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and literally want to kill Gabriel. I expect lots of people have, as one says, felt like killing him. He was a frightfully irritating fellow, poor dear. Not a fragment of charm and so drearily un-gay, do you know? I mean, it does help if people are gay, doesn’t it? I set enormous store on gaiety. But of course one doesn’t kill people simply because they are not exactly one’s own cup of tea and I suppose he had his grey little pleasures. He was passionately interested in plumbing and drainage, I understand, and carried out all sorts of experiments at Deepacres where one pulls chains when one would expect to turn taps and the other way round. So, what with his drains and his Chinese pots, I dare say he had quite a giddy time. And with Violet wrapped up in her black magic, you may say they both had hobbies.’

      ‘I thought I smelt black magic in Lady Wutherwood’s conversation.’

      ‘She didn’t start off about it to you!’

      ‘Well, there were some rather cryptic allusions to unseen forces.’

      ‘Oh, no. Really, Violet is too odd.’

      ‘Lady Charles,’ said Alleyn, ‘do you think she’s at all –?’

      ‘Dotty?’

      ‘Well –’

      ‘You needn’t be apologetic, Mr Alleyn. Violet popped into the drawing-room on her way to see you and if she kept up the form she showed then, I’m surprised that you didn’t whisk a strait-jacket out of your black bag. Was she very queer?’

      ‘I thought her so, certainly. I wondered if it could all be put down to shock.’

      Lady Charles said nothing but solemnly shook her head.

      ‘No?’ murmured Alleyn. ‘You don’t think so?’

      ‘No. I’m afraid I can’t honestly say I do.’

      ‘Has there ever been any serious trouble?’

      ‘Well, of course, we don’t see very much of them. My husband rather lost touch with Gabriel when we were in New Zealand but we did hear from Aunt Kit and people, that she had gone away to a private nursing-home in Devonshire. It had been recommended by old Lady Lorrimer, whose husband, as everybody knows, has been under lock and key for a hundred years. We heard that Violet’s trouble comes in sort of bursts, do you know? Cycles.’

      ‘Is there anything of that sort in the family history?’

      ‘Of that one hasn’t the faintest idea. Violet is a Hungarian, or a Yugo-Slav. One or the other. Her name isn’t Violet at all. It’s something beginning with “Gla”, like Gladys, but ending too ridiculously. So Gabriel called her Violet. I think her maiden name was Zadody, but I’m not sure. She was nobody that anyone knew, even in Hungaria or Yugo-Slavia, which was quite another country, of course, in Gabriel’s wild-oatish youth. Gabriel said he had found her at the Embassy. I’m afraid Charlie used to say it was at a cabaret of that name or something slightly worse. You must remember her when you were a gay young man at parties. Or perhaps you are too young. He had her presented, of course, and everything. She was rather spectacular in those days, and looked like a Gibson Girl who didn’t wash very often. Of course you were too young, but I remember them both very well. I believe that even then there were crises-de-nerfs.’

      ‘That must have been rather difficult for Lord Wutherwood?’

      ‘Yes, miserable for him. Luckily there were no children. Luckily for us too, I suppose, as things have turned out, although I must say I don’t think it’s the pleasantest way of becoming the head of the family.’

      Her cigarette had gone out and she lit another. Alleyn felt quite certain that there was more than a touch of bravura in this rapid flow of narrative. It was a little too bright, the inconsequence was over-stressed, the rhythm somewhere at fault. He thought that he was being shown a perilous imitation of the normal Lady Charles Lamprey by a Lady Charles Lamprey who was by no means normal. Once or twice he heard the faintest suggestion of a stutter and that reminded him of Stephen, who, he felt sure, was overwhelmingly present in his mother’s thoughts. Extreme maternal devotion had never seemed to Alleyn to be a sentimental or a pretty attachment, but rather a passionate concentration which, when its object was threatened, developed a painful intensity. Maternal anxiety, he thought, was the emotion that human beings most consistently misrepresent, degrading its passion into tenderness, its agony with pathos. He was too familiar with the look that appears in frightened maternal eyes to miss recognizing it in Lady Charles’s, and though he was perfectly prepared to make use of her terror, he did not enjoy the knowledge that he had stimulated it. He heard her voice go rattling on and knew that she was trying to force an impression on him. ‘She wants me,’ he thought, ‘to believe that her sister-in-law is insane.’

      ‘– and I’m so terrified,’ she was saying, ‘that this really will throw her completely off her balance although to be quite honest, we all thought she was very alarming when she arrived this afternoon.’

      ‘In what way?’

      ‘Well, quite often she didn’t answer when you spoke to her and then when she did speak it was all about this wretched supernatural nonsense, unseen forces, and all the rest of it. The oddest part about it was –’

      ‘Yes?’ asked Alleyn, as she hesitated.

      ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you this.’

      ‘We shall be grateful if you will tell us anything that occurs to you. I think,’ Alleyn added with emphasis, ‘that I can promise you we shall not lose our sense of proportion.’

      She glanced at Fox who was placidly contemplating his notes.

      ‘I’m sure you won’t,’ she said. ‘It’s only that I’m afraid of losing mine. It’s just that it seems so strange, now, to remember what Violet said to me.’

      ‘What was that?’

      ‘It was when we were in my bedroom. Gabriel had been rather acid about Violet’s black magic, or whatever it is, and apparently she rather hated him sort of sneering at her. She sat on my bed and stared at the opposite wall until really I could have shaken her, she looked so gloomy and odd, and then suddenly, she said in a very bogus voice (only somehow it wasn’t quite bogus, do you know): “Gabriel is in jeopardy.” It was so melodramatic that it made one feel quite shy. She went on again, very fast, about somebody who foretold the future and had said that Gabriel’s sands were running out at a great rate. I supposed she must go in for a little fortune-telling or something, as a kind of relaxation from witchcraft. It all sounds too silly and second-rate but she herself was so wildly incoherent that I honestly did think she had gone completely dotty.’

      Lady Charles paused and looked up at Alleyn. He had not returned to his chair but stood with his hands in the pockets of his jacket, listening. Perhaps she read in his face something that she had not expected to see there – a hint of compassion or of regret. Her whole attitude changed. She broke into a storm of words.

      ‘Why do you look like that?’ Lady Charles cried out. ‘You ought to be an effigy of a man. Don’t look as if you were sorry for somebody. I –’ She stopped as abruptly as she had begun, beat twice with her closed hands on the wooden arms of her chair, and then leant towards him. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid you are quite right about people’s nerves. Mr Alleyn, it’s no use for me to beat about the bush, with you looking on at my antics. I’m not a clever or a deliberate woman. My tongue moves faster than my brain and already I am in a fair way to making a fool of myself. I think perhaps I shall do better if I’m terribly frank.’

      ‘I think so, too,’ Alleyn said.

      ‘Yes. I’m sure you have guessed my view of this awful business. Everything that I have told you is quite true. I do exaggerate sometimes, I know, but not over important things, and I haven’t exaggerated or over-stressed anything that I have told you about Violet Wutherwood. I think she is quite mad. And I believe she killed her husband.’

      The

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