“Did you follow this excellent advice, Miss Lee?”

“No — I didn’t — because — well, because I thought — I mean— ”

“I have rather sharp views on gossip,” said Troy dryly. “And even sharper views on listening-in. Possibly she realised this.” She stared coldly at Miss Lee, who turned very pink indeed.

“How did this incident terminate?” asked Alleyn.

“Well, I made a bangy sort of noise with the door to show I was there, and they stopped. And I didn’t eavesdrop, Miss Troy, truly. I just rooted to the ground with horror. It all sounded so sinister. And now see what’s happened!”

Troy looked up at Alleyn. Suddenly she grinned, and Alleyn felt a sort of thump in his chest. “Oh God,” he thought urgently, “what am I going to do about this? I didn’t want to lose my heart.” He looked away quickly.

“Are there any other incidents of any sort that might have some bearing on this tragedy?” he asked at large.

Nobody answered.

“Then I shall ask you all to stay in here for a little while longer. I want to see each of you separately, before we close down to-night. Miss Troy, will you allow us to use a separate room as a temporary office? I am sorry to give so much trouble.”

“Certainly,” said Troy. “I’ll show you— ”

She led the way to the door and went into the hall without waiting for them. Alleyn and Fox followed, leaving the local man behind. When the door had shut behind them Alleyn said to Fox:

“Get through to the Yard, Fox. We’ll have to warn all stations about Garcia. If he’s tramping, he can’t have walked so far in three days. If he’s bolted, he may be anywhere by now. I’ll try and get hold of a photograph. We’d better broadcast, I think. Make sure nobody’s listening when you telephone. Tell them to get in touch with the city. We must find this warehouse. Then see the maids. Ask if they know anything at all about the studio on Friday night and Saturday morning. Come along to the drawing-room when you’ve finished, will you?”

“Right, sir. I’ll just ask this P.C. where the telephone hangs out.”

Fox turned back, and Alleyn moved on to the end of the hall, where Troy waited in a pool of light that came from the library.

“In here,” she said.

“Thank you.”

She was turning away as Alleyn said:

“May I keep you a moment?”

He stood aside for her to go through the door. They returned to the fire. Troy got a couple of logs from’the wood basket.

“Let me do that,” Alleyn said.

“It’s all right.”

She pitched the logs on the fire and dusted her hands.

“There are cigarettes on that table, Mr. Alleyn. Will you have one?”

He lit her cigarette and his own and they sat down.

“What now?” asked Troy.

“I want you to tell me exactly what you did from the time you left the studio on Friday at noon until the class assembled this morning.”

“An alibi?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think for a moment,” said Troy, in a level voice, “that I might have killed this girl?”

“Not for a moment,” answered Alleyn.

“I suppose I shouldn’t have asked you that. I’m sorry. Shall I begin with the time I got up to the house?”

“Yes, please,” said Alleyn.

He thought she was very stiff with him and supposed she resented the very sight of himself and everything he stood for. It did not occur to Alleyn that his refusal to answer that friendly grin had sent up all Troy’s defences. Where women were concerned he was, perhaps, unusually intelligent and intuitive, but the whole of this case is coloured by his extraordinary wrong-headedness over Troy’s attitude towards himself. He afterwards told Nigel Bathgate that he was quite unable to bring Troy into focus with the case. To Troy it seemed that he treated her with an official detachment that was a direct refusal to acknowledge any former friendliness. She told herself, with a sick feeling of shame, that he had probably thought she pursued him in the ship. He had consented to sit to her, with a secret conviction that she hoped it might lead to a flirtation. “Or,” thought Troy, deliberately jabbing at the nerve, “he probably decided I was fishing for a sale.”

Now, on this first evening at Tatler’s End House, they treated each other to displays of frigid courtesy. Troy, summoning her wits, began an account of her week-end activities.

“I came up to the house, washed, changed and lunched. After lunch, as far as I remember, Katti and I sat in here and smoked. Then we went round to the garage, got the car, and drove up to our club in London. It’s the United Arts. We got there about four o’clock, had tea with some people we ran into in the club, shopped for an hour afterwards, and got back to the club about six, I should think. I bathed, changed and met Katti in the lounge. We had a cocktail and then dined with the Arthur Jayneses. It was a party of six. He’s president of the Phoenix Group. From there we all went to the private view. We supped at the Hungaria with the Jayneses. I got back to the club somewhere round two o’clock. On Saturday I had my hair done at Cattcherly’s in Bond Street. Katti and I had another look at the show. I lunched early at the Ritz with a man called John Bellasca. Then I picked Katti up at the club and we got back here about three.”

“Did you go down to the studio?”

“Yes. I went there to collect my sketch-box. I wanted to see what materials I had and tidy it up. I was going to work out of doors on Sunday. I brought the box in here and spent the afternoon at different tidying jobs. After that Katti and I went for a walk to look for a subject. We dined out. I asked when we got here on Saturday if Garcia had gone, and the maids told me he hadn’t been in to breakfast or lunch, so I supposed he had pushed off at daybreak. They had sent his dinner down to the studio the night before — Friday night. It was easier than having it up here. He sleeps in the studio, you know.”

“Why was that?”

“It was advisable. I didn’t want him in the house. You’ve heard what he’s like with women.”

“I see. On Saturday were you long in the studio?”

“No. I simply got my sketch-box. I was painting out of doors.”

“Anyone go in with you?”

“No.”

“Did you notice the drape?”

Troy leant forward, her cropped head between two clenched fists.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to remember ever since Hatchett said it was stretched out when he saw it on Sunday.

“Give me a moment. I went straight to my cupboard behind the door and got out my sketching gear. I had a look in the box and found there was no turpentine in the bottle, so I took it to the junk-room and filled it up. Then I came back to the studio and — yes, yes!”

“You’ve remembered it?”

“Yes. I–I must tell you I hadn’t screwed myself up to looking at the portrait of Seacliff again. Not since I first saw what Sonia had done to it. I just turned it face to the wall behind the throne. Well, I saw it when I came out of the junk-room, and I thought: ‘I can’t go on cutting it dead. It can’t stand there for ever, giving me queasy horrors whenever I catch sight of it.’ So I began to walk towards it, and I got as far as the edge of the throne, and I remember now quite clearly I walked carefully round the drape, so as not to disturb it, and I noticed, without noticing, don’t you know, that the silk was in position — stretched straight from the cushion and pinned to the floor of the throne. You may have noticed that it was caught with a safety-pin to the top of the cushion. That was to prevent it slipping off when she lay down on it. It was fixed lightly to the floor with a drawing-pin that flew out when the drape took her weight. The whole idea was to get the accidental swill of the silk round the figure. It was stretched out like that when I saw it.”

“I needn’t tell you the significance of this,” said Alleyn, slowly. “You are absolutely certain the drape was in position?”