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in she rose to her feet and looked serenely at him.
    “How do you do?” she said.
    “How do you do? I am extremely sorry to bother you, Lady O’Callaghan.”
    He thought: “Golly, she
is
like Ratsbane!”
    “But I wished to see you. It is good of you to come so promptly.”
    “Not a bit.” This was an exceedingly polite introduction to a murder story.
    “Do sit down. I suppose the man who came here this afternoon has told you my reason for communicating with the police?”
    “I believe Inspector Fox gave me a full account of your conversation.”
    “Yes. I am convinced that my husband was murdered — probably poisoned.”
    “I am sorry that in addition to your grief you should suffer the pain occasioned by such a suspicion,” said Alleyn and wondered how long they were to make speeches at each other.
    “Thank you. Do you agree with me that the circumstances warrant an inquest?”
    “I think I should like to hear a little more about them. I have read the letters.”
    “Surely they, in themselves, are enough to arouse anybody’s suspicion?”
    “Lady O’Callaghan, it is extremely unusual for a person contemplating homicide to write such letters. I do not say it is unknown, but it
is
very unusual. I expect Fox told you that.”
    “I believe he said something of the sort. My point is this: I do not think the murderer contemplated homicide when writing the letter. I do think that a person capable of writing such a letter would also be capable of seizing the opportunity when it presented itself.”
    “So it
is
Phillips and the girl she’s after,” thought Alleyn.
    “I see your point, of course,” he said slowly.
    “There is another incident which I did not go into with — Inspector Fox. Before my husband’s operation I was in his room with him. He did not realise where he was or what had happened to him. I tried to explain about the appendix. Then Sir John Phillips came into the room. When my husband saw him he exclaimed: ‘Don’t — don’t let— ’ and then he collapsed. He seemed terrified by the presence of Sir John Phillips and I am certain that he tried to say: ‘Don’t let him touch me.’ I must tell you that a week before this Sir John called on my husband. I hoped that it was for a consultation about his pain, which was then very severe. Next morning I asked my husband if Sir John had examined him. He evaded my question, and seemed very much upset. I had met Sir John in the hall and had thought his manner most unusual. His letter was written that same night, evidently as a result of the interview.”
    “You definitely connect Sir John’s letter with the other, signed Jane Harden?”
    “Yes. She is a nurse in the hospital where my husband was a patient. After your man left, this afternoon, I rang up the hospital and under pretext of wishing to thank the nurses concerned in the case, I found out their names. She was actually present in the operating theatre and I dare say assisted Sir John.”
    She drawled all this out in her serene, high-pitched voice, exactly as though she was reading aloud.
    “Forgive me,” said Alleyn, “but did you know anything about this business? I hope you will understand that I only ask because— ”
    “Because you wonder if I am prejudiced?”
    “Exactly.”
    “I knew my husband was unfaithful to me from time to time. I also believed these incidents to be more or less casual encounters.”
    “You were unaware of this Miss Harden’s existence?”
    “Quite.”
    Alleyn was silent for a little while. Then he rose to his feet.
    “I think, with you, that there should be an inquest,” he told her.
    She made a slight movement and the heavy folds of her dress stirred. It was as though she had suddenly gone tense all over. When she spoke, however, it was with her customary equanimity.
    “You have, I am sure, made a very wise decision.”
    “I’m afraid we shall have difficulty with the coroner. Naturally he is rather chary about starting such an