“If you wish it, I will see him. Of course, if the postmortem shows that poison has been given, it will then be my duty to make very exhaustive inquiries.”

“Of course,” she agreed.

Evidently she had made up her mind Alleyn should see Jameson, because she sent for him then and there. Ronald came in looking very perturbed and uneasy.

“This is my husband’s secretary — Mr. Jameson, Mr. Alleyn.”

“How do you do, sir?” said Ronald. “You won’t have the foggiest recollection of me, I’m afraid, but we have met before.”

“I’ve a filthy memory,” declared Chief Inspector Alleyn.

“It was at Nigel Bathgate’s.”

“Oh, yes.” Alleyn was polite, but non-committaL

“Really?” murmured Lady O’Callaghan. “Yes. I thought too that perhaps I had seen you — that your face— ” She seemed uncertain how to go on.

“People often find they are familiar with the faces of the police,” said Alleyn gravely.

“It’s not that, sir.” Ronald turned to Lady O’Callaghan. “Mr. Alleyn is in some of Mr. Rattisbon’s photos in the study at Karnelly.”

“Ratsbane’s cricketing groups,” thought Alleyn. “Oh, Lord!”

“Oh,” said Lady O’Callaghan. “Yes.” She stared rather blankly at him.

“Mr. Jameson,” Alleyn began, “I believe Lady O’Callaghan wants me to speak to you about an incident that took place here a week before Sir Derek’s operation.”

Ronald jumped and glanced nervously at the lady.

“I have spoken to Mr. Alleyn about my suspicions. He agrees that there should be an inquest.”

“Really, sir? Look here — I mean, of course, you know best, but, well — it’s — it’s a pretty ghastly thought, isn’t it?”

“You remember the evening my husband had the letter signed Jane Harden?”

“Yes,” said Ronald very reluctantly.

“You remember that you told me the letter seemed to upset him very much?”

“Yes — but— ”

“And when he overheard you speaking of it he was quite unreasonably angry?”

“I don’t think unreasonably, Lady O’Callaghan,” Ronald protested. “Sir Derek was quite right. I should not have mentioned his correspondence. I had never done so before.”

“Why did you do so then?” she asked him.

“Really,” thought Alleyn, “she might be an Attorney-General.”

“Because — well, because it seemed to upset him so much.” Ronald saw the fence too late and crashed into it.

“Yes,” said Lady O’Callaghan.

“Would you describe him as being alarmed?” Alleyn asked.

“Well — more sort of disturbed and distressed. After all, sir, it was an unpleasant letter to get.”

Ronald seemed to be in a perfect agony of embarrassment.

“Certainly,” Alleyn agreed. “You were not present, were you, at any time during the interview between Sir Derek and Sir John Phillips?”

“No. I — no, I wasn’t.”

“What were you going to say? Was anyone else there?”

“Nash, the butler, took in the tray.”

“Has he spoken to you on the subject?” asked Alleyn casually.

“Er — yes. Servants’ gossip. I rather snubbed him, sir.”

“What did he say before you’d snubbed him?”

“He’s an awful old woman — Nash. He seemed to think Sir John had used some sort of threatening expression. Honestly, sir, he’s a fearful ass.”

“I see. I think that’s all, Lady O’Callaghan. Perhaps the apprehensive Nash will make an appearance when I go.”

She rang the bell.

“He should have come in with the tray by this time,” she said vaguely.

When Nash appeared it was with the tray, which he set down delicately.

“Mr. Alleyn, will you—?”

“No, thank you so much. I must be off. Good-bye, Lady O’Callaghan. I’ll ring you up if I may.”

“Yes. Thank you. Good-bye.”

Nash opened the door and followed Alleyn into the hall. Jameson made as if to see the inspector out.

“Oh — Mr. Jameson,” said Lady O’Callaghan. He hesitated and then returned to the study, closing the door.

As he took his hat and coat from the butler Alleyn paused and looked directly at him.

“Perhaps you realise why I am here?” he said.

“Not altogether, sir,” murmured Nash composedly.

“It is in connection with Sir Derek’s death.”

Nash bowed very slightly.

“If I ask you a question,” Alleyn continued, “you must understand there is no obligation to answer if you don’t want to. I particularly do not wish the matter mentioned in or out of the servants’ hall. You understand?”

“Certainly, sir,” said Nash quietly.

“I believe I can depend on you. How long have you been with Sir Derek?”

“Twenty years, sir. I was footman to his father.”

“Yes. Did you hear Sir John Phillips say anything to your master the last time he came here?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What was it?”

“ ‘If the opportunity presented itself, I should have no hesitation in putting you out of the way.’ Those were the exact words, sir.”

“I see. Have you told anyone about this?”

“Mr. Jameson, sir. I considered it my duty. No one in the hall has any idea of the incident, sir.”

“What did Mr. Jameson think about it?”

“He appeared to attach no importance to it, sir.”

“No? Thank you, Nash.”

“Thank you very much, sir. Shall I get you a taxi, sir?”

“No, I’ll walk. Good night.”

“Good evening, sir.”

Nash opened the door and Alleyn went out into the street. He paused a moment to light a cigarette. He had taken a few steps along the pavement when he heard something that made him pause and turn.

Ronald Jameson had come out of the house and hurried after him, bareheaded.

“Please forgive me, sir,” he said hurriedly, “but I felt I must have another word with you. It was rather difficult with Lady O’Callaghan present. About these ideas of hers. I’m certain there’s nothing in it. Sir Derek was a man of the world and — and, of course, he had his relaxations. She seems very cold and all that, but I believe she was frightfully jealous and she wants to punish this girl. I’m sure that’s all it is.”

“Oh. Why should she want to punish Sir John Phillips as well as Miss Harden?”

“Oh, Lord knows. You can’t tell with women, sir, can you?”

“I haven’t tried,” said Alleyn.

“I expect you think it frightful cheek, my butting in like this, but, you see, I — well, Sir Derek was rather a marvellous person to me, and I simply loathe the idea of everything being dragged out and made public. It’s a ghastly thought.”

Something of Ronald’s semi-diplomatic air of winning tactfulness still appeared in his rather dishevelled manner. He gazed with anxious deference into Alleyn’s sardonic face. The inspector cocked an eyebrow.

“And yet,” he said, “I imagine, if Sir Derek was actually killed, you would rather the murderer didn’t get off scot-free?”

“Yes, but, you know, I’m sure he wasn’t. Those two letters didn’t mean anything — I thought so at— ”

Ronald stopped short.

“Were you about to say ‘at the time’?” inquired Alleyn.

“I meant at the time Lady O’Callaghan found them.”

“Where were the letters kept, Mr. Jameson?”

“In his private drawer,” said Ronald with a very red face.

“And the keys?”

“Er — oh, usually in the desk.”

“I see. Well, we must pursue the subject no more until we discover whether Sir Derek was murdered.”

“I’m absolutely certain there’s nothing in it, sir.”

“I hope you are right. Good night.”

“Thank you so much, sir,” said Ronald, all eager and charming. “Good night.”

Alleyn swung his stick up, turned on his heel, and walked away. Ronald gazed after the long, elegant figure for some seconds. His fingers fidgeted with his tie. Then he looked up at the windows of the house, slightly shrugged his shoulders, and ran up the steps and through the door.

Alleyn heard the door slam. As he turned out of Catherine Street towards Buckingham Gate he began to whistle Ophelia’s song: