dear me. Isn’t this all rather tedious?”

“Extremely. A concise answer would enable us to move on to a more interesting narrative.”

Troy gave an odd little snort of laughter.

“Well, Mr. Malmsley?” said Alleyn.

“Garcia said the lorry would back into the window from the lane outside. The sill is only a bit higher than the stools. He said they’d be able to drag the case on to the sill and get it in the lorry.”

“Did he say anything about arranging for the lorry?”

“He asked me if there was a man in the village,” said Troy. “I told him Burridge would do it.”

The policeman at the door gave a deprecatory cough.

“Hullo!” said Alleyn, slewing round in his chair. “Thought of something?”

“The super asked Burridges’ if they done it, sir, and they says no.”

“Right. Thank you. Now, Mr. Malmsley, did you get any idea when Mr. Garcia proposed to put the case on board the lorry?”

“He said early next morning — Saturday.”

“I see. There was no other mention of Miss Gluck, the pose, or Mr. Garcia’s subsequent plans?”

“No.”

“He didn’t tell you where the clay model was to be delivered?”

“No. He just said he’d got the loan of a disused warehouse in London.”

“He told me he was going on a sketching-tramp for a week before he started work,” said Valmai Seacliff.

“To me also, he said this.” Francis Ormerin leant forward, glancing nervously at Alleyn. “He said he wished to paint landscape for a little before beginning this big work.”

“He painted?” asked Alleyn.

“Oh, yes,” said Troy. “Sculping was his long suit, but he painted and etched a bit as well.”

“Very interesting stuff,” said Katti Bostock.

“Drearily representational though, you must own,” murmured Malmsley.

“I don’t agree,” said Ormerin.

“Good God!” exclaimed Basil Pilgrim, “we’re not here to discuss aesthetics.”

“Does anyone here,” Alleyn cut in firmly, “know who lent this warehouse to Garcia, where it was, when he proposed to go there, or in what direction he has supposedly walked away?”

Silence.

“He is possibly the most uncommunicative young man in England,” said Troy suddenly.

“It would seem so, indeed,” agreed Alleyn.

“There’s this, though,” added Troy. “He told me the name of the man who commissioned the ‘Comedy and Tragedy.’ It’s Charleston, and I think he’s secretary to the board of the New Palace Theatre, Westminster. Is that any help?”

“It may be a lot of help.”

“Do you think Garcia murdered Sonia?” asked Malmsley vaguely. “I must say I don’t.”

“The next point is this,” said Alleyn, exactly as though Malmsley had not spoken. “I want to arrive at the order in which you all left the studio on Friday at midday. I believe Miss Troy and Miss Bostock came away together as soon as the model got down. Any objection to that?”

There were none apparently.

“Well, who came next?”

“I–I think I did,” said Phillida Lee, “and I think I ought to tell you about an extraordinary thing that I heard Garcia say to Sonia one day— ”

“Thank you so much, Miss Lee. I’ll come to that later, if I may. At the moment we’re talking about the order in which you left the studio on Friday at noon. You followed Miss Troy and Miss Bostock?”

“Yes,” said Miss Lee restlessly.

“Good. Are you sure of that, Miss Lee?”

“Yes. I mean I know I did because I was absolutely exhausted. It always takes it out of me most frightfully when I paint. It simply drains every ounce of my energy. I even forget to breathe.”

“That must be most uncomfortable,” said Alleyn gravely. “You came out to breathe, perhaps?”

“Yes. I mean I felt I must get away from it all. So I simply put down my brushes and walked out. Miss Troy and Bostock were just ahead of me.”

“You went straight to the house?”

“Yes, I think so. Yes, I did.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” said Watt Hatchett loudly. “You came straight up here because I was just after you, see? I saw you through the dining-room window. This window here, Mr. Alleyn. That’s right, Miss Lee. You went up to the sideboard and began eating something.”

“I–I don’t remember that,” said Miss Lee in a high voice. She darted an unfriendly glance at Hatchett.

“Well,” said Alleyn briskly, “that leaves Miss Seacliff, Messrs. Ormerin, Pilgrim, Malmsley and Garcia, and the model. Who came next?”

“We all did — except Garcia and Sonia,” said Valmai Seacliff. “Sonia hadn’t dressed. I remember I went into the junk-room and washed my brushes under the tap. Ormerin and Malmsley and Basil followed me there.”

She spoke with a slight hesitation, the merest shadow of a stutter, and with a markedly falling inflexion. She had a trick of uttering the last words of a phrase on an indrawn breath. Everything she looked and did, Alleyn felt, was the result of a carefully concealed deliberation. She managed now to convey the impression that men followed her inevitably, wherever she went.