He watched Fox walk away and then turned quickly into a side lane where Troy sat in her three-seater. Alleyn came up to her from behind, and she did not see him. She was staring straight in front of her. He stood there with his hat in his hands, waiting for her to turn her head. When at last she woke from her meditation and saw him, her eyes widened. She looked at him gravely and then smiled.

“Hullo. It’s you,” said Troy. “I’m waiting for Katti.”

“I had to say a word to you,” said Alleyn.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. Any word. Are you all right?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“I’m afraid it’s difficult for you,” said Alleyn, “having all these people still in the house. This second case made it necessary. We can’t let them go.”

“It’s all right. We’re doing some work out of doors when it’s fine, and I’ve moved everything round in the studio and got a man from the village to sit. Katti’s doing a life-size thing of the policeman at the front gate. It’s a bit — difficult — at times, but they seem to have made up their minds Garcia did it.”

“This last thing — about Garcia. It’s been a pretty bad shock to you.”

“In a way — yes,” said Troy. “It was kind of you to send me a telegram.”

“Kind! Oh, well, if it broke the news a bit, that’s something. You had no particular feeling about him, had you? It was his work, wasn’t it?”

“True enough. His work. That clay group was really good, you know. I think it would have been the best thing he ever did. Somebody will do the marble from the model, I suppose.” She looked directly into Alleyn’s eyes. “I’m — I’m horrified,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“Nitric acid! It’s so beyond the bounds of one’s imagination that anyone could possibly — Please tell me — they seemed to suggest that Garcia himself — I must know. Did he kill her and then himself? I can’t believe he did. He would never do that. The first — all that business with the knife — I can imagine him suddenly deciding to kill Sonia like that. In a ghastly sort of way it might appeal to his imagination, but it’s just because his imagination was so vivid that I am sure he wouldn’t kill himself so horribly. Why — why, Ormerin once spilt acid from that bottle on his hand — Garcia was there. He knew. He saw the burn.”

“He was drugged at the time he died. He’d been smoking opium.”

“Garcia! But — All right. It’s not fair to ask you questions.”

“I’m so sorry. I think we’re nearly at an end. Tomorrow, perhaps, we shall know.”

“Don’t look so — so worried,” said Troy suddenly.

“I wonder if it has ever entered your head,” said Alleyn, “that it is only by wrenching my thoughts round with a remarkable effort that I can keep them on my job and not on you.”

She looked at him without speaking.

“Well,” he said. “What have you got to say to that, Troy?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry. I’d better go.”

“A woman never actually objects to a man getting into this state of mind about her, does she? I mean — as long as he behaves himself?”

“No. I don’t think she does.”

“Unless she happens to associate him with something particularly unpleasant. As you must me. Good God, I’m a pretty sort of fellow to shove my damned attentions on a lady in the middle of a job like this.”

“You’re saying too much,” said Troy. “You must stop. Please.”

“I’m extremely sorry. You’re perfectly right — it was unpardonable. Good-bye.”

He stood back. Troy made a swift movement with her hands and leant towards him.

“Don’t be so ‘pukka sahib,’ ” she said. “It is quite true — a woman doesn’t mind.”

“Troy!”

“Now I’m saying too much. It’s her vanity. Even mixed up with horrors like these she rather likes it.”

“We seem to be an odd pair,” said Alleyn. “I haven’t the smallest idea of what you think of me. No, truly, not the smallest idea. But even in the middle of police investigations we appear to finish our thoughts. Troy, have you ever thought of me when you were alone?”

“Naturally.”

“Do you dislike me?”

“No.”

“That will do to go on with,” said Alleyn. “Good morning.”

With his hat still in his hand he turned and walked away quickly to his mother’s car.

“Off we go, Fox,” he said. “Alley houp! The day is ours.”

He slipped in the clutch and in a very few minutes they were travelling down a fortunately deserted road at fifty miles an hour. Fox cleared his throat.

“What’s that, Brer Fox?” asked Alleyn cheerfully.

“I didn’t speak, Mr. Alleyn. Are we in a hurry?”

“Not particularly. I have a disposition of speed come upon me.”

“I see,” said Fox dryly. Alleyn began to sing.

Trees and hedges flew past in a grey blur. From the back of the car a muffled voice suddenly chanted:

Alleyn took his foot off the accelerator. Fox slewed round and stared into the back of the car. From an upheaval of rugs Nigel’s head emerged.

“Rude is never funny,” said Alleyn. “When did you hide in my mother’s car?”

“Immediately after the old gentleman pronounced the word ‘adjournment.’ Where are we bound for?”

“I shan’t tell you. Alley houp! Away we go again.”

“Mr. Fox,” said Nigel, “what has overtaken your chief? Is he mad, drunk, or in love?”

“Don’t answer the fellow, Brer Fox,” said Alleyn. “Let him burst in ignorance. Sit down, behind, there.”

They arrived at Boxover and drew up outside a rather charming Georgian house on the outskirts of the village.

“Twenty minutes,” said Alleyn, looking from his watch to the speedometer. “Twenty minutes from Bossicote and twelve miles. It’s two miles from the studio to Bossicote. Fourteen miles and a straightish road. We slowed down once on Bathgate’s account and once to ask the way. At night you could do the whole trip in a quarter of an hour or less. Now then. A certain amount and yet not too much finesse is indicated. Come on, Fox.”

“May I come?” asked Nigel.

“You? You have got the most colossal, the most incredible, the most appalling cheek. Your hide! Your effrontery! Well, well, well. Come along. You are a Yard typist. Wait by the car until I give you a leery nod, both of you.”

He rang the front-door bell and whistled very sweetly and shrilly.

“What is the matter with him, Fox?” asked Nigel.

“Search me, Mr. Bathgate. He’s been that worried over this case ever since we found Garcia, you’d think he’d never crack a joke again, and then he comes out from this inquest, crosses the road to have a word with Miss Troy and comes back, as you might say, with bells on.”

“Oh ho!” said Nigel. “Say you so, Fox. By gum, Fox, do you suppose— ”

The door was opened by a manservant. Alleyn spoke to him and gave him a card. The man stood back and Alleyn, with a grimace at them over his shoulder, stepped inside, leaving the door open.

“Come on, Mr. Bathgate,” said Fox. “That means us.”

They joined Alleyn in a little hall that was rather overwhelmed with the horns, masks, and hides of dead animals.

“Mrs. Pascoe is away,” whispered Alleyn, “but the gallant captain is within. Here he comes.”

Captain Pascoe was short, plump and vague-looking. He had prominent light blue eyes and a red face. He smelt of whisky. He looked doubtfully from Alleyn to Fox.