“Have you told Makepiece about this?”

“I haven’t seen him. He doesn’t go to church.”

“No, of course you haven’t. Perhaps,” Alleyn said, “it was Aubyn Dale being puckish.”

“I must say I never thought of that. Could he hit quite such an all-time low for unfunniness, do you suppose?”

“I would have expected him to follow it up with a dummy spider on your pillow. You do lock your door at night, don’t you? And in the daytime?”

“Yes. There was that warning about things having been pinched. Oh, Lord!” Brigid ejaculated. “Do you suppose that’s who it was? The petty larcener? Why on earth didn’t I remember before! Hoping he could fish something out through the porthole, would you think?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Alleyn said.

The warning gong for breakfast began to tinkle. Brigid remarked cheerfully, “Well, that’s that, anyway.”

Alleyn waited for a moment and then said, “Look. In view of what you’ve just told me, I’d keep your curtains over your port at night. And as there evidently is a not-too-desirable character in the ship’s complement, I don’t think, if I were you, I’d go out walking after dark by yourself. He might come along and make a bit of a nuisance of himself.”

Brigid said, “O.K., but what a bore. And, by the way, you’d better hand on that piece of advice to Mrs. D-B. She’s the one to go out walking — or dancing, rather — by the light of the moon.” Brigid smiled reminiscently. “I do think she’s marvellous,” she said. “All that joie de vivre at her age. Superb.”

Alleyn found time to wonder how much Mrs. Dillington-Blick would relish this tribute and also how many surprises Brigid was liable to spring on him at one sitting.

He said, “Does she dance by the light of the moon? Who with?”

“By herself.”

“You don’t tell me she goes all pixy-wixy on the boat deck? Carrying that weight?”

“On the other deck, the bottom one, nearer the sharp end. I’ve seen her. The weight doesn’t seem to matter.”

“Do explain yourself.”

“Well, I’m afraid you’re in for another night-piece — in point of fact the night before last. It was awfully hot; Tim and I had sat up rather late, not, I’d have you know again, for amorous dalliance but for a long muddly argument. And when I went to my cabin it was stuffy and I knew I wouldn’t sleep for thinking about the argument. So I went along to the windows that look down on the lower deck — it’s called the forrard well-deck, isn’t it? — and wondered if I could be bothered climbing down and then along and up to the bows where I rather like to go. And while I was wondering and looking down into the forrard well-deck which was full of black shadows, a door opened underneath me and a square patch of light was thrown across the deck.”

Brigid’s face, vivid and gay with the anticipation of her narrative, clouded a little.

“In point of fact,” she said, “for a second or two it was a trifle grisly. You see, a shadow appeared on the lighted square. And — well — it was exactly as if the doll, Esmeralda, had come to life. Mantilla, fan, wide lace skirt. Everything. I daresay it contributed to my ‘thing’ about the flower murders. Anyway it gave me quite a jolt.”

“It would,” Alleyn agreed. “What next?”

“Well, somebody shut the door and the light patch vanished. And I knew, of course, who it was. There she stood, all by herself. I was looking down on her head. And then it happened. The moon was up and just at that moment it got high enough to shine into the deck. All those lumps of covered machinery cast their inky-black shadows, but there were patches of moonshine and it was exciting to see. She ran out and flirted her fan and did little pirouettes and curtseys and even two or three of those sliding backsteps they do with castanets in The Gondoliers. I think she was holding her mantilla across her face. It was the strangest sight.”

“Very rum, indeed. You’re sure it was the D-B?”

“But, of course. Who else? And, do you know, I found it rather touching. Don’t you agree? She only stayed for a few moments and then ran back. The door opened and her shadow flashed across the patch of light. I heard men’s voices, laughing, and then it was all blanked out. But wasn’t it gay and surprising of Mrs. Dillington-Blick? Aren’t you astonished?” asked Brigid.

“Flabbergasted. Although one does hear, of course, of elephant dances in the seclusion of the jungle.”

Brigid said indignantly, “She’s as light as a feather on her pins. Fat people are, you know. They dance like fairies. Still, perhaps you’d better warn her not to on account of the petty larcener. Only please don’t say I told you about her moonlight party. In a funny sort of way I felt like an interloper.”

“I won’t,” he promised. “And in the meantime don’t take any solitary walks yourself. Tell Makepiece about it, and see if he doesn’t agree with me.”

“Oh,” Brigid assured him. “He’ll agree all right.”

And a dimple appeared near the corner of her mouth.

The group round Father Jourdain had moved nearer. Mr. McAngus called out, “Breakfast!” and Brigid said, “Coming!” She joined them, turned, crinkled her eyes at Alleyn and called out, “You have been nice. Thank you — Allan.”

Before he could reply she had made off with the others in search of breakfast.

During breakfast Tim kept trying to catch Alleyn’s eye and got but little response for his pains. He was waiting in the passage when Alleyn came out and said with artificial heartiness, “I’ve found those books I was telling you about. Would you like to come along to my room, or shall I bring them up to yours?”

“Bring them,” Alleyn said, “to mine.”

He went straight upstairs. In five minutes there was a knock on the door and Tim came in, burdened with unwanted textbooks. “I’ve got something I think I ought to tell you,” he said.

“Brigid Carmichael wonders if the Flower Murderer is on board and Aubyn Dale knows she does.”

“How the hell did you find out!” Tim ejaculated.

“She told me.”

“Oh.”

“And I’m rather wondering why you didn’t.”

“I didn’t get a chance before dinner. I was going to after dinner, but you were boxed up with the D-B and Dale in the lounge and later on — well—”

“You were discussing Elizabethan literature on the verandah?”

“Exactly.”

“Very well. At what stage did you inform Miss Carmichael of my name?”

“Damn it, it’s not as bad as you think. Look-did she tell you that too?”

“She merely called it out before the whole lot of them as we came down to breakfast.”

“She thinks it’s your Christian name — Allan.”

“Why?”

Tim told him. “I really am ashamed of myself,” he said. “It just slipped out. I wouldn’t have believed I could be such a bloody fool.”

“Nor would I. I suppose it comes of all this poodle-faking nonsense. Calling oneself by a false name! Next door to wearing false whiskers, I’ve always thought, but sometimes it can’t be avoided.”

“She’s not a notion who you are, of course.”

“That, at least, is something. And, by the way, she’ll be telling you about an incident that occurred last night. I think you’ll agree that it’s serious. I’ve suggested the mythical sneak-thief as the culprit. You’d better take the same line.”

“But what’s happened?”

“A Peeping Tom’s happened. She’ll tell you. She may also tell you how Mrs. Dillington-Blick goes fey among the derricks by moonlight.”

“What!”

“I’m going to see the captain. Father Jourdain’s joining me there; you’d better come too, I think. You might as well know about it.”

“Of course. If I’m not confined to outer darkness.”

“Oh,” Alleyn said, “we’ll give you another chance.”

Tim said, “I’m sorry about my gaffe, Alleyn.”

“The name is Broderick.”

“I’m sorry.”

“She’s a nice child. None of my business but I hope you’re not making a nonsense. She’s had one bad knock and she’d better not be dealt another.”