Troy removed the brush from between her teeth. “Stay if you like, darling,” she said, and gave her husband one of the infrequent smiles that still afforded him such deep pleasure.

“If I’m not in the way,” he said, and contrived not to sound sardonic. Troy shook her head.

“No, no, no,” said the Boomer graciously. “We are pleased to have your company. It is permitted to converse. Provided,” he added with a bawling laugh, “that one expects no reply. That is the situation. Am I right, maestro?” he asked Troy, who did not reply. “I do not know the feminine of maestro,” he confessed. “One must not say maestress. That would be in bad taste.”

Troy made a snuffling noise.

Alleyn sat down in a veteran armchair. “Since I am here, and as long as it doesn’t disrupt the proceedings—” he began.

“Nothing,” the Boomer interposed, “disrupts me.”

“Good. I wonder then if Your Excellency can tell me anything about two of your last night’s guests.”

“My Excellency can try. He is so ridiculous,” the Boomer parenthesized to Troy, “with his ‘Excellencies.’ ” And to Alleyn: “I have been telling your wife about our times at Davidson’s.”

“The couple I mean are a brother and sister called Sanskrit.”

The Boomer had been smiling, but his lips now closed over his dazzling teeth. “I think perhaps I have moved a little.” he said.

“No,” Troy said. “You are splendidly still.” She began to make dark, sweeping gestures on her canvas.

“Sanskrit,” Alleyn repeated. “They are enormously fat.”

“Ah! Yes. I know the couple you mean.”

“Is there a link with Ng’ombwana?”

“A commercial one. Yes. They were importers of fancy goods.”

“Were?”

“Were,” said the Boomer without batting an eyelid. “They sold out.”

“Do you know them personally?”

“They have been presented,” he said.

“Did they want to leave?”

“Presumably not, since they are coming back.”

“What?”

“I believe they are coming back. Some alteration in plans. I understand they intend to return immediately. They are persons of little importance.”

“Boomer,” said Alleyn, “have they any cause to bear you a grudge?”

“None whatever. Why?”

“It’s simply a check-up. After all, it seems somebody tried to murder you at your party.”

“Well, you won’t have any luck with them. If anything they ought to feel grateful.”

“Why?”

“It is under my regime that they return. They had been rather abruptly treated by the previous government.”

“When was the decision taken? To reinstate them?”

“Let me see — a month ago, I should say. More perhaps.”

“But when I visited you three weeks ago I actually happened to see Sanskrit on the steps outside his erstwhile premises. The name had just been painted out.”

“You’re wrong there, my dear Rory. It was, I expect, in process of being painted in again.”

“I see,” said Alleyn, and was silent for some seconds. “Do you like them?” he said. “The Sanskrits?”

“No,” said the Boomer. “I find them disgusting.”

“Well, then—?”

“The man had been mistakenly expelled. He made out his case,” the Boomer said with a curious air of restraint. “He has every reason to feel an obligation and none to feel animosity. You may dismiss him from your mind.”

“Before I do, had he any reason to entertain personal animosity against the Ambassador?”

An even longer pause. “Reason? He? None,” said the Boomer. “None whatever.” And then: “I don’t know what is in your mind, Rory, but I’m sure that if you think this person could have committed the murder you are — you are — what is the phrase — you will get no joy from such a theory. But,” he added with a return to his jovial manner, “we should not discuss these beastly affairs before Mrs. Alleyn.”

“She hasn’t heard us,” said Alleyn simply. From where he sat he could see Troy at work. It was as if her response to her subject was distilled into some sort of essence that flowed down arm, hand and brush to take possession of the canvas. He had never seen her work so urgently. She was making that slight breathy noise that he used to say was her inspiration asking to be let out. And what she did was splendid: a mystery was in the making. “She hasn’t heard us,” he repeated.

“Has she not?” said the Boomer, and added: “That, I understand. I understand it perfectly.”

And Alleyn experienced a swift upsurge of an emotion that he would have been hard put to it to define. “Do you, Boomer?” he said. “I believe you do.”

“A fraction more to your left,” said Troy. “Rory — if you could move your chair. That’s done it. Thank you.”

The Boomer patiently maintained his pose, and as the minutes went by he and Alleyn had little more to say to each other. There was a kind of precarious restfulness between them.

Soon after half-past six Troy said she needed her sitter no more for the present. The Boomer behaved nicely. He suggested that perhaps she would prefer that he didn’t see what was happening. She came out of a long stare at her canvas, put her hand in his arm and led him round to look at it, which he did in absolute silence.

“I am greatly obliged to you,” said the Boomer at last.

“And I to you,” said Troy. “Tomorrow morning, perhaps? While the paint is still wet?”

“Tomorrow morning,” promised the Boomer. “Everything else is cancelled and nothing is regretted,” and he took his leave.

Alleyn escorted him to the studio door. The mlinzi stood at the foot of the steps. In descending, Alleyn stumbled and lurched against him. The man gave an indrawn gasp, instantly repressed. Alleyn made remorseful noises and the Boomer, who had gone ahead, turned round.

Alleyn said: “I’ve been clumsy. I’ve hurt him. Do tell him I’m sorry.”

“He’ll survive!” said the Boomer cheerfully. He said something to the man, who walked ahead into the house. The Boomer chuckled and laid his massive arm across Alleyn’s shoulders.

He said: “He really has a fractured collar-bone, you know. Ask Dr. Gomba or, if you like, have a look for yourself. But don’t go on concerning yourself over my mlinzi. Truly, it’s a waste of your valuable time.”

It struck Alleyn that if it came to being concerned, Mr. Whipplestone and the Boomer in their several ways were equally worried about the well-being of their dependents. He said: “All right, all right. But it’s you who are my real headache. Look, for the last time, I most earnestly beg you to stop taking risks. I promise you, I honestly believe that there was a plot to kill you last night and that there’s every possibility that another attempt will be made.”

“What form will it take, do you suppose? A bomb?”

“And you might be right at that. Are you sure, are you absolutely sure there’s nobody at all dubious in the Embassy staff? The servants—”

“I am sure. Not only did your tedious but worthy Gibson’s people search the Embassy but my own people did, too. Very, very thoroughly. There are no bombs. And there is not a servant there who is not above suspicion.”

“How can you be so sure! If, for instance, a big enough bribe was offered—”

“I shall never make you understand, my dear man. You don’t know what I am to my people. It would frighten them less to kill themselves than to touch me. I swear to you that if there was a plot to kill me, it was not organized or inspired by any of these people. No!” he said, and his extraordinary voice sounded like a gong. “Never! It is impossible. No!”

“All right. I’ll accept that so long as you don’t admit unknown elements, you’re safe inside the Embassy. But for God’s sake don’t go taking that bloody hound for walks in the park.”

He burst out laughing. “I am sorry,” he said, actually holding his sides like a clown, “but I couldn’t resist. It was so funny. There they were, so frightened and fussed. Dodging about, those big silly men. No! Admit! It was too funny for words.”