“I suppose Ogden’s counsel will go for Garnette?”

“Oh yes. I’ve no doubt Mr. Garnette’s trans-Atlantic origin and activities will all be brought out into the fierce light that beats upon the witness-box. I hope it will be the dock. Him and his heroin! Devil take me, but I swear he’s the nastier sample of the two.”

“Will he get the money?”

“Not if Mr. Rattisbon can help it.”

The telephone rang. Nigel answered it.

“It’s for you,” he said. “Fox, I think.”

Alleyn took the telephone from him. Nigel walked over to the window and stared out into the street.

“Hullo, Fox,” said Alleyn, “you’ve run me to earth. What is it?”

The telephone quacked industriously.

“I see,” said Alleyn. “That’s all very neat and handy. Thank you, Foxkin. Are you at the Yard? Well, go home to bed. It’s late. Good night.”

He hung up the receiver and swung round in his chair.

“Cable from Australia. ‘Sounds like S. J. Samuels, American sharp, convicted sale prohibited drugs. Two years. Involved Walla-Walla homicide case!’ ”

He paused. Nigel did not answer.

“And Mr. Garnette has decided to make a statement. He says he has had some interesting confidences from Ogden. Little charmer! What are you looking at?”

“I’m looking down into Knocklatcher Row. It’s very odd, but someone seems to be taking away the Sign of the Sacred Flame. Only it’s raining so hard I can scarcely see.”

“You’re quite right. It’s a man from the Yard. Crowds collect and gape at the thing. I told them to take it away.”

The End