“First of all, you must understand that I am extremely angry with you,” she said. She was almost coquettish. “Ah-ah-ah! And now you have the self-conscious air?” She shook her finger at him.

“I may look sheepish,” he rejoined, “but I assure you I’m in a devil of a temper. You are outrageous, Miss Emily.”

“When did you leave and how is your dear Troy?”

“At seven o’clock this morning and my dear Troy is furious.”

“Ah, no!” She leaned forward and tapped his hand. “You should not have come, my friend. I am perfectly able to look after myself. It was kind but it was not necessary.”

“What were you going to say to that crowd if you hadn’t been cut off by a cloudburst? No, don’t tell me. I know. You must be mad, Miss Emily.”

“On the contrary, I assure you. And why have you come, Rodrigue? As you see, I have taken no harm.”

“I want to know, among other matters, the full story of that object over there. The obscene woman with the label.”

Miss Emily gave him a lively account of it

“And where, precisely, was it planted?”

“Behind one of the London telephone directories, which had been placed on its edge, supported by the others.”

“And you knocked the book over while you were speaking to me?”

“That is correct. Revealing the figurine.”

He was silent for some time. “And you were frightened,” Alleyn said at last.

“It was a shock. I may have been disconcerted. It was too childish a trick to alarm me for more than a moment.”

“Do you mind if I take possession of this object?”

“Not at all.”

“Has anybody but you touched it, do you know?”

“I think not. Excepting of course, the culprit.”

He wrapped it carefully, first in a sheet of writing-paper from the desk and then in his handkerchief. He put it in his pocket.

“Well,” he said. “Let’s see what we can make of all this nonsense.”

He took her through the events of the last five days and found her account tallied with Superintendent Coombe’s.

When she had finished he got up and stood over her.

“Now look,” he said. “None of these events can be dismissed as childish. The stones might have caused a serious injury. The trip wire almost certainly would have done so. The first threats that you got in London have been followed up. You’ve had two other warnings — the figurine and the telephone call. They will be followed up, too. Coombe tells me you suspect Miss Cost. Why?”

“I recognized her voice. You know my ear for the speaking voice, I think.”

“Yes.”

“On Monday, I interviewed her in her shop. She was in an extremity of anger. This brought on an attack of asthma and that in its turn added to her chagrin.”

Alleyn asked her if she thought Miss Cost had dogged her to the steps, stormed up the hill and thrown stones at her, asthma notwithstanding.

“No,” said Miss Emily coolly. “I think that unfortunate child threw the stones. I encountered him after I had left the shop and again outside the hotel. I have no doubt he did it — possibly at his father’s instigation, who was incited in the first instance, I daresay, by that ass Cost. The woman is a fool and a fanatic. She is also, I think, a little mad. You saw how she comported herself after that fiasco.”

“Yes, I did. All right. Now, I want your solemn promise that on no condition will you leave your rooms again this evening. You are to dine and breakfast up here. I shall call for you at ten o’clock and I shall drive you back to London or, if you prefer it, put you on the train. There are no two ways about it, Miss Emily. That is what you will do.”

“I will not be cowed by these threats. I will not.”

“Then I shall be obliged to take you into protective custody and you won’t much fancy that, I promise you,” Alleyn said and hoped it sounded convincing.

Miss Emily’s eyes filled with angry tears.

“Rodrigue — to me? To your old institutrice?”

“Yes, Miss Emily.” He bent down and gave her a kiss: the first he had ever ventured upon. “To my old institutrice,” he said. “I shall set a great strapping policewoman over you, and if that doesn’t answer, I shall lock you up, Miss Emily.”

Miss Emily dabbed her eyes.

“Very well,” she said. “I don’t believe you, of course, but very well.”

Alleyn put on his shoes.

“Where are you staying?” she asked.

“Coombe’s giving me a bed. The pubs are full. I must go. It’s seven o’clock.”

“You will dine with me, perhaps?”

“I don’t think—” He stopped. “On second thoughts,” he said, “I should be delighted. Thank you very much.”

“Are you going to ‘taste’ my wine?” she asked, ironically.

“And I might do that, too,” he said.

He left her at nine.

She had settled for the eleven o’clock train from Dunlowman in the morning. He had arranged to book a seat for her and drive her to the station. He had also telephoned her bonne-à-tout-faire, as she called the pugnacious cockney who, in spite of Miss Emily’s newly acquired riches, served her still. He saw that the outside doors to her apartment could be locked, and made certain that, on his departure, she would lock them. He bade her good night and went downstairs, wondering how big a fuss he might be making over nothing in particular.

Major Barrimore was in the office, smelling very strongly of whisky, smoking a large cigar and poring uncertainly over a copy of the Racing Supplement. Alleyn approached him.

“Major Barrimore? Miss Pride has asked me to tell you she will be leaving at ten in the morning and would like coffee and toast in her room at eight o’clock.”

“Would she, by God!” said the Major thickly and appeared to pull himself together. “Sorry,” he said. “Yes, of course. I’ll lay it on.”

“Thank you.”

Alleyn had turned away when the Major, slurring his words a little but evidently under a tight rein, said: “Afraid the lady hasn’t altogether enjoyed her visit.”

“No?”

“No. Afraid not. But if she’s been…” He swayed very slightly and leaned on the desk. “Hope she hasn’t been giving us a bad chit,” he said. “Dunno who I’m talking to, a’course. Have the advantage of me, there.”

“I’m a police officer,” Alleyn said. “Superintendent Alleyn, C.I.D.”

“Good God! She’s called in the Yard!”

“No. I’m an old friend of Miss Pride’s. The visit was unofficial.”

Major Barrimore leaned across the desk with an uncertain leer. “I say,” he said, “what is all this? You’re no damned copper, old boy. You can’t gemme t’ b’lieve that. I know my drill. ’F you ask me — more like a bloody guardee. What?”

Patrick and Jenny came into the hall from the old house.

“I think I’ll just run up, first, and see how Miss Pride is,” Jenny was saying.

“Must you?”

“She’s all right,” Major Barrimore said loudly. “She’s under police protection. Ask this man. M’ I introduce Miss Jenny Williams and my stepson? Superintendent — or so he tells me — Sorry, I forget your name, sir.”

“Alleyn.”

They murmured at each other. Patrick said to his stepfather: “I’ll take the office if you’d like to knock off.”

“The clerk fellah’s on in ten minutes. What d’you mean? I’m all right.”

“Yes, of course.”

Alleyn said to Jenny: “Miss Pride was thinking about a bath and bed when I left her.”

“She’s going. In the morning,” said the Major, and laughed.

“Going!” Jenny and Patrick exclaimed together. “Miss Pride?”

“Yes,” Alleyn said. “It seems a sensible move…I wonder if you can tell me whether the causeway’s negotiable, and if not, whether there’ll be a ferryman on tap.”

“It’ll be negotiable,” Patrick said, “but not very pleasant. Jenny and I are going down. We’ll row you across, sir. It won’t take ten minutes.”

“That’s very civil of you. Are you sure?”

“Perfectly. We’d thought of taking the boat out anyway.”

“Then in that case—” Alleyn turned to Major Barrimore. “Good night, sir.”