“Did you go down to the studio?”
“Yes. I went there to collect my sketch-box. I wanted to see what materials I had and tidy it up. I was going to work out of doors on Sunday. I brought the box in here and spent the afternoon at different tidying jobs. After that Katti and I went for a walk to look for a subject. We dined out. I asked when we got here on Saturday if Garcia had gone, and the maids told me he hadn’t been in to breakfast or lunch, so I supposed he had pushed off at daybreak. They had sent his dinner down to the studio the night before — Friday night. It was easier than having it up here. He sleeps in the studio, you know.”
“Why was that?”
“It was advisable. I didn’t want him in the house. You’ve heard what he’s like with women.”
“I see. On Saturday were you long in the studio?”
“No. I simply got my sketch-box. I was painting out of doors.”
“Anyone go in with you?”
“No.”
“Did you notice the drape?”
Troy leant forward, her cropped head between two clenched fists.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to remember ever since Hatchett said it was stretched out when he saw it on Sunday.
“Give me a moment. I went straight to my cupboard behind the door and got out my sketching gear. I had a look in the box and found there was no turpentine in the bottle, so I took it to the junk-room and filled it up. Then I came back to the studio and — yes, yes!”
“You’ve remembered it?”
“Yes. I–I must tell you I hadn’t screwed myself up to looking at the portrait of Seacliff again. Not since I first saw what Sonia had done to it. I just turned it face to the wall behind the throne. Well, I saw it when I came out of the junk-room, and I thought: ‘I can’t go on cutting it dead. It can’t stand there for ever, giving me queasy horrors whenever I catch sight of it.’ So I began to walk towards it, and I got as far as the edge of the throne, and I remember now quite clearly I walked carefully round the drape, so as not to disturb it, and I noticed, without noticing, don’t you know, that the silk was in position — stretched straight from the cushion and pinned to the floor of the throne. You may have noticed that it was caught with a safety-pin to the top of the cushion. That was to prevent it slipping off when she lay down on it. It was fixed lightly to the floor with a drawing-pin that flew out when the drape took her weight. The whole idea was to get the accidental swill of the silk round the figure. It was stretched out like that when I saw it.”
“I needn’t tell you the significance of this,” said Alleyn, slowly. “You are absolutely certain the drape was in position?”
“Yes. I’d swear to it.”
“And did you look at the portrait of Miss Seacliff?”
Troy turned her face away from him.
“No,” she said gruffly, “I funked it. Poor sort of business, wasn’t it?” She laughed shortly.
Alleyn made a quick movement, stopped himself, and said: “I don’t think so. Did either of you go down to the studio at any time during yesterday, do you know?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I didn’t, and Katti had an article to do for The Palette and was writing in the library all day. She’s got a series of articles on the Italian primitives running in The Palette. You’d better ask her about yesterday.”
“I will. To return to your own movements. You went out to paint in the garden?”
“Yes. At eleven o’clock. The Bossicote church bell had just stopped. I worked till about two o’clock and came in for a late lunch. After lunch I cleaned up my brushes at the house. I hadn’t gone to the studio. Katti and I had a good glare at my sketch, and then she read over her article and began to type it. I sat in here, working out an idea for a decorative panel on odd bits of paper. Seacliff and Pilgrim arrived in his car for tea at five, and the others came by the six o’clock bus.”
“Sonia Gluck with them?”
“Yes.”
“Did you all spend the evening together?”
“The class has a sort of common-room at the back of the house. In my grandfather’s day it was really a kind of ballroom, but when my father lost most of his money, part of the house was shut up, including this place. I had a lot of odds and ends of furniture put into it and let them use it. It’s behind the dining-room, at the end of an odd little passage. They all went in there after dinner on Sunday — yesterday — evening. I looked in for a little while.”
“They were all there?”
“I think so. Pilgrim and Seacliff wandered out through the french window into the garden. I suppose they wanted to enjoy the amenities of betrothal.”
Alleyn laughed unexpectedly. He had a very pleasant laugh.
“What’s the matter?” asked Troy.
‘“The amenities of betrothal,’” quoted Alleyn.
“Well, what’s wrong with that?”
“Such a grand little phrase!”
For a moment there was no constraint between them. They looked at each other as if they were old friends.
“Well,” said Troy, “they came back looking very smug and complacent and self-conscious, and all the others were rather funny about it. Except Sonia, who looked like thunder. It’s quite true, what Seacliff says. Sonia, you see, was the main attraction last year, as far as the men-students were concerned. She used to hold a sort of court in the rest-times and fancied herself as a Bohemian siren, poor little idiot. Then Seacliff came and wiped her eye. She was beside herself with chagrin. You’ve seen what Seacliff is like. She doesn’t exactly disguise the fact that she is attractive to men, does she? Katti says she’s a successful nymphomaniac.”
“Pilgrim seems an honest-to-God sort of fellow.”
“He’s a nice fellow, Pilgrim.”
“Do you approve of the engagement?”
“No, I don’t. I think she’s after his title.”
“You don’t mean to say he’s a son of the Methodist peer?”
“Yes, he is. And the Methodist peer may leave us for crowns and harps any moment now. The old gentlemen’s failing.”
“I see.”
“As a matter of fact—” Troy hesitated.
“Yes?”
“I don’t know that it matters.”
“Please, tell me anything you can think of.”
“You may attach too much importance to it.”
“We are warned against that at the Yard, you know.”
“I beg your pardon,” said Troy stiffly. “I was merely going to say that I thought Basil Pilgrim had been worried about something since his engagement.”
“Have you any idea what it was?”
“I thought at first it might have been his father’s illness, but somehow I don’t think it was that.”
“Perhaps he has already regretted his choice. The trapped feeling.”
“I don’t think so,” said Troy still more stiffly. “I fancy it was something to do with Sonia.”
“With the model?”
“I simply meant that I thought he felt uncomfortable about Sonia. She was always uttering little jeers about engaged couples. I think they made Pilgrim feel uncomfortable.”
“Do you imagine there has ever been anything between Pilgrim and Sonia Gluck?”
“I have no idea,” said Troy.
There was a tap on the door, and Fox came in.