“It’s well taken,” Alleyn said. “Thank you.”

“Hi!” said Lord Pastern.

Alleyn turned to him.

“Look here,” he said. “You think these scratches were made by the jewels on that spring thing. Skelton says they weren’t there when he looked at the gun. If anyone was fool enough to try and shoot a feller with a thing like this, he’d fire it off first of all to see how it worked. In private. Follow me?”

“I think so, sir.”

“All right, then,” said Lord Pastern with a shrill cackle, “why waste time jabberin’ about scratches?”

He flung himself into his chair.

“Did any of you who were there,” Alleyn said, “take particular notice when Mr. Skelton examined the revolver?”

Nobody spoke. Skelton’s face was very white. “Breezy watched,” he said and added quickly: “I was close to Lord Pastern, I couldn’t have… I mean…”

Alleyn said, “Why did you examine it, Mr. Skelton?”

Skelton wetted his lips. His eyes shifted their gaze from Lord Pastern to Breezy Bellairs. “I — was sort of interested. Lord Pastern had fixed up the blanks himself and I thought I’d like to take a look. I’d gone in to wish him luck. I mean…”

“Why don’t you tell him!”

Breezy was on his feet. He had been yawning and fidgeting in his chair. His face was stained with tears. He had seemed to pay little attention to what was said but rather to be in the grip of some intolerable restlessness. His interruption shocked them all by its unexpectedness. He came forward with a shambling movement and grinned at Alleyn.

“I’ll tell you,” he said rapidly. “Syd did it because I asked him to. He’s a pal. I told him. I told him I didn’t trust his lordship. I’m a nervous man where firearms are concerned. I’m a nervous man altogether if you can understand.” His fingers plucked at his smiling lips. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said and his voice broke into a shrill falsetto. “Everybody’s staring as if I’d done something. Eyes. Eyes. Eyes. O God, give me a smoke!”

Alleyn held out his cigarette case. Breezy struck it out of his hand and began to sob. “Bloody sadist,” he said.

“I know what’s wrong with you, you silly chap,” Lord Pastern said accusingly. Breezy shook a finger at him. “You know!” he said. “You started it. You’re as good as a murderer. You are a murderer, by God!”

“Say that again, my good Bellairs,” Lord Pastern rejoined with relish, “and I’ll have you in the libel court. Action for slander, b’George.”

Breezy looked wildly round the assembly. His light eyes with their enormous pupils fixed their gaze on Félicité. He pointed a trembling hand at her. “Look at that girl,” he said, “doing her face and sitting up like Jackie with the man she was supposed to love lying stiff and bloody in the morgue. It’s disgusting.”

Caesar Bonn came forward, wringing his hands. “I can keep silent no longer,” he said. “If I am ruined, I am ruined. If I do not speak, there are others who will.” He looked at Lord Pastern, at Edward Manx and at Hahn.

Edward said: “It’s got to come out, certainly. In common fairness.”

“Certainly. Certainly.”

“What,” Alleyn asked, “has got to come out?”

“Please, Mr. Manx. You will speak.”

“All right, Caesar. I think,” Edward said slowly, turning to Alleyn, “that you should know what happened before any of you arrived. I myself had only just walked into the room. The body was where you saw it.” He paused for a moment. Breezy watched him, but Manx did not look at Breezy. “There was a sort of struggle going on,” he said. “Bellairs was on the floor by Rivera and the others were pulling him off.”

“Damned indecent thing,” said Lord Pastern virtuously, “trying to go through the poor devil’s pockets.”

Breezy whimpered.

“I’d like a closer account of this, if you can give it to me. When exactly did this happen?” Alleyn asked.

Caesar and Hahn began talking at once. Alleyn stopped them. “Suppose,” he said, “we trace events through the point where Mr. Rivera was carried out of the restaurant!” He began to question the four waiters who had carried Rivera. The waiters hadn’t noticed anything was wrong with him. They were a bit flustered anyway because of the confusion about which routine was to be followed. There had been so many contradictory orders that in the end they just watched to see who fell down and then picked up the stretcher and carried him out. The wreath covered his chest. As they lifted him on to the stretcher, Breezy had said quickly: “He’s hurt. Get him out.” They had carried him straight to the office. As they put the stretcher down they heard him make a noise, a harsh rattling noise, it had been. When they looked closer they found he was dead. They fetched Caesar Bonn and Hahn and then carried the body into the inner room. Then Caesar ordered them back to the restaurant and told one of them to fetch Dr. Allington.

Lord Pastern, taking up the tale, said that while they were still on the dais, after the removal of Rivera, Breezy had gone to him and muttered urgently: “For God’s sake come out. Something’s happened to Carlos.” The pianist, Happy Hart, said that Breezy had stopped at the piano on his way out and had told him in an aside to keep going.

Caesar took up the story. Breezy and Lord Pastern came to the inner office. Breezy was in a fearful state, saying he’d seen blood on Rivera when he put the wreath on his chest. They were still gathered round Rivera’s body, laying him out tidily on the floor. Breezy kept gibbering about the blood and then he caught sight of the body and turned away to the wall, retching and scrabbling in his overcoat pocket for one of his tablets and complaining because he had none. Nobody did anything for him and he went into the lavatory off the inner office and was heard vomiting in there. When he came back he looked terrible and stood gabbling about how he felt. At this point Breezy interrupted Caesar. “I told them,” he said shrilly. “I told them. It was a terrible shock to me when he fell. It was a shock to all of us, wasn’t it, boys?”

The Boys stirred themselves and muttered in unison that it had been a great shock.

“When he fell?” Alleyn said quickly. “Then, definitely, he wasn’t supposed to fall?”

They all began to explain at once with great eagerness. Two routines had been rehearsed. There had been a lot of argument about which should be followed. Right up to the last neither Lord Pastern nor Rivera could make up his mind which he preferred. In the one routine Lord Pastern was to have fired the revolver four times at Rivera, who should have smiled and gone on playing. At each of the shots a member of the band was to have played a note in a descending scale and aped having been hit. Then Rivera was to have made his exit and the whole turn continued as they had seen it done, except that it would have ended with Lord Pastern doing a comic fall. Breezy would have then placed the wreath on him and he would have been carried out. In the alternative routine, Rivera was to do the fall. Carlos, the Boys explained, hadn’t liked the idea of falling with his instrument so the first of these two plans had been decided on at the last moment.

“When I saw him drop,” Breezy chattered, “I was rocked all to hell. I thought he’d done it to put one across us. He was like that, poor old Carlos. He was a bit that way. He didn’t fancy the idea of falling, yet he didn’t fancy his lordship getting the big exit. He was funny that way. It was a shock to all of us.”

“So the end was an improvisation?”

“Not exactly,” Lord Pastern said. “I kept my head, of course, and followed the correct routine. It was a bit of a facer but there you were, what? The waiters saw Carlos fall and luckily had the sense to bring the stretcher. It would’ve been awkward if they hadn’t as things turned out. Damn’ awkward. I emptied the magazine as we’d arranged and these other fellows did their staggers. Then I handed the gun to Breezy and he snapped it and then broke it open. I always thought my original idea of Carlos getting shot was best. Though of course I did rather see that it ought to be me who was carried out.”