“Two minds with but a single thought” he whispered. “Simultaneous comedy again.”

He took out his note-book and cocked his ears.

From the jetty above, the voices of Miss Darragh and Mr. Legge sounded disembodied and remote. For a second or two Alleyn could hear nothing distinctly but, as his concentration sharpened, words and phrases began to take form. Miss Darragh was speaking. She spoke in little bursts of eloquence broken by pauses that fell oddly until he realized that while she talked, she painted.

“… And haven’t I gone sufficiently far, coming down here, to meet you? I go no farther at all. I’m sorry for the nasty pickle you’re in… terribly cruel the way… haunts you… compromised myself… can’t expect…” Her voice died into a mysterious murmur. Alleyn raised his eyebrows and Fox shook his head. Miss Darragh droned on. Suddenly she said very distinctly: “It’s no good at all asking, for I’ll not do ut.”

Legge began to mumble, quite inaudibly. She interrupted him with a staccato: “Yes, yes, I realize all that.” And a moment later: “Don’t think I’m not sorry. I am.” And then, incisively: “Of course, I know you’re innocent of ut, but I can’t—”

For the first time Mr. Legge became intelligible.

“My blood be on your head,” said Mr. Legge loudly.

“Ah, don’t say that. Will you be quiet, now? You’ve nothing to fear.”

Legge’s voice dropped again but Alleyn’s hearing was now attuned to it. He heard isolated phrases. “Hounded to death… just when I was… expiated my fault… God knows… never free from it.”

Footsteps plodded across the beams overhead and when Miss Darragh spoke, it was from a different place. She had moved, perhaps to look at the sketch, and now stood near the edge of the jetty. Her voice, seeming very close, was startlingly clear.

“I promise you,” she said, “that I’ll do my best, but I’ll not commit perjury—”

“Perjury!” said Legge irritably. He had followed her.

“Well, whatever it is. I’ll do my best. I’ve no fear at all of their suspecting you, for they’ll have their wits about them and will soon see it’s impossible.”

“But don’t you see… They’ll think… they’ll tell everyone…”

“I can see it’s going to be hard on you and I’ve got my… You know well enough why I feel bound to help you. That’ll do now. Rest easy, and we’ll hope for the best.”

“Don’t forget how I came to my trouble.”

“I do not and I will not. Be off, now, for it’s getting late. I’ve finished me little peep and it’s nothing better than a catastrophe; me mind was not on ut. We’d best not be seen walking back together.”

“I’m at your mercy,” said Legge. And they heard him walk away.

ii

Alleyn and Fox breakfasted in the dining-room. Cubitt and Parish were nowhere to be seen but Miss Darragh sat at a corner table and gave them good morning as they came in. Alleyn knew that from behind the paper she watched them pretty closely. He caught her at it twice, but she did not seem to be at all embarrassed and, the second time, twinkled and smiled at him.

“I see you’ve no paper,” said Miss Darragh. “Would you like to have a look at the Illington Courier?”

“Thank you so much,” said Alleyn, and crossed over to the table.

“You’re Mr. Roderick Alleyn, are ye not?”

Alleyn bowed.

“Ah, I knew you from your likeness to your brother George,” said Miss Darragh.

“I am delighted that you knew me,” said Alleyn, “but I’ve never thought that my brother George and I were much alike.”

“Ah, there’s a kind of a family resemblance. And then, of course I knew you were here, for the landlord told me. You’re a good deal better-looking than your brother George. He used to stay with me cousins, the Sean O’Darraghs, for Punchestown. I met ’um there. I’m Violet Darragh, so now you know who ’tis that’s so bold with you.”

“Miss Darragh,” said Alleyn, “would you spare us a moment when you have finished your breakfast?”

“I would. Is it about this terrible affair?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be delighted. I’m a great lover of mysteries, myself, or I was before this happened. They’re not such grand fun when you’re in the middle of ’um. I’ll be in the private tap-room when you want me. Don’t hurry, now.”

“Thank you,” said Alleyn. Miss Darragh rose and squeezed past the table. Alleyn opened the door. She nodded cheerfully and went out.

“Cool,” said Fox, when Alleyn joined him. “You’d never think she had anything up her sleeve, sir, now would you?”

“No, Fox, you wouldn’t. I wonder what line I’d better take with her. She’s as sharp as a needle.”

“I’d say so,” agreed Fox.

“I think, Fox, you had better ask her, in your best company manners, to walk into our parlour. It looks more official. I must avoid that friend-of-the-family touch—” Alleyn stopped short and rubbed his nose. “Unless, indeed, I make use of it,” he said. “Dear me, now, I wonder.”

“What’s the friend-of-the-family touch, sir?”

“Didn’t you hear? She has met my brother George who is physically as unlike me as may be. Mentally, too, I can’t help hoping. But perhaps that’s vanity. What do you think?”

“I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting Sir George, Mr. Alleyn.”

“He’s rather an old ass, I’m afraid. Have you finished?”

“Yes, thank you, sir.”

“Then I shall remove to the parlour. My compliments to Miss Darragh, Foxkin, and I shall be grateful if she will walk into my parlour. Lord, Lord, I hope I don’t make a botch of this.”

Alleyn went to the parlour. In a minute or two, Fox came in with Miss Darragh.

Ever since he entered the detective service, Alleyn has had to set a guard against a habit of instinctive reactions to new acquaintances. Many times has he repeated to himself the elementary warning that roguery is not incompatible with charm. But he has never quite overcome certain impulses towards friendliness, and his austerity of manner is really a safeguard against this weakness; a kind of protective colouring, a uniform for behaviour.

When he met Violet Darragh he knew that she would amuse and interest him, that it would be easy to listen to her and pleasant to strike up a sort of friendship. He knew that he would find it difficult to believe her capable of double-dealing. He summoned the discipline of a system that trains its servants to a high pitch of objective watchfulness. He became extremely polite.

“I hope you will forgive me,” he said, “for suggesting that you should come in here. Mr. Pomeroy has given us this room as a sort of office, and as all our papers—”

“Ah, don’t worry yourself,” said Miss Darragh. She took the armchair that Fox wheeled forward, wriggled into the deep seat, and tucked her feet up.

“It’s more comfortable here,” she said, “and I’m a bit tired. I was out at the crack of dawn at me sketching. Down on the front, ’twas, and those steps are enough to break your heart.”

“There must be some very pleasant subjects down there,” murmured Alleyn. “At the end of the jetty, for instance.”

“You’ve a good eye for a picture,” said Miss Darragh. “That’s where I was. Or perhaps you saw me there?”

“I think,” said Alleyn, “that you passed me on your way out. I was in the garage yard.”

“You were. But the garage yard does not overlook the jetty.”

“Oh, no,” said Alleyn vaguely. “Now, Miss Darragh, may we get down to what I’m afraid will be, for you, a very boring business. It’s about the night of this affair. I’ve seen your statement to the police, and I’ve read the report of the inquest.”

“Then,” said Miss Darragh, “I’m afraid you’ll know all I have to tell you and that’s not much.”

“There are one or two points we’d like to go over with you if we may. You told the coroner that you thought the wound from the dart had nothing to do with Mr. Watchman’s death.”

“I did. And I’m positive it hadn’t. A little bit of a puncture no bigger than you’d take from a darning needle.”