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alarming hare. It will be impossible to keep the thing even moderately quiet. The papers already have wind of these threatening letters from Sir Derek’s political enemies.”
    He watched her closely, but beyond a faint expression of distaste, could find no evidence of any sort of emotion.
    “That will be rather disagreeable,” she murmured.
    “I am afraid so. Is there anything else that you would like to discuss?”
    “I was going to suggest that you speak to Mr. Ronald Jameson, my husband’s secretary. He will, I think, confirm what I have said about Sir Derek’s reaction to these letters.”
    “If you wish it, I will see him. Of course, if the postmortem shows that poison has been given, it will then be my duty to make very exhaustive inquiries.”
    “Of course,” she agreed.
    Evidently she had made up her mind Alleyn should see Jameson, because she sent for him then and there. Ronald came in looking very perturbed and uneasy.
    “This is my husband’s secretary — Mr. Jameson, Mr. Alleyn.”
    “How do you do, sir?” said Ronald. “You won’t have the foggiest recollection of me, I’m afraid, but we have met before.”
    “I’ve a filthy memory,” declared Chief Inspector Alleyn.
    “It was at Nigel Bathgate’s.”
    “Oh, yes.” Alleyn was polite, but non-committaL
    “Really?” murmured Lady O’Callaghan. “Yes. I thought too that perhaps I had seen you — that your face— ” She seemed uncertain how to go on.
    “People often find they are familiar with the faces of the police,” said Alleyn gravely.
    “It’s not that, sir.” Ronald turned to Lady O’Callaghan. “Mr. Alleyn is in some of Mr. Rattisbon’s photos in the study at Karnelly.”
    “Ratsbane’s cricketing groups,” thought Alleyn. “Oh, Lord!”
    “Oh,” said Lady O’Callaghan. “Yes.” She stared rather blankly at him.
    “Mr. Jameson,” Alleyn began, “I believe Lady O’Callaghan wants me to speak to you about an incident that took place here a week before Sir Derek’s operation.”
    Ronald jumped and glanced nervously at the lady.
    “I have spoken to Mr. Alleyn about my suspicions. He agrees that there should be an inquest.”
    “Really, sir? Look here — I mean, of course, you know best, but, well — it’s — it’s a pretty ghastly thought, isn’t it?”
    “You remember the evening my husband had the letter signed Jane Harden?”
    “Yes,” said Ronald very reluctantly.
    “You remember that you told me the letter seemed to upset him very much?”
    “Yes — but— ”
    “And when he overheard you speaking of it he was quite unreasonably angry?”
    “I don’t think
unreasonably
, Lady O’Callaghan,” Ronald protested. “Sir Derek was quite right. I should not have mentioned his correspondence. I had never done so before.”
    “Why did you do so then?” she asked him.
    “Really,” thought Alleyn, “she might be an Attorney-General.”
    “Because — well, because it seemed to upset him so much.” Ronald saw the fence too late and crashed into it.
    “Yes,” said Lady O’Callaghan.
    “Would you describe him as being alarmed?” Alleyn asked.
    “Well — more sort of disturbed and distressed. After all, sir, it
was
an unpleasant letter to get.”
    Ronald seemed to be in a perfect agony of embarrassment.
    “Certainly,” Alleyn agreed. “You were not present, were you, at any time during the interview between Sir Derek and Sir John Phillips?”
    “No. I — no, I wasn’t.”
    “What were you going to say? Was anyone else there?”
    “Nash, the butler, took in the tray.”
    “Has he spoken to you on the subject?” asked Alleyn casually.
    “Er — yes. Servants’ gossip. I rather snubbed him, sir.”
    “What did he say before you’d snubbed him?”
    “He’s an awful old woman — Nash. He seemed to think Sir John had used some sort of threatening expression. Honestly, sir, he’s a fearful ass.”
    “I see. I think that’s all, Lady O’Callaghan. Perhaps the apprehensive