“I think he knew,” said Alleyn. “The tweed hat was on the top shelf of the wardrobe. He was getting rid of a green-and-red Alexander trout-fly.”

“Wasn’t that rather a mad thing to do?” asked Hersey wearily, when Alleyn had explained about the trout-fly.

“Not quite as mad as it sounds. The hook was not an easy thing to get rid of. He couldn’t burn it or risk putting it in a wastepaper basket. He would have been wiser to keep the hook until he could safely dispose of it, or merely leave it on the mantelpiece, but no doubt he was possessed by the intense desire of all homicides to rid himself of the corpus delicti. In the shock of William’s death his mother would have been most unlikely to notice a second and very insignificant trout-fly in her hat-band.”

“And that’s all,” said Mandrake after a long silence.

“That, I think, is all. You would like to go now, wouldn’t you?”

“Shall we go?” Mandrake asked Chloris. She nodded listlessly but didn’t move. “I think I should go if I were you,” said Alleyn, looking very directly at Mandrake.

“Come along, darling,” Mandrake said, gently. They bade good-bye to Hersey and Alleyn and went out.

“ ‘Darling’?” murmured Hersey. “But it means nothing, nowadays, does it? Why do you want to get rid of them, Mr. Alleyn?”

“We’re expecting the police car and the ambulance. It won’t be very pleasant. You would like to get away too, I expect, wouldn’t you?”

“No, thank you,” said Hersey. “I think I’ll stay with my cousin Jo. He’s pretty well cut up about this, you know. After all, he gave the party. It’s not a pleasant thought.” She looked at the door into the smoking-room, the door with its rows of dummy books. “Mr. Alleyn,” she said, “he’s a despicable monster, but I was fond of his mother. Would she perhaps have liked me to see him now?”

“I don’t think I should if I were you. We can tell him you’ve offered to see him and we can let you know later on if he’d like it.”

“I must ask you — has he confessed?”

“He has made a written statement. It’s not a confession.”

“But…?”

“I can’t tell you more than that, I’m afraid,” said Alleyn, and before his imagination rose the memory of sheets of paper covered with phrases that had no form, ending abruptly or straggling off into incoherence, phrases that contradicted each other and that made wild accusations against Hart, against the mother who had accused herself. He heard Fox saying: “I’ve given him the warning over and over again, but he will do it. He’s hanging himself with every word of it.” He felt Hersey’s gaze upon him, and looking up saw that she was white to the lips. “Mr. Alleyn,” she said, “what will happen to Nicholas?” And when he did not answer Hersey covered her face with her hands.

Through the sound of pouring rain Alleyn heard a car coming up the drive and out on the sweep before the house.

Fox came in. “It’s our people, Mr. Alleyn.”

“All right,” said Alleyn, and he turned to Hersey. “I must go,” Hersey walked to the door. He opened it and he and Fox followed her into the hall.

Jonathan was standing there. Hersey went straight to him and he took her by the hands. “Well, dear,” said Jonathan, “it — it’s time, I think.”

Fox had gone to the front door and opened it. The sound of rain filled the hall. A large man in plain clothes came in, followed by two policemen. Alleyn met him and the large man shook hands. Jonathan came forward.

“Well, Blandish,” he said.

“Very sorry about this, sir,” said Superintendent Blandish. Jonathan made a small waving of his hands and turned back to Hersey.

“All ready for us, Mr. Alleyn?”

“I think so,” Alleyn said, and they went into the green sitting-room, shutting the door behind them.

“Hersey, my dearest,” said Jonathan, “don’t stay out here, now.”

“Would you rather I went away, Jo?”

“I — it’s for your sake.”

“Then I’ll stay.”

So Hersey saw Nicholas come out between Bailey and Fox, the senior officers keeping close behind him. He walked stiffly with short steps, looking out of the corners of his eyes. His unshaven cheeks were creased with a sort of grin and his mouth was not quite shut. His blond hair hung across his forehead in disheveled streaks. Without turning his head, he looked at his host. Jonathan moved towards him and at once the two men halted.

“I want to tell you,” Jonathan said, “that if you wish me to see your solicitors or do anything else that I am able to do, you have only to send instructions.”

“There now,” said Fox, comfortingly, “that’ll be very nice, won’t it?”

Nicholas said, in an unrecognizable voice: “Stop them hanging me,” and suddenly sagged at the knees.

“Come along, now,” said Fox. “You don’t want to be talking like that.”

As they went out, Jonathan and Hersey saw the ambulance van outside by the police car, and men with stretchers waiting to come in.

“He’d made up his mind to do it somehow, Jo,” said Hersey that afternoon. “You mustn’t blame yourself too much.”

“I do blame myself dreadfully,” said Jonathan. He had taken off his glasses and his myopic eyes, blurred with tears, looked childlike and helpless. “It’s just as you said, Hersey. I had to learn my lesson. You see — I thought I’d have a dramatic party.”

“Oh, Jo,” cried Hersey, with a sob that was almost a laugh. “Don’t.”

“I did. That was my plan. I thought Aubrey might make a poetic drama out of it. I’m a mischievous, selfish fellow, trying to amuse myself and never thinking — just as you said, my dear.”

“I talk too much. I was cross. You couldn’t know what was behind it all.”

“No. I think perhaps I do these things because I’m a bit lonely.”

Hersey reached out her hand and he took it uncertainly between both of his. For a long time they sat in silence, looking at the fire.

“What you’ve got to do,” said Mandrake, “is to think about other things. Get a new interest. Me, for instance.”

“But it isn’t over. If it was over, it wouldn’t be so awful. I’ve been so mixed up with the Complines,” said Chloris. “I wanted to be free of them, and now — all this has happened. It sounds silly, but I feel sort of lonely.”

Mandrake removed his left hand from the driving-wheel.

The End