“Which is absurd,” said Thompson solemnly.

“Ugh,” said Bailey.

“I think it is,” said Alleyn. He glanced at Curtis. “What would happen when he drank nitric acid?”

“Undiluted?”

“I think so.”

“Very quick and remarkably horrible.” Curtis gave a rapid description of what would happen. “He wouldn’t perform any intelligent action. The initial shock would be terrific, and intense spasms would follow immediately. It’s quite beyond the bounds of possibility that he would replace the cup, seat himself, or do anything but make some uncontrolled and violent movements such as you’ve described in reference to the arms. But I cannot believe, Alleyn, that anybody in his senses could ever take nitric acid without knowing what he was doing.”

“If he was not in his senses, but half doped with opium, and very thirsty? If he asked for a drink and it was put beside him?”

“That’s more likely, certainly, but still— ”

“If he was asleep in this chair with his mouth open, and it was poured into his mouth,” said Alleyn. “What about that?”

“Well then — of course”—Curtis shrugged—“that would explain everything.”

“It may be the explanation,” said Alleyn. “The stuff had spilled over the face very freely. I want you now to look at the back of the head.” With his long, fastidious fingers he uncovered the hair, leaving the face veiled.

“He wore his hair long, you see. Now look here. Look. Do you see these tufts of hair that are shorter? They seem to have been broken, don’t they? And see this. Hold your torch down and use a lens. The scalp is slightly torn as though a strand of hair has actually been wrenched away. On the floor behind this chair I found several hairs, and some of them have little flakes of scalp on the ends. Notice how the hair round the torn scalp is tangled. What’s the explanation? Doesn’t it suggest that a hand has been twisted in this hair? Now see the back of the chair. I think we shall find that these stains were make by nitric acid, and the floor beneath is stained in the same way. These are nitric stains — I’m afraid I’ll have to uncover the face — yes — you see, running from the corners of the mouth down the line of the jaw to the ears and the neck. Notice the direction. It’s important. It suggests strongly that the head was leaning back, far back, when the stuff was taken. Now if we lean him back in the chair — God, this is a filthy business! All right Bathgate, damn you, get out. Now, Curtis, and you, Fox. Look how the head fits between the acid stains on the back of the chair, and how the stains carry on from the jaw to the chair as if the stuff had run down. Would a man ever drink in this attitude with his face to the ceiling? Don’t you get a picture of someone standing behind him and pouring something into his mouth? He gasps and makes a violent spasmodic movement. A hand is wound in his hair and holds back his head. And still nitric acid is poured between his lips. God! Cover it up again. Now, let’s go to the door.”

They walked in silence down the place, opened the door, and were joined by a very green Nigel. Alleyn filled his pipe and lit it. “To sum up,” he said, “and for Heaven’s sake, all of you, check me if I go too far — we have difficulty in fitting the evidence of the hands, the table, the position of the body, the cup and the bottle, with any theory of suicide. On the other hand, we find nothing to contradict the suggestion that this man sat at this table, was given a dose of nitric acid, made a series of violent and convulsive movements, vomited, clutched the edge of the table and died. We find nothing to contradict the theory that his murderer dragged the left hand away from the ledge of the table and used it to print the bottle and the cup, and then left them on the table. I don’t for a moment suggest there is a good case for us here, but at least there is a better case for murder than for suicide.” He looked from one dubious face to another.

“I know it’s tricky,” he said. “Curtis — how long would he take to die?”

“Difficult to say. Fourteen hours. Might be more, might be less.”

“Fourteen hours! Damn and blast! That blows the whole thing sky-high.”

“Wait a moment, Alleyn. Have we any idea how much of the stuff he took?”

“The bottle was full. Miss Troy and Miss Bostock said it was full on Friday morning. Allowing for the amount that splashed over, it must have been quite a cupful.”

“This is the most shocking affair,” said little Curtis. “I — never in the whole course of my experience have I — however. My dear chap, if a stream of the stuff was poured into his mouth while his head was held back, he may have died in a few minutes of a particularly unspeakable form of asphyxiation. Actually, we may find he got some of it down his larynx, in which case death would be essentially from obstruction to breathing and would take place very quickly unless relieved by tracheotomy. You notice that the portions of the face that are not discoloured by acid are bluish. That bears out this theory. If you are right, I suppose that’s what we shall find. We’d better clear up here and get the body away. We’ll have the autopsy as soon as possible.”

It was almost dark when they got back to the Yard. Alleyn went straight to his room, followed by Fox and by a completely silent Nigel. Alleyn dropped into an arm-chair. Fox switched on the light.

“You want a drink, sir,” he said, with a look at Alleyn.

“We all do. Bathgate, I don’t know what the hell you’re doing here, but if you are going to be ill, you can get out. We’ve had enough of that sort of thing.”

“I’m all right now,” said Nigel. “What shall I do about this? The late edition— ”

“A hideous curse on the late edition! All right. Tell them we’ve found him and where, and suggest suicide. That’s all. Go away, there’s a good chap.”

Nigel went.

“For pity’s sake, Fox,” said Alleyn violently, “why do you stand there staring at me like a benevolent bullock? Is my face dirty?”

“No, sir, but it’s a bit white. Now, you have that drink, Mr. Alleyn, before we go any further. I’ve got my emergency flask here.”

“I poured most of mine down McCully’s gullet,” said Alleyn. “Very well, Fox. Thank you. Have one yourself and let’s be little devils together. Now then, where do we stand? You were very silent in that place of horror. Do you agree with my theory?”

“Yes, sir, I do. I’ve been turning it over in my mind and I don’t see how any other theory will fit all the facts, more especially the tuft of hair torn from the scalp and found, as you might say, for the greater part on the floor.”

Fox briefly sucked in his short moustache and wiped his hand across his mouth.

“He must have jerked about very considerably,” he said, “and have been held on to very determinedly.”

“Very.”

“Yes. Now, sir, as we know only too well, it’s one thing to have a lot of circumstantial evidence and another to tie somebody up in it. As far as times go, we’re all over the shop here, aren’t we? Some time late Friday night or early Saturday morning’s the nearest we can get to when Garcia left Tatler’s End House. All we can say about the time the caravan was returned is that it was probably before it was light on Saturday morning. Now, which of this crowd could have got away for at least two hours— ”

“At the very least.”

“Yes. Two hours between seven-thirty on Friday evening, when Sadie Welsh heard Garcia speak, and before anybody was about — say, five o’clock — on Saturday morning. Do you reckon any of the lot that were up in London may have met him here?”

“Murdered him, taken the caravan to Tatler’s End House and returned here — how?”

“That’s true.”

“And I repeat, Fox, that I cannot believe a man in Garcia’s condition could have gone through all the game with the caravan and the transport. We don’t even know if he could drive and I should not be at all surprised if we find he couldn’t. It would take a tolerably good driver to do all this. If it was one of the London lot, he went to Tatler’s End House by means unknown, brought Garcia here and murdered him, returned the caravan and came back here, again by means unknown. You’ve seen the alibis. Pretty hopeless to fit anything on to any single one of them, isn’t it?”