“You wouldn’t say so. You wouldn’t say she was the cut of a fairy, either, but apparently she vanishes.”
“How d’you make that out, Mr. Alleyn?”
“According to herself, she met Michael on the landing just as he was going into the other flat. Tinkerton saw Michael but didn’t see Lady Katherine.”
“Perhaps the young gentleman made two trips, Mr. Alleyn.”
“The young gentleman is our prize witness up to date, Fox. He tells the truth. As far as one can judge the family talent for embroidery has given him a miss. He’s a good boy, is young Michael. No. Either Tinkerton added another lie to her bag or else—”
Gibson, the constable, opened the door and stood aside. Lady Charles Lamprey came in.
“Here I am, Mr. Alleyn,” she said, “but I hope you don’t expect any intelligent answers because I promise you that you won’t get them from me. If you told me that Aunt Kit was steeped in Gabriel’s blood I should only say: ‘Fancy. So it’s Aunt Kit after all. How too naughty of her.’ ”
He pulled out the arm-chair at the foot of the table and she sank down on it, taking the weight of her body on her wrists as elderly people do.
“Of course you must be deadly tired,” Alleyn said. “Do you know, that is the one thing that seems to happen to all people alike when a case of this sort crops up? Every one feels mentally and physically exhausted. It’s a sort of carryover from shock, I suppose.”
“It’s very unpleasant whatever it is. Would you be an angel and see if there are cigarettes on the sideboard?”