‘She went down fighting at least, sir,’ said Armitage. ‘A spirited lady.’

‘Ah. Yes. That would be the way of it with Bea. She was always a splendid fighter,’ said Orlando easily.

‘Will you tell us, Mr Jagow-Joliffe, where you were last evening? Were you at home? The sergeant will take notes.’

‘No. I wasn’t at home. As a matter of fact, I was in London. At the Ritz. Family party on. Uncle’s birthday. We’d both been invited. Naturally, I didn’t travel up to Town with Bea – we avoided each other’s company. I took the train and then a taxi. Still got the ticket stubs if you want to see them.’ His smile was innocent, open and totally disarming.

Joe shot a look at Armitage and Westhorpe who silently shook their heads.

‘Would you like to reconsider your answer?’ Joe asked mildly. ‘Since we have it on good authority that you were not present at the celebrations in the small dining room of the Ritz.’

‘Hey? What the hell’s going on?’ said Orlando in sudden alarm. ‘What does it matter where I was? What’s this “authority” you speak of?’

‘Two police witnesses, sir.’

‘Police? In the Ritz? What would they be doing in the Ritz? And what possible business can it be of yours whether I was there or at the North Pole? Why aren’t you off chasing the burglar responsible instead of wasting your time down here?’

‘There is serious doubt that she was killed by an intruder. We have reason to believe that it is more likely that she was killed by one of her own circle of family and friends. We are establishing the precise whereabouts of all these people at the relevant time.’

Armitage leaned forward. ‘I was on duty at the Ritz party throughout the evening, sir, and I have to say I didn’t clap eyes on you all evening.’

Orlando held up his hands in surrender. ‘Good God! There were rumours that something had happened to the force since the war but this is impressive! Very well. But keep your voices down, will you?’ He lowered his own voice and continued after a furtive glance at the caravan. ‘I was in London. I did go up by train but you’re right – I didn’t go anywhere near the awful shindig at the Ritz. I don’t actually possess a dinner jacket any more and wouldn’t have been let in without one. I used the invitation as a cover for a dash to London. I stayed overnight with a friend.’

‘A male friend?’ asked Armitage.

‘Yes, a male friend . . . and a female friend . . . lots of friends in fact. I spent a drunken evening with some other artists. We started in the Fitzroy Tavern, went on to the Mont Olympe restaurant in Charlotte Street and then a nightclub. After that I don’t remember much. I know I woke up next morning in a strange room and in the bed of a woman I’ll swear I’ve never met before and don’t want to see ever again. Still . . . no one looks their best at five in the morning which is when I crept out and made my way back to the station. I had to wait ages for a train and I was back here by lunchtime. I say . . . you don’t need to tell Mel any of this, do you? Not something she’d want to hear in her present condition. She’d be furious. She’s got the devil of a temper. Goes with her red hair, I suppose. I always paint her as half woman, half tigress! Tawny, you know. She coincided with an urge I had last year to paint in Fauvist shades. Last time she caught me out she set my canvases on fire. Next time it’ll be me that goes up in flames, she’s promised me that.’

‘Can you give us the names and addresses of people who can confirm this account, sir?’ Joe asked.

‘Certainly not! Would you involve your friends in such a murky matter? Wouldn’t name any of them even if I could remember who they were. And, anyway, they were all as tipsy as I was and they’ll be sleeping it off till next Wednesday.’

Seeing a steely look in Joe’s eye he added, ‘Well, you might try Freddie Cooper. I started the evening with him so he may have some glimmerings and the room where I fetched up was halfway down Fitzroy Street. Blue door. I noted it particularly in the firm intention of avoiding it in the future.’

‘Is there anyone at all who will remember seeing you in the course of the evening – someone sober . . . a maître d’hôtel . . . a waiter? The time you should concentrate on is from midnight until one o’clock.’

Orlando sighed. ‘The maître d’hôtel at the Mont Olympe may well have noticed me.’ He spent a moment peeling paint from under his fingernails. ‘We had a whip round to pay the bill and I – as usual, I’m afraid – made a rather larger contribution than most. I say, it’s damned embarrassing to be talking about money like this, don’t you fellows understand? But just for once I may have done myself a favour. I left a large tip. Doesn’t often happen but I’d just sold two paintings. Rather well. Someone will remember the tip.’

‘And when did you leave the restaurant, sir?’

‘Oh, yes. That would have been before midnight because we were going on to a nightclub to meet some of the dancers from the Russian ballet after the performance. Lydia Lopokova was meant to be there but she never put in an appearance. Look, Commander, I’m getting pretty fed up with all this. It really is none of your business. I’m a gentleman – you’re some sort of a gentleman, I observe – why can’t you take my word for it? I had absolutely nothing to do with my sister’s murder.’

‘We must insist, I’m afraid,’ said Joe patiently. ‘From midnight until one o’clock, if you wouldn’t mind? That’s the time we’re interested in.’

‘Oh, all right then,’ he grumbled. ‘Anything to get rid of you. Well . . .’ he said, suddenly brightening, ‘you may not find anyone who can vouch for my presence or, more likely,’ he grinned, ‘you may find that everyone vouches for my presence! Policemen tend not to be very popular with this crowd and they won’t hesitate to lead you up the garden path, running rings around you and tying you in knots until you fall over your own flat feet – but what if someone could corroborate my impression of the events of the evening? Wouldn’t that be more useful to you than a chummy alibi?’

‘Go on,’ said Joe, uncommitted.

‘Well, two of the male dancers came in – we were at the Cheval Bleu by then – did I say that? And though they must have been well-nigh exhausted after their evening they cleared the floor and did a turn or two. One had red tights on.’

Armitage glowered, licked the end of his pencil and noted down the tights.

‘Any further impressions lingering from this jolly jamboree, sir?’ he said. ‘Just to get you through safely to the other side of one o’clock?’

‘Yes, but I’m not sure I can reveal them in the presence of a lady.’

‘Constable Westhorpe has nerves of steel. I guarantee that she will not faint at any revelation you may care to make,’ said Joe.

Orlando looked at Tilly with awakening interest. ‘Oh? Right. Well, there’s a young Hungarian . . . or is he Bulgarian? . . . chap out and about at the moment. Writer of some sort, I believe. All the rage. He’s been taken up by some of the fashionable set. Trouble is he’s got too big for his boots and everyone decided it was time he was taken down a peg or two. He got roaring drunk and – resenting the attention being paid to the dancers and not liking Russians much either – he decided to steal their thunder. He stalked into the middle of the floor and started stripping.’

‘I’m sorry, sir?’ Armitage’s pencil lifted from the page. ‘Stripping what?’

‘Himself of course. Good-looking chap, as all agree, and I must say he did it with panache. Well, everyone gathered round – they were all there, the Slade gang, the Café Royal mob – shouting encouragement and then . . . it was one of those incredible crowd movements, you know, all acting together, without a word said . . . he stood there taking a bow, naked apart from his socks, and everyone, to a man or woman, went absolutely silent and turned their backs on him. Choreographed, you’d say! Then Tonia Fawcett, I think it was . . . yes . . . Tonia strolled over, put a hand on his shoulder and said confidingly in that devastating drawl of hers, “Darling, just put them back on again, would you?”’